Some of you may have noticed a lack of posting, yea verily even a lack of coherence and much rambling when I do post lately. Reading my posts, days later I notice simple errors in spelling, grammar, or punctuation, which are humiliating. I apologize for this. I have recently had some health issues I am tackling and it seems one or more of the 16-18 daily pills they suddenly set me on affect my ability to think clearly, well, and sometimes at all. We will not examine the weird weepy or skitzing out like a nervous cat mood issues and the inability to type or text due to shaky hands, as those go away quickly. The muzzy headed feeling, yeah… not so much.
I have a decades long history with man-made drugs. The muscle relaxers I took after a bad electrical shock in the early ‘80s made me almost catatonic. As such, instead of taking the typical two 5 mg pills every 4 to 6 hours as the doctor first advised, he worked with me and I ended up going down to a half pill every 12 hours and was still a useless blob, lying on the couch, almost insensate and drooling all over myself.
Then, there were the pain meds I got in ’92 after the first back injury at the airport when I was one of the two people lifting the 380 lb former football player who just had knee replacements. Yeah, I know I was an idiot but it was my job, and I was always uncommonly strong for a woman. My back reminds me every day that I screwed up there. Regardless, the first drug at normal strength made me stop breathing and engendered a frantic ride to the hospital. A loved one rode along, poked me every few minutes, and reminded me to breathe. The doctor tried various degrees of dosages of that one, and three other popular painkillers over a weeklong period. Yes, in a controlled setting. Hey, the good news is we discovered I can take prescription strength Tylenol and Advil.
A few years later, in the hospital, with the twins trying to sneak out early at 31 weeks, they even discovered morphine is my friend in small enough doses. Morphine also worked great this past November when the raging infection recently hospitalized me for about a week. This was a few weeks before they amputated Floyd.
Yes, thank you, I would love to insert a tangent here. For those who know me in real life, I know you saw this coming.
Anyway, while in the hospital for eight days and hopped up on morphine and Tramadol, (Hey! Another one I can take!) I was pretty damn bored. When I am bored, if I cannot write for ones of the blogs or on the books, my mind tends to wander off on its own, unattended. While this has proven dangerous in the past, under some circumstances, I was “not allowed” to get out of bed, so the hospital is still standing, yes.
Of course, those who have actually met me realize the “cannot get out of bed” rule here was treated very much like the last eight weeks of the twins pregnancy and the “total bed rest, except from bed to chair once a day” rule. I swear on all that I holy sacred, not ONCE did either of these doctors think to forbid chairs that rolled once I got into them! Besides, with the twins, we were set to move to a bigger place up the street the middle of the 39th week of their pregnancy. Being an anal retentive control freak back then, I had to do all the packing, labeling and arranging of boxes. Gods, I love rolling desk chairs! The old tenants had to be out the 15th, the 16th the management company looked it over and cleaned allegedly. Yes, I admit I was filling, moving and stacking boxes and small pieces of furniture on the 17th, until my dad caught me. Hey, even though labor started around noon the 18th, the twins hung in there like entrenched troopers until the 20th anyway! Nevertheless, by then, they were 39 ½ weeks through gestation anyway which is perfectly acceptable for twins!
Okay, back to the original tangent. Yes, there was one. Some drugs make me weird, or loopy. That was when and where Floyd got his name. Sitting in the hospital and staring at my damn foot hour after hour, I decided to name my toes. Yes, I know it was rather late in life for me to get around to this all-important job, but hey, I was still several weeks away from turning 55, so I felt okay with the timing of the accomplishment!
First, I decided the little toe would be Floyd, for obvious reasons. If reasons are not immediately obvious, you are very young. If you think for a minute, it should come to you. If I have to explain it to you, it loses the element of fun. The next toe would be Ringo, of course. This one may be less obvious, so I will merely remind you to think of your fingers and my reasoning becomes perfectly clear! The center toe, well duh, he is Malcolm. Yes, I know this breaks with the musical theme I had going, and I never watched the show, not even once, but I will remind you… lots, and lots of MORPHINE!
Once I got there, I was lost. I had nowhere to go. I actually searched my brain for what seemed like hours before a solution presented itself. I think the clock said something like eight minutes had passed. Finally, I realized all I had to do was approach it from a different angle! Geesh! What a maroon not to have realized before the perfect names for the ones remaining. Of course, the great toe, the largest toe, whatever you want to call it, was the Notorious B. I. G., what the hell took me so long to figure that out, I will never know! When you think of Biggie, you always think of the number two name that hung around with his name like… well, I cannot think of what it is like, but it was clear to me the number two toe had to be Tupac!
Whew! That was a half hour in the hospital well spent. Pity that was on like the first night or the second day I was there. I cannot recall which. Trust me, it is better I leave the rest of my weird, drug induced, week-long tangenting to your imagination.
The point is, and believe it or not, I really did start this post with a point a few days back, though the clock reads something more like forty minutes ago. I swear, all these clocks lie like politicians, but do not get me started on politics. Oh hell no! That is for the Rants from the Treehuger site, not this one. The point is, I will have an appointment later this week with my doctor about the muzzies, and the other weirdnesses I have developed. So, I hope to be back to posting again soon. Maat knows my “working on it” folder is up to about two hundred partially created posts now, and it grows every week. Until the posts begin again, I am trying to keep up with the comments and questions. So, I will go do that now, before I find another tangent to follow.