The Tears Of Angels

See this little bottle of bluish stuff? This is a thing of beauty and a joy forever. I call it the Tears Of Angels and it is pretty seriously the only thing that gets me through the work week right now.
A couple of years ago the arthritis in my hands was giving me a lot of gyp (not that is ever doesn't, but some times are worse than others). I already take a prescription Non-Steroidal Anti-Inflammatory (NSAID) drug every day, and I am not allowed to supplement with any other oral medication in the same class of drugs (they are pretty dreadful for your internal organs). That means aspirin (I occasionally take a single migraine-strength excedrin when I am getting a headache, but don't tell my doctor), ibuprofen, aleve (naproxen), and every other thing that might possibly help is off-limits. I can take tylenol (acetaminophen), but it's worthless, honestly.
Anyway. You can get topical anti-inflammatory medications with a prescription. When I asked my doctor about trying a topical NSAID he agreed that it might help. He said he would write the prescription if I wanted to try it BUT my HMO (Kaiser) wouldn't cover it and I would have to pay (the not-insubstantial) price out of pocket. He suggested switching me to a new oral NSAID instead (it worked okay but ultimately gave me an ulcer so I had to switch back).
And then I realized something. You know those ibuprofen gelcaps (or softgels, or liquicaps, or whatever dumb-ass thing they are calling them today) that are filled with liquid? These ones?

The liquid inside comes right out of them if you poke a hole in the pill. For reals. Easy peasy. I tried it out, and it actually worked fairly well. I just squeeze out the goo, put a few drops on my hands, add a little lotion (or a bengay-type "pain relief" gel. They don't do much but distract you via skin irritation, but why not?), rub that shiz in... and ta-da! It works pretty well on my hands, and helped a lot when I was suffering from constant shin splints, too. It doesn't do as much for my knees, I must say, but hey. Considering that I work with my hands so much that even my non-athritic counterparts complain about cramping and pain?
Yeah. I will take what I can get.



Please note: if you are going to take medical advice you find on the internet you will get precisely what you deserve, whether it's good or bad. You are the keeper of your own health and the decision-maker for your own body and mind. I really shouldn't have to tell you that.

Don't Glue It, You Have Sew Much to Live For!

You know what is awesome? Slipping on the carpeted stairs (because you are wearing slippery satin shoes with fuzzy socks on top) and falling all the way to the ground floor, hitting every single stair along the way. Every. Single. One.
Did I break in my pointe shoes, or did I just break myself? It was one of those things where you think to yourself "you know, this is really dangerous and I could really hurt myself" a split second before it all goes wrong. I am lucky I didn't break anything.
That happened last night. Today I feel... like I just fell down a flight of stairs, honestly (also stupid, I feel really really stupid). Both elbows are skinned and bruised, my butt looks like I was hit with a two by four (actually I was hit with half a dozen two by fours...), and I appear to have majorly pulled every single muscle in my upper back/neck/shoulders. You know that whole port de corps en ronde thing? Yeah, that SO isn't happening right now.

On the recital costume front:
I was sent home tonight with this... thing (there is no nice name for it) and told to remove the junky lace apron and ugly trim across the front (it's going on an ugly step sister in Cinderella, BTW) and to generally clean it up (at work we call that "making it pretty" which is just a nice way of saying "this thing needs some serious help. Please. Stage an intervention")

Only problem? As soon as I got it in my lap with a seam ripper in hand I discovered the awful truth. It is all attached WITH GLUE. Uuuuuggggghhhhh...

Wrecked

ARGH. My calves hurt! ARGH ARGH ARGH!
Thursday's classes, like any class directly after a big travel-oriented holiday, were short on students. As a result technique class was abnormally exhausting (very little if any down time while waiting for your turn across the floor) so I was already panting and Over It by the time pointe class started. There were even fewer pointe students, and those of us that were there are all fairly new at it. So we got serious one-on-one attention and lots of corrections that otherwise would have been lost in the shuffle. The good news is that I now have a much clearer idea of what I have been doing wrong (which has been annoying the bejeebus out of me whenever I have to look at myself in a mirror) and how to correct it (I finally understand what she means by "push against your ribbons"). The bad news is that I am now so totally wrecked physically that there is no way in hell I can use those corrections and get in some practice at home (which has now been officially sanctioned). The transition back to a regular schedule after my month of bruise-induced confinement has been tough on me physically. I basically spend every weekend cursing and whining every time I have to walk downstairs.
Remind me why I do this to myself? Ballet, guys. It hurts.

Men, Listen Up

Woo! We have a dude, again! It's just that they are so rare, you kind of have to celebrate when they show up. And now we all get to bow like ballerinos* at the end of class. Oh yes, my adoring fans, I bow to you like a lady. And YES, the rest of my adoring fans, I nod my head to you and look down my nose upon your worthless selves because I am also a dude, now.
Dudes: we need more of them. Don't worry, guys! We aren't all nervous and judgmental about you! Well, I mean, yeah... so maybe we give your butt a passing glance (JUST OUT OF CURIOSITY, MIND YOU) but we are actually perfectly happy when there is a representative of the other half of the species in the room. Well, no, only if they are in class and jumping around like idiots with the rest of us. Because that boyfriend guy who was taking videos on his iphone last week? Pretty creepy.

PS: RA flare up of amazing proportions going on. There are no words for it. My ankles are officially in on the deal. If I could have saved any of my parts, it would have been them. Class continues, come hell or high water.



*actual word

Injured and Complaing About It, Thank You Very Much

My little ballet world has been pretty frustrating, lately. After the horrible "cat + laptop Vs. my poor naked foot" incident I knew I was going to have some bruising. But, did you know that non-steroidal anti-inflammatory (NSAIDs, in other words: first line treatment for RA) medications can cause excessive blood pooling and therefore bruising? Which can take a really long dang time to heal? Yeah, I didn't know, either. I have now missed five whole classes, and had to sit out center work for three more. I am pretty unhappy about it.
But here is the weird part. I always bitch about ballet hurting me, and it's true! It does hurt me. It gives me shin splints and broken toenails and foot cramps and you get the idea. But while I've been taking a bunch of time off I've noticed all the ways that ballet makes me feel BETTER. Without class my back hurts. My knees hurt even worse than usual. I thought my shin splints were coming back but it was actually some thin little muscle running along the front of my leg cramping up. My ankles hurt! My toes on my foot that ISN'T bruised!
Geeze!
So, I have decided to just take barre until I am ready to use my foot properly, again. I tried doing center work on Tuesday and it did not work out for me, but OH! The pretty combination we got to do before it all went to hell! Balancés and waltz turns, swishy port de bras... and I felt almost competent for a few glorious moments!
And then my foot was like "what do you even think you are doing, woman?"

Pros, Toes, and the F-Bomb

Ballet season will be starting soon, and professionals will be heading back to their studios. So, where are they now? They are taking class with the variously challenged adult ballet students at my studio. What is it like taking class with a real dancer? Well, humbling. I certainly won't be dropping down in to those perfect splits anytime soon, or kicking in to a high and strong faille* with total grace and ease. On the other hand, watching some of our more advanced girls alongside the pro gives you a real appreciation for how far you actually can go as an adult recreational dancer.
I also felt good about doing my fondues on flat rather than demi-pointe because she was doing it as well.

PS: we spent our full hour of pre-pointe last night at the barre. You might think that doing a whole class of relevés would be easier than normal, but you'd be wrong. In fact, I think my feet hurt more than they ever have. Apparently my teacher recently brought home a copy of the Pointe Book and now she's all excited about trying out the exercises it recommends. I can't imagine how the girls on pointe are feeling today, I was on demi-pointe and I feel like a train wreck!



* this word is usually pronounced "fye-ee" in ballet but "file" in most fabric situations. I bet in France they don't say it either way! In fact, I just looked it up! I was right! Check it.

Hardly Workin'

I chickened out of master class on Tuesday. Well, it wasn't really so much a chicken-outing as a "there is no way in hell this is going to work out for me so I think I will just skip it"-outing. So I spent the night at home with my husband and kitties. An evening of reflection and family togetherness, if you will. Mostly what it means is that Thursday's back-to-back classes kicked my ass six ways to Sunday (of Sunday? from Sunday? I've heard it so many different ways. Almost SIX ways, I would venture.) I'm still sore. My shin splints, thankfully calm the last few months, flared up right as we were starting grande allegro. And then my foot chimed in after pre-pointe class like "what the crap do you think you are even doing, woman? This foot was made for walkin'. Walkin' not goaty-footing around like Miss Thang. Knock it off."
Why the heck does taking a few DAYS off of ballet make going back feel like the longest, hardest slog on the planet? I can't even imagine attending a studio that gives it's students the entire season off. I would just turn in to a big blob of goo over the Summer and when I came back I would probably have a heart attack.
Someone I work with often tells the tale of working at a ballet company during a Winter storm. The studio was shut down due to flooding or something and the dancers freaked out because they couldn't fathom not going to class. I can sort of see that, actually.

No.

No, foot. No no no no no. I do not need another body part to be in constant pain. Especially not my foot. Knock it the hell off, foot, I want to take pre-pointe on Thursday.

NSAIDs: A Cautionary Tale

So. How have you guys been? I spent my weekend feeling like death on toast. The NSAID (anti-inflammatory medication I take twice a day for my rheumatism) that I've been using for the past 9 months or so landed me in the hospital on Saturday night.
Friday morning I was fine. I even ate a sensible salad for lunch and took a short bike ride with my dad. But at about 2pm I was suddenly hit with an overwhelming feeling like I'd just been speared through the chest, right at the base of my thorax. I tried to wait it out but I couldn't sleep at all that night and after a short stint at work on Saturday morning it was quickly becoming evident that it was here to stay. I immediately figured it was probably an ulcer but couldn't get any over the counter remedies to help. I called the Kaiser advice hotline to ask if I could get in to see my doctor any time soon. I got transferred around for a while and they told me they'd call me back later in the day.
So I talked to a very twitchy little doctor on the phone at about 5pm. She was the kind of confused and baffled doctor that instills a real sense of security and faith in a patient. Regardless of the fact that the Kaiser website states that "ulcers can cause nausea, dizziness, and intense pain radiating in to the back" she urged me quite vehemently to hurry down to the ER, which I did. Well, sort of... because FOR REALIOS WOMAN it is an ulcer not a heart attack. Yes, I am dizzy. Probably because I HAVE AN ULCER. I should not have to guide you to these things. I actually had to reassure her at one point that stomach bleeding goes along with the whole ulcer thing, so even if I was dizzy I probably didn't actually have a terrible ruptured whatever-the-hell.
Sigh.
I did eventually get to the ER (about 5 hours later), mostly because I know that the regular clinic would take several days to run labs and the ER would run them in less than two hours. And the sooner I got this you-know-what over and done with the better (theater season just started. Ain't nobody got time for that.) They hooked me up to an EKG machine and put so many stickers all over my body that I am still not sure if I got them all off. There must have been six just on my left boob. I felt awkward, not for myself but for the poor nurse who had to cover me in boob stickers. Obviously it's her job and all, but it still must be contrary to your sense of social propriety. My own sense of social propriety ends at the point when I have to hold a little plastic barf bag and wear a gown with the butt all open, sorry. The doctor came in and we had a brief conversation about how it's basically almost certainly an ulcer (or gastritis, the precursor to an ulcer) and you can point your finger straight to my shitty rheumatologist for refusing to TREAT my ACTUAL condition and instead leaving me hanging on high doses of particularly nasty NSAIDs for several years running. He scrunched up his face when he laughed and he was terribly young. I felt old and silly and wished that my husband was there (they forgot to tell him it was okay to see me after the EKG, so I was basically hangin' out there in my boob stickers by myself for an hour) because otherwise my ER quiet room wit (which consisted mainly of pretending my large penis-shaped barf bag was, in fact, a large blue penis while trying to interpret the oddly coded ER intercom announcements) was utterly wasted (hey man, it was late and I felt like hell, okay?). I eye-balled the spare rolls of exam table paper in the cabinet. Because you know what exam table paper is great for? Pattern making.
Eventually they made me drink three small shots of tutti-frutti flavored lidocaine (they tasted like Satan, basically) and sent me home. Two IVs for nothing, man (one in my right arm that didn't work out properly that has left me with an aching blue bruise the size of a golf ball, and one in my left by a slightly more competent nurse). I tell ya what, guys. IVs suck.
I still feel non-stop nauseous, hopefully the heavier-duty acid control pills I now have to take (every morning. That makes 8 pills PER DAY, now) will do me some good. I'm not allowed to have caffeine or chocolate (I think I might cry, guys) or tomatoes or ... well. Anything good. I can eat oatmeal (without milk, naturally) and brown rice. I guess I can add some thrilling tofu in there for protein.
I already had a chocolate chip cookie. One a day can't kill me.
My husband brought home Mexican for dinner. It was a very sweet gesture. But for reals.

Who needs feet, anyway? Not me.

You learn something new every day. For example last week I learned that trying to do chaînés turns  in your jammies is a great way to have your glasses fly off your face and possibly to step on them at the same time.

Tonight in class we were doing a new turn across the floor: attitude turns. And I guess my foot decided to cop an attitude (har har, see what I did there? I kill me. Okay, no. Sorry. Never mind.) because I suddenly felt something go "POP!" and for the rest of class it felt remarkably like I was being stabbed in the foot. The internet tells me it was probably a ... something something digital something tendon. Annnnnnd... great. Another foot injury. Hrmph! I swear, if it isn't one thing it's another.
It still hurts, though not as badly. I am trying to go easy on it tonight, anyway. I am telling myself that it was probably brought on by all of the intense driving I did over the past few days (Easter visit to my dad's place in the hills) regardless of the fact that the trouble is quite clearly in my LEFT foot.
No, no! It's driving that did it! It's driving that is terrible for me!

Also: tonight for center practice we did a little piece of choreography from Raymonda. We looked just like this, only not even at all:

tres mal

I talked to my teacher tonight and told her about the shin splints and we agreed that I am not allowed to jump until I'm feeling better. The bad news is that it means no sauté arabesques or grands jetés. But, let's not be choosy. The good news is that I have a legit reason not to do assemblés. HA! Take THAT assemblé!
The things I've read about shin splints seem to indicate that I should be stretching my calves (moo) and hamstrings more often, so I've been really trying to work on that this week. I even stopped doing the calf exercises I've been working on lately, just in case that is aggravating things. And I took the insoles my acupuncturist insisted I use OUT of my favorite shoes. Because obviously they aren't helping, and I never had shin problems until I started using the silly things. Oh, and because they are uncomfortable and make me grumpy. Okay, maybe the whole thing is making me grumpy.

So. What I'm saying, basically, is pretty please Universe, I really am trying very hard to listen to my body and to work with it's limitations. But, please please with a cherry on top could you please leave me alone for a while so I can get on with it?
  

On an entirely different note I am posting this photo I found on Pinterest because... well... because it's awesome and I don't know what on Earth is going on, here.

sigh...

I'm making the Grumpy Cat face Right Now, Actually

So, I've seen this on Pinterest a million times, and I admit I have even been tempted to repin it.

But tonight? Tonight I am just not in the mood for that ish.
My offering:

Go ahead. Pin it. Make me a disgruntled and unamused meme. Me and Grumpy Cat. BFF.

For the record it's some sort of shin thing going on. Which is good because hey, it probably can't be some new RA thing. But bad because hey, what the hell is going on?

acupuncture... again

When I am at the acupuncturist's office she sticks me with all the appropriate needles and then leaves me to "rest" for half an hour, which basically just means I have to lay as motionlessly as possible, flat on my back (today I also got to wear a fetching hospital gown. Very chic.). The gal I saw today usually leaves a stereo on playing "soothing" music (also known as depressing acoustic guitar solo versions of classical music that was never meant to be played on guitar. Today I got The Dying Swan and it was probably the most bleak rendition of it I have ever heard. Hey, you know what ballet classic sounds awesome when played by solo acoustic guitar? Neither do I.) and asks if I would like the lights turned off. I always say yes because otherwise I will just lay there looking around at stuff and be tempted to try fishing my e-reader out of my purse, because BORING. When she comes back in to un-stick me she asks if I fell asleep. Really? How, precisely, are you supposed to fall asleep when you have pins stuck in your ears? At least it wasn't as awfully painful this time. Last time I felt terribly sick and spent the entire "resting" time feeling restless and achy.
Magic trick, though? My right wrist, which felt terrible this morning, is actually feeling pretty good right now. I know, right? I am not sure I believe it, either.
She poked my toes and tut-tutted at me and said that I have calluses on my big toes because I clench my feet when I walk so I am going to get toe arthritis and die or something. Also, she said my arches were obviously falling. First off: GACK I do not want to hear about my feet disintegrating beneath me! I dance! Ballet, guys! You can't be messing around with toe arthritis if you dance. They pop and creak and stuff, sure they do. But still, don't scare me okay? I dunno. I mostly have calluses on my big toes because I forgot to scrub them really well in the bath last night and I am genetically pre-disposed to having seriously unattractive callusy feet. I don't look like either of my parents (or anyone else in my family for at least a couple of generations back) and am often mistaken for my father's wife when we go out together (even by the post-op nurse at the hospital after he had surgery. Why you think I would marry a dude who is pretty obviously 31 years my senior is another story I guess) but the one thing I inherited from him is my kind of flipper-like feet with long thin toes, each of which calluses over like it's going out of style. But, I suppose I might just pay some more attention to my toe situation for the next couple of weeks, and see if I can catch myself clenching them at all. As for my arches? Considering that I don't have a long and complex history of foot-examination with this lady I am not sure what she is even looking at. It's a foot, honey, I don't know what you are seeing, here. Personally I think my feet have toned up a lot since I have been dancing. I've dropped half a shoe size! I honestly have no idea what that means but I think it's pretty insane.

PS: She poked around at my knees and exclaimed at the amount of inflammation present. SO WHY DON'T YOU TELL MY RHEUMATOLOGIST THAT, KAISER!

Two-Parter

In my ballet world:
I'm starting to champ a little on the proverbial bit. I'm certainly struggling with my level 3 class but I feel like I could do better faster if I could work on the level 3 stuff more than once a week. Because let's face it, my kitchen floor is something like 3-4 feet across. Tombé-pas de bourré-pirouette combinations aren't happening in here. Especially when there is a great big box taking up half my floor space that is filled with everything that I can no longer put under my sink because my landlord never fixed the gaping hole the plumber punched in the cabinet floor. BUT that is another story.
Anyway. So, I am feeling a little held back in my level 1-2 class, but there is no other dedicated level 3 class. The only other option is a level 3-5 class on Thursdays that most of the girls are taking as a pre-req for pointe. I've talked to my classmates about it and they all agree that it's way more advanced than my level three class. And so I am a bit terrified about it. I'm sort of working myself up to asking about it. I almost fell over doing pirouettes on Tuesday, so maybe I will ask about it later.
The level 1-2 class has so many new students that we don't all fit at the barre, anymore. We don't even all fit at the barre plus two portable barres with some people hanging off the ends. It's crazy. I guess ballet is the hip new thing for grown-ups? It's a little difficult getting through everything in an hour and a quarter, now. And sometimes people just plain get on my nerves. Don't get me wrong, I think that it's great to have new people! And, of course, I am thrilled that my studio is able to support itself and my wonderful teacher (she said "I don't know why we have so many new students! Is it that Black Swan movie?" I, for one, don't know why the hell anyone would watch that movie then WANT to learn ballet. UCK.)

****at this point you may stop reading if the health stuff bores you****

In my rheumatism world:
I hurt. Like hell, to be honest. I am not pointing fingers and saying that the acupuncture was to blame. I do think I tend to flare up worse right before my period (Retaining water? More inflammatory whats-it in my system? More sensitivity to pain?) so this could have a hormonal component, and it was already starting to act up before I set foot in the clinic. But it sure hasn't helped, either.
This particular flare-up is coming with much more intense pain smack-dab right in the heart of my knee joints. I often get a lot of the worst pain as a kind of peripheral action all along the connective tissues that hold your kneecap in place. But, I fear this is a new development that will continue to vex me. It's keeping me awake a lot at night which sucks because one of the most unmanageble parts of this whole thing is that flare-ups come with this overwhelming exhaustion. I eventually have to drag myself out of bed at some point in the day, but I could quite easily sleep past 1pm, no problem.
*sigh*
I talked to an old family friend (whom I recently realized I have known since I was FIVE. Holy crap!) who has been having acupuncture for years with great success. She said she didn't get any results for a while, either, so I should hang in there. I figure I have nothing to lose, and for 15 bucks I can't beat the price of a treatment, so they can basically try anything they want. I believe it was sterling author Terry Pratchett who, when questioned about the lengths to which he would go to beat his debilitating Alzheimer's disease, said "Personally, I'd eat the arse out of a dead mole if it offered a fighting chance."

Acupuncture: Step Two

So today I had my orientation and introduction to acupuncture class at Kaiser. Waaaaay the hell away in another city, because that is the only place they do it, apparently. I drove there in the absolutely POURING rain and gusty wind, on unfamiliar roads. I took the freeway there, and it was raining so hard I couldn't see, so on the way back I took surface streets. Which was just as bad because everyone insisted on driving exaaaaaactly 30mph. Which is basically the sweet spot for hydroplaning. I cranked up my stereo and powered through, though.
Was it worth it? Oh, hell no. But that isn't too surprising, right? The orientation class basically consisted of forty people trying to cram in to a conference room that was designed for about twenty people. Then we all watched a YouTube video together. And then I sat there and thought about how I am pretty sure that this building is the one that my pediatrician's office was in, back when I was a kid. And, what ever happened to good old Dr. Koch, anyway? He was pretty nice. And this building! What a perfect example of ... uh ... I guess I will call it "Industrial Prairie" architecture. Which is to say it is obviously inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright except without being actually inspired. 1960s architecture at it's most squat and grey... and half-listened to an obviously flustered and unprepared clinician answer bitchy and/or snarky questions from aging baby boomers with entitlement issues about how long it takes to get an appointment.
What did I learn? Well, I learned that Kaiser's acupuncture department is something of a cruel joke. They have an acupuncture department but they don't actually want you to use it. After three appointments they decide if it's helping or not. If not, no harm no foul, you go on to find something else to try. If it does help you can come back with limited appointments for about a year. Then you are on your own. I guess I am glad I even have the opportunity to try it out for cheap. If it helps maybe I can try finding someone local that isn't too woo-woo for me. Though goodness knows how I would ever be able to afford it.
I still think they could have saved us all a lot of trouble by emailing us a link to the stupid video and maybe mailing a small packet of the paperwork they handed out (they send out appointment reminders anyway, right?). On the way there and back the weather probably killed a few of us off, though, so maybe that was their plan all along...

Taking the Plunge

A few years ago, back when they discovered that the problem in my hands wasn't carpal tunnel syndrome, they sent me back and forth to half a dozen specialists in an attempt to suss out the culprit. None of them had any real idea what was wrong but one doctor, a hand specialist (the one who finally did the test that determined a predisposition for rheumatic conditions) suggested that I should try acupuncture for the pain. He put through a referral to the acupuncture department for me, but I never followed through with it because A) It looked like we were going to get a real diagnoses soon, B) it's all the freakin' way in another city, and taking the bus to get there (we only have one car) for orientation would be a TWO HOUR trip through unfamiliar territory, and then require a half mile walk. And C) WHATEVER DUDES. I have a pretty low opinion of the pseudo-scientific "chi energy" rigamarole, and don't really want to listen to it.
But, things have changed in the last few years. For one, I hurt a lot more. And also, I don't appear to be getting any actual medical treatment, here. I'm just about at my wit's end, and at this point I would do darn near anything if there was any actual chance it would help me feel better, especially when I'm dancing. So, I looked in to it. There are real honest-and-for-true clinical studies that support the use of acupuncture, though of course no one actually knows why it works. They have theories ranging from triggering immune responses to counter-irritation to just plain old positive thinking. But... you know? At this point? *sigh* I don't even care WHY it works, just so long as it does, you know? And everyone I've talked to that has first-hand experience with it has been 100% sure it did something good for them. Of course, these are also the people who claim that it's painless and that you'll blissfully frolic through the experience with no blood loss. I have a friend who used to be a dogsbody at an acupuncture clinic, and among her grosser chores was cleaning up the large quantities of blood left behind after a session. UCKA. Fellow rheumy and blogger extraordinaire Jenny Lawson's book Let's Pretend This Never Happened contains her own account of acupuncture treatment. She lays it on the line and tells it very much like it is, pain and blood and all. But at this point unless they want to ram the damn pins in to my EYES they are totally welcome to give it a shot. So I'm signed up to take Kaiser's acupuncture orientation class at the end of November, and then we'll see how it shakes out.
Honestly, I am not amazingly happy with the idea because I don't like getting poked with needles, much. And I STILL don't want to listen to anyone regale me with wisdom about my chi. For crying out loud, people, you can't just make up something when you don't understand how it works!
I asked my (deep skeptic of a) husband what he thought about me trying it out and he has been supportive. Not that he's the sort of jerky husband who isn't supportive of most of my decisions or anything (he even lets me smudge the house, so long as he isn't there while I'm burning the sage), but I do so like to not make him think that I'm a crazy person on a regular basis.

Rheumatologist FAIL

This post is going to take me a long time to write (it's taken a full 24 hours to even work up to it) and not only because I have to type the whole thing with one hand (turns out? I am pretty quick at it, which probably means I mostly type one-handed anyway. Sorry, Mavis Beacon.). I will have to write it and then let it settle for a while and THEN go back over it to remove most of the swear words (I am drawing the limit at six uses of the word "fuck", but it going to be an editing nightmare.) So, without further ado...

I visited the rheumatologist again, yesterday.
The first time I went, three years ago, they put me through a battery of blood tests and then brought me in to the office to poke at me and basically tell me to stop whining and suck it up. I avoided them for as long as I could, but the past three years has brought such a rapid increase in symptoms (and changes in my medical history, for example I now have evidence of a family history of rheumatic conditions) and such a flare-up of the attendant inflammation that my primary care doctor has been left feeling helpless and annoyed and my physical therapist has given up on me entirely until my inflammatory processes can be controlled with some efficiency. So. I went back. They put me through the exact same blood tests again which, aside from turning up a possible urinary tract infection (yay?), showed no changes from last time. But this is Kaisers standard operating procedure. After all, repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting different results is the definition of sanity, right?... So, there was hardly any point in going to this appointment, anyway.
You see, with Kaiser, if there isn't a test result to point to then you are not getting a diagnoses or treatment unless your doctor is strong enough to demand it and, here's the kicker, gives a damn. It's what Kaiser is famous for. It's why they are so poorly thought of in the general medical community. But, anyway. My sister, you see, did not test positive for anything, either. They had to do an MRI to find her inflammation and bone fusion. Before that, they just didn't know what to make of her. Now, I am not saying I have the same thing she does, but I AM saying that some actual effort needs to be extended by your doctor, or your illness can slip right through the cracks. Luckily, she does not have Kaiser.
So I went to my appointment. My husband came with me this time, I don't think he believed me when I said that this rheumatologist was horrible and would just fob me off no matter what I said. Well. He knows now. I got there and filled out the forms : how many of these symptoms do you have (lots)? Could you walk three miles if you had to (no)? That sort of thing. Then the doctor came in. Now, let me make this as clear as possible, she had absolutely no intention of helping me, regardless of what I said. She refused to listen to my personal history, family history, or symptoms. She pointed straight to my blood test and said "look, it says that you don't have anything." That was lie number one. There are seronegative auto-immune disorders. And some that CAN be seropositive can ALSO manifest as seronegative. There are probably close to a hundred conditions recognized as rheumatoid-related. Six blood tests is not going to detect them all.
She then made me take off my wrist brace and proceeded to pull and manipulate my SPRAINED WRIST in to several unnatural positions "See? You are mobile. You don't have any inflammation. Anywhere. It's just pain. Nothing physical."
Lie number two. I think we all know that I was sent to her in the first place because I have CRAZY inflammation that my PC doctor can't figure out how to control. Regardless of the pain my body is constantly stiff, my joints popped audibly as she maneuvered my legs. My knees screamed as she bent them beyond their limit.
Then she looked briefly at the questionnaires I had just filled out and said, and I am not exaggerating, "There is nothing I can do for you. You probably just have depression"
It was at this point that I decided she wasn't even trying and didn't give half a damn about anything I said or did. You know what? Maybe sometimes I am depressed. Because I HAVE BEEN IN PAIN EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE FOR THE PAST EIGHT YEARS. That is pretty mother fucking depressing.
My husband asked "what about doing an MRI to see if there is something we're missing"
And here, my friends, is where she pulled out her most egregious lie, yet. "MRIs only show you ligaments. They don't show anything else. They don't show inflammation. Blood tests are the only way to tell if you have inflammation."
Now. I suggest, if you don't know anything about MRIs already, that you go check it out online. Go ahead. Wikipedia it or something. I will wait.
Done?
Okay. She finished up saying "well, sure, you have Reynaud's syndrome, but that doesn't mean anything. You are totally fine, otherwise." LIE. Reynaud's is a rheumatic condition that is usually secondary to other, more serious conditions. For example: Lupus and rheumatoid arthritis. But, oh no! Let's not even contemplate the possibility of seronegative RA. Let's just tell the person who is in chronic pain to the point of no longer being able to work full time THAT SHE IS CRAZY and it's ALL IN HER HEAD. What an amazing treatment plan! Way to go, fucking idiot of a jerk of a complete twat of a doctor! Yay! Kudos for you! Another difficult case successfully deflected and another patient so disgusted and intimidated that she'll probably never get adequate treatment! WAY TO FUCKING GO YOU FUCKING FUCK.

I would file a complaint against this woman if I thought it would do any good. I might STILL file a complaint against her. It won't impact her much and it won't change the quality of my care through this HMO. But, I might do it anyway. Just so that she knows. Feels the ice cube of my distaste dripping down her proverbial underpants.

BITCH.

Skirts, Wrists, Boredom Setting In...

Apologies in advance if you get a ton of random and pointless posts for a while. This sprained wrist is driving me totally insane. I can't drive (motorcycle or car). Can't work particularly well (I have just spent three days pushing my hand to the very limit of it's ability, and I managed to finish one tiny little top with no closures or handwork. This SUCKS). Can't wash dishes (my male doctors may laugh it off when I say it, but for reals, guys. If I don't do the dishes they just won't get done. I think my husband has washed a plate and a couple of forks in the past two weeks). Can't read actual books because I can't hold them, even using my little clamp device (totally for old people, but it has saved my life). And having to do everything with my right hand has basically made the arthritis-y business on that side go crazy, so it hurts almost as bad as the sprained one!
ARGH!

And now for something completely different...
So. I have always been pretty resistant to the wrap-skirt-in-dance-class thing. I am not sure why, exactly, it just never rang my bells. About a year ago I made myself some little georgette tap pants to wear to class when I was feeling particularly in need of a little cover-up. But my big fat booty-boo has expanded so much recently that I no longer fit the silly things! I'm sure it's the Zoloft that is making me gain this weight, but if my choices are extra-booty-fat-but-hey-I-can make-it-through-most-days-without-crying or my-butt-is-still-pretty-big-and-I-want-to-beat-my-face-against-a-wall-all-night then I will take the Zolft, thanks. Anyway. So I figured something new (and more adjustable) was in order. A few weeks ago I ended up with a small stretch of black chiffon left over from another project (more on that later) and decided to piece it in to a wrap skirt and give skirt-wearing a shot.
This is how it turned out (or at least how it looks while I am improperly dressed and standing crookedly in front of my bathroom door with no lights on:

(As an aside, I saw this picture and had to do a little double take. 

Ballet has, apparently, given me some actual muscular definition, there. 

Hey! That is pretty cool.)

 Which isn't bad considering I was just winging it and my piece of fabric was way too freaking small and oddly shaped to use as-is. Honestly, it's okay. But if I tie it so it stays put I have to cinch it in super tight and then I can't port de corps forward all the way, and if I tie it loose enough to let me bend at the waist then it goes all flubbaly and bothers me to bits. I don't know. It's an experiment, I guess.

On a Scale of 1 to 10...

So nothing much is happening in my ballet world this week because A) I am on vacation celebrating my sixth wedding anniversary and B) I totally jacked up my wrist by slipping on the beach and planting my self face-first on to a granite boulder. In related news: "on an anemone" is a terrible tongue twister! Especially when you have to say it like fifty times in a row while sitting in the ER of an unfamiliar hospital. Try it! "I was trying not to step onananemone!" AWFUL!
I'm fine, it's been X-rayed and they think it's not broken, just sprained all to heck. I just have to keep it in my night-time brace 24/7 for a while. Anyhow, I don't feel like driving and I hurt and I am tired and I want to sit around and snuggle tonight. So. There. By next week I will be desperate to get back to the studio, and it will be great. Right now, though, I could probably use a bit of a break. Har har. I DIDN'T MEAN THAT LITERALLY, UNIVERSE!
Actually, it's darn-near miraculous that I didn't screw myself up any worse than I did. I could have broken an ankle so easily. As it was I got a couple little dings and scrapes, but I didn't even break my glasses. Thank heavens. Because (since starting ballet) breaking an ankle has become nearly as terrifying to me as breaking a wrist, which would keep me from working.
What I actually came here to write about was the horrible "how bad is your pain on a scale of 1 to 10" question that medical professionals always ask. It means NOTHING. It is totally arbitrary. My pain tolerance and your pain tolerance are not the same. My medical history and attendant experience with pain is a total unknown to them. Maybe you think something is a 3 and I think it's a 7. Or vice versa. I've had kidney stones, an IUD, and optical migraines. I've never given birth, broken a bone larger than my toes (though I have done that twice), or been hit by a car. What are you even asking me to tell you? If I am in terrible agony? Because couldn't you just say "are you in terrible agony?"
I said "background pain is about a 3-4, but when I touch or jar it it's maybe an 8?" so they kept wanting to give me painkillers. For a background pain of about 3? Really? I have a chronic pain condition. I have a background pain a hell of a lot worse than that constantly. Chill out. My 8 is when I start to cry. I don't think I have found my 10 yet. I'm sort of keeping it in reserve for some terrible thing that may happen to me someday. Maybe I'll be burned at the stake. You never know!