The Latest Good News

So yesterday, Wednesday, I had an optometry appointment.  I had to inform her that along with my two decades long-ago diagnosis of Type II Diabetes, I was also  recently diagnosed with lupus.  With this news I was assigned a new test, an ultrasound of my optic nerve.  SO, good news, my optic nerve, in my right eye anyway, is undamaged and fully functional.

What wasn’t such good news is that the steroid treatments to fight the skin rash over pretty much 85% of my body has triggered the growth of cataracts in my right eye.

My left has been pretty much sightless since a retinal detachment in 2005 for which several attempts at reattachment were fruitless.  About five years ago, my right eye also suffered a retinal detachment but the surgery successfully reattached it this time.  I thought then that I had dodged the blindness bullet.

So now it’s creeping in on me instead, like the fog the cataract makes me see sometimes.  According to the optometrist, this kind of cataract, growing behind the lens rather than across the front, grows at unpredictable rates.  It could take years to get thick enough to operate on, or a few months.  Instead of my regular annual exam, now I have to go back in six months to check on its progress.

Guess I better get busy drawing while I can still see to do it.

She Broke Me

This time, she really did it.  She being my mother.


Okay, so a blip on the news came up about OJ Simpson coming up for parole review, and all I said about it was that in my opinion he shouldn’t be granted parole.  Somehow this led my mother to say, “I’m surprised Obama didn’t pardon him like he did Chelsea Manning!”


I just had to swallow back on nausea just remembering and recording that much, let alone the following diatribe on her part that was full of racism, transphobia, and illogic.  I do recall protesting that Simpson’s crime was not comparable to Manning’s reason for imprisonment.  To this, Mother’s response was that Manning was a “traitor who only committed this crime in the first place so he could get sent to jail to make the government pay for his sex change operation.”  Mother refuses to use the female pronouns when talking about Miss Manning.

I struggled to get some ordinary tasks accomplished, like cooking a pot of rice and cleaning up after the dogs.  Then she said something that I am apparently blocking out, because it led me to literal hysterics.  I burst into loud laughter and sobs, and fell to the floor, and couldn’t control my actions doe a good quarter of an hour.  I scared my poor daughter half to death, and to add to her misery, her grandmother kept yelling about how I was being selfish and upsetting the dogs and I could lay there all the rest of the night for all she cared.  I could feel my eyes  straining from their sockets and I struggled to draw a controlled breath for long enough to beg my daughter to turn off the rice before it burned.  My own dog Winnie, aka Princess Winnifred, aka Nursie Dog, came to inspect me twice and kissed my face to try to pull me out of it.  One of her dogs decided it was a great time to pee on my foot.  I still wasn’t able to get myself up off the floor for a long time.  Once I was able to get back onto my feet, I know I said some things that made no sense, genuine babbling, some of it about the dog peeing on me, but mostly trying to apologize to my grown daughter and confess my ongoing confusion.  SO confused that as I headed down the hallway to my room, I actually pulled my nightgown off over my head and dropped it in the hall outside my door instead of waiting to get into the room.  Well, it was wet with dog pee.

Even now, I’m still blanking on whatever exactly it was that Mother said to break me.  Mostly the diatribe of Obama Bad and I think there was an attempt to connect Hillary’s involvement in the INTERNATIONAL council that awarded nuclear materials to .., was it Russia? … to the blatant acts of collusion from the Trump campaign team, in particular Donnie Jr, with the Russian government to influence the US elections.    It seems ridiculous in the aftermath to have been so overwrought about this argument, but this has been accumulating and escalating for almost two years, since that lunatic made his announcement of intent.  People wondered how so many were ‘fooled’ by the Nazi party, well I’ve been watching my mother devolve into Fascism this whole time and heard her become openly derisive of strangers in public when she used to be a defender of the unfortunate.  I don’t know this woman anymore, and realizing I’m trapped with her insane doppelganger with nowhere to run, not even voluntary commitment for me after the total collapse I just experienced a few hours ago, has to be that proverbial final straw.

I’m even to the point where if they let me bring Winnie as my service dog, I’m considering leaving behind everything else I own in this world, and knowing there’s an actual small puddle of my own saliva drying on the dining room floor makes me seriously wonder if it’s time.

It’s The Lupus

So last February I got a biopsy done on this rash I’ve been dealing with since, oh, election night and even worse since inauguration,  I thought maybe I was stress-scratching as a form of self harm at first, and then as it got worse I became afraid, because of what the rash was beginning to look like that it was a kind of lymphoma.  The results came back in May (just in time for Lupus Awareness Month) as lupus.


Now, I’ve been reading up on the symptoms,  Along with the rash — which is indeed a result of stress in the way of being a flare trigger — are severe fatigue (which I blamed on the diabetes and the chronic back pain) and joint pain.  Also, mental fogs are apparently a part of the roster of ills.  Basically the brain also comes under attack from the immune system.  So Saturday I had a public incident of confusion and had to take a time out for a few minutes at the Wal*mart.  Mom deduced, rather tangentially, that I was TIRED because of the lupus.  The psychology of the moment didn’t enter into it, apparently.  Anyway, having ‘fun’ logging the many other symptoms that have been tagged as other illnesses and turning out to be part of the lupus after all.

And Fail.

So I played Ultima IV two days in a row, died three times in the first five minutes the first day, then finally found my way to two other towns in the game.  I’m afraid I just haven’t got the focus to maintain the game play.


Also fail, my therapist spends so much time fulfilling his talking agenda I don’t even get an opening to talk about the things I should be talking about and which my psychologist/psychiatrist (whichever one it is that does the prescribing) says I should be addressing.  He hasn’t heard a word about my aggressive behaviors, my violent tendencies, my risky sexual behavior, all of which are only not current issues mainly because I live in virtual isolation.  I didn’t even get a word out about my most recent attempted suicide because he had a printout of Counting Your Blessings he wanted to read off and then hand to me.  These sessions are supposed to last at least 50 minutes, right?  He got me in and out in about 25, if the clocks are not wrong.  The psychiatric doctor rediagnosed me from cyclothymic to Affective Disorder with Combined whatchamacallits, both Depression and Anxiety.  I’ll be looking that up shortly to see what the actual difference is in the diagnosis.

An Experiment in Time Travel?

So, last night I had my daughter obtain for me a copy of Ultima4, which was released a full year before she was born.  Clearly I hadn’t the equipment at my disposal back then to play computer games at all, but after reading Felicia Day’s memoir, “You’re Never Weird On The Internet (Almost)”, I found myself craving the experience so many of my peers went through.  So I believe I shall keep a log of my gaming experiment here.  Later today I will go through the creation of my first Ultima character.  If screen grabs are a thing in it, I may pull some and share them, too.

Are You Kidding Me?

Well, this morning I was scheduled to visit with an oral surgeon, because there’s a lump in my jaw and there’s pain when I open my mouth too wide, like if I try to yawn, it hurts.  So, I had to go without food all morning, and being diabetic, I had to keep a close eye on my blood sugar.  By the time the appointment came, it was at 79.  Before the end of the appointment it was down to 66.

The good news is, I don’t have to get surgery.  He found nothing abnormal i my x-rays or physical exam, so not even a biopsy.  But what he did finally diagnose me with?  Arthritis in my jaw.  When did that become a thing?  He gave me a pamphlet about TMJ — oh, so that’s what TMJ is then, arthritis of the mouth?  Crap.

Am I Really Doing This Again?

So I’ve had lame attempts at establishing web based journals, and I haven’t done much better with them than I have with tangible notebook style diaries, but here I go, making another stab at it.  Stab, whee.

That picture in the header is my Princess Winnifred when she was a baby, apparently offering herself up as a sacrifice to The Great Allmommy, also knows as NeNe. That was on 2011, and since then, Winnie has grown to appoint herself as my personal service dog.  She pokes at me when she thinks it’s time for me to check my blood sugars and take my meds.  She even fusses at me if I don’t get up and go to the bathroom as soon as I need to.  Winnie, and all of her family, a total of seven brothers and sisters as well as both parents, are Chiweenies, a mix of Miniature Dachshunds and Chihuahua. Personally I like the name Dachshuahua, but I was not consulted on this.