Scoreboard: Prednisone: 3. Erica: .75?
I can't give myself zero points. Even though prednisone, my nemesis, keeps knocking me down, not including all the other things this year that have attempted to knock me down - I keep getting up.
Bite me, prednisone! Ow! Dammit. Curse you, prednisone! Curse youuuuuuuuuuuu!
So here's the situation. Apparently, another side effect of prednisone is if I turn my head too fast while walking, I lose my balance , so I have to quick-freeze until I am re-centered, which is only a matter of seconds usually. I was on a small staircase heading up, when I realized that I had forgotten something, so I turned around to get it, but I turned too fast and my foot did not meet the step. Next thing I know I was flat on my back with my foot somehow twisting under me.
Me being me, I was also lying in cat food. You know. Like you do. I said to the Angels, "Are you kidding me? Really? No! I will not accept a broken foot on top of everything else!" Then I figured I'd better change my tone. "Please don't let it be broken! Please please please please please! Please?"
I remained on the floor, looking at the ceiling, trying to figure out if my foot was broken and breathing through the pain. It felt like a charlie horse. But like, if a charlie horse were on prednisone. I didn't hear anything snap or crack or whatever (oh geez sorry if that's gross). I steadied myself and got up and hobbled my way somehow to where there was ice and Tylenol.
I am fairly sure it is just a sprain, but if the swelling does not go down, I'll do the thing. Meaning you know, go to the place. I've just had it up to here with going to hospitals. But, luckily, while my insurance isn't stellar, it's adequate and at least I can get treated.
I would really like to take tomorrow off from work, but I do not feel like I can. First of all, I have exactly no sick time left, and I have also used up all my vacation time until December. I have Friday off this week to go to the doctor, so I can go to the ER or urgent care if I need tomorrow morning, and then go through the rest of the day. My friend got me a cane. I have named the cane Mr. French, and it will help get me around for the moment.
Second of all, I just feel like taking off from work would cement me as an unreliable employee, though my boss and all the powers have been very supportive in this, my Year of Perpetual Challenge. No one has let me think I am on thin ice, this is my choice. I love my job, obviously, or I wouldn't stay there since it doesn't quite pay all my bills. I am devoted to my boss, to my job, to the company, to the leadership, to the cause. So I feel I must go in.
You know what, you guys? I miss my Mom. I miss my stepfather. I have loving people in my life, and I have a sister who is an absolute gift and my best friend, and I have my three sweet little loving nieces and what would I do without them? But I miss my Mom, and I miss Pete. I wish I could email my Mom (she wasn't a texter, really) or call her and tell her about my foot and ask her what to do. I wish I could text my stepfather and ask him to drive me to the hospital and wait with me. Then he would sit in the waiting room and watch the news and yell at the TV, or maybe embarrass me with a loud obnoxious comment in an attempt at a funny accent when people were walking by.
My Mom ended most sentences she spoke to me and my sister with the word, "Honey," or, "Hon." More than she would use our actual names. If someone were to cross either one of us or mistreat us or take advantage of us in any way, my mother would call them and tell them off. She was funny. She had a wonderful laugh. She was an amazing cook. No one cooked like her, no one in the whole entire world, ever. Something like 99 out of 100 things she made were perfect, but she would always find a flaw and obsess about why she didn't add this or why she added too much of that. She loved going out to dinner. We did it often, but not so often that it didn't feel like a special event. The picture shown in this post was taken on one of the last nights she and I went to dinner. I can't remember where we went. But I had peanut chicken wraps and they were super good.
My Mom didn't drive. My stepfather tried to teach her before they got married. For reasons passing understanding, I was in the car with them. It was before my sister Caroline was born. I remember being in the backseat, and I remember a lot of yelling and panic.
That was the only driving lesson my Mom ever had.
My stepfather loved to drive, and when I was a kid, he drove supremely fast. A lot of my early memories of him are to do with cars. He had a GTO that he refurbished, and I remember driving in it. He used to love driving through water after it rained. Or really, racing through water after it rained. He was a receiver of a variety of tickets: Speeding, Parking, Passing, Missing lights. In more recent years, he did not drive as maniacally.
This time last year, I was realizing that I had PTSD and I was not at all in the holiday spirit. I just wanted to get through it. But, generally, I love the holidays, and this year, I decided to take time to appreciate them. I even already started listening to Christmas music. Though that's hardly unusual for me, I'm a November Christmas Music Listener.
I am not going to let the pain on the end of my leg or the consistent need to use my inhaler stop me from choosing peace. I am writing this to express my frustration that yet another thing has attempted to knock me down. But, believe it or not, I am still feeling somewhat positive.
I don't believe it is life that is knocking me down, but there is no denying that I have had a series of catastrophes both small and large. But I'm going to keep going. My foot will heal. My energy will increase. My breathing will get better, My writing will get done. My goals will be achieved. I can choose peace, I have the power to do that right now.
So, as I said, prednisone, my nemesis and a metaphor for challenge: Bite me.
I can't give myself zero points. Even though prednisone, my nemesis, keeps knocking me down, not including all the other things this year that have attempted to knock me down - I keep getting up.
Bite me, prednisone! Ow! Dammit. Curse you, prednisone! Curse youuuuuuuuuuuu!
So here's the situation. Apparently, another side effect of prednisone is if I turn my head too fast while walking, I lose my balance , so I have to quick-freeze until I am re-centered, which is only a matter of seconds usually. I was on a small staircase heading up, when I realized that I had forgotten something, so I turned around to get it, but I turned too fast and my foot did not meet the step. Next thing I know I was flat on my back with my foot somehow twisting under me.
Me being me, I was also lying in cat food. You know. Like you do. I said to the Angels, "Are you kidding me? Really? No! I will not accept a broken foot on top of everything else!" Then I figured I'd better change my tone. "Please don't let it be broken! Please please please please please! Please?"
I remained on the floor, looking at the ceiling, trying to figure out if my foot was broken and breathing through the pain. It felt like a charlie horse. But like, if a charlie horse were on prednisone. I didn't hear anything snap or crack or whatever (oh geez sorry if that's gross). I steadied myself and got up and hobbled my way somehow to where there was ice and Tylenol.
I am fairly sure it is just a sprain, but if the swelling does not go down, I'll do the thing. Meaning you know, go to the place. I've just had it up to here with going to hospitals. But, luckily, while my insurance isn't stellar, it's adequate and at least I can get treated.
I would really like to take tomorrow off from work, but I do not feel like I can. First of all, I have exactly no sick time left, and I have also used up all my vacation time until December. I have Friday off this week to go to the doctor, so I can go to the ER or urgent care if I need tomorrow morning, and then go through the rest of the day. My friend got me a cane. I have named the cane Mr. French, and it will help get me around for the moment.
Second of all, I just feel like taking off from work would cement me as an unreliable employee, though my boss and all the powers have been very supportive in this, my Year of Perpetual Challenge. No one has let me think I am on thin ice, this is my choice. I love my job, obviously, or I wouldn't stay there since it doesn't quite pay all my bills. I am devoted to my boss, to my job, to the company, to the leadership, to the cause. So I feel I must go in.
You know what, you guys? I miss my Mom. I miss my stepfather. I have loving people in my life, and I have a sister who is an absolute gift and my best friend, and I have my three sweet little loving nieces and what would I do without them? But I miss my Mom, and I miss Pete. I wish I could email my Mom (she wasn't a texter, really) or call her and tell her about my foot and ask her what to do. I wish I could text my stepfather and ask him to drive me to the hospital and wait with me. Then he would sit in the waiting room and watch the news and yell at the TV, or maybe embarrass me with a loud obnoxious comment in an attempt at a funny accent when people were walking by.
My Mom ended most sentences she spoke to me and my sister with the word, "Honey," or, "Hon." More than she would use our actual names. If someone were to cross either one of us or mistreat us or take advantage of us in any way, my mother would call them and tell them off. She was funny. She had a wonderful laugh. She was an amazing cook. No one cooked like her, no one in the whole entire world, ever. Something like 99 out of 100 things she made were perfect, but she would always find a flaw and obsess about why she didn't add this or why she added too much of that. She loved going out to dinner. We did it often, but not so often that it didn't feel like a special event. The picture shown in this post was taken on one of the last nights she and I went to dinner. I can't remember where we went. But I had peanut chicken wraps and they were super good.
My Mom didn't drive. My stepfather tried to teach her before they got married. For reasons passing understanding, I was in the car with them. It was before my sister Caroline was born. I remember being in the backseat, and I remember a lot of yelling and panic.
That was the only driving lesson my Mom ever had.
My stepfather loved to drive, and when I was a kid, he drove supremely fast. A lot of my early memories of him are to do with cars. He had a GTO that he refurbished, and I remember driving in it. He used to love driving through water after it rained. Or really, racing through water after it rained. He was a receiver of a variety of tickets: Speeding, Parking, Passing, Missing lights. In more recent years, he did not drive as maniacally.
This time last year, I was realizing that I had PTSD and I was not at all in the holiday spirit. I just wanted to get through it. But, generally, I love the holidays, and this year, I decided to take time to appreciate them. I even already started listening to Christmas music. Though that's hardly unusual for me, I'm a November Christmas Music Listener.
I am not going to let the pain on the end of my leg or the consistent need to use my inhaler stop me from choosing peace. I am writing this to express my frustration that yet another thing has attempted to knock me down. But, believe it or not, I am still feeling somewhat positive.
I don't believe it is life that is knocking me down, but there is no denying that I have had a series of catastrophes both small and large. But I'm going to keep going. My foot will heal. My energy will increase. My breathing will get better, My writing will get done. My goals will be achieved. I can choose peace, I have the power to do that right now.
So, as I said, prednisone, my nemesis and a metaphor for challenge: Bite me.
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