Quiet Sunday Morning… T minus 33 hours

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It’s Sunday morning.  Valentines Day dinner was spent in the cafeteria of the hospital where my little girl is spending some time.  Corn Chowder and diet ginger ale.  Festive.  The hospital doesn’t have anything in the cafeteria but fruit juice that isn’t diet.  Fortunately, the gift shop has regular pop and it’s only $1.70.  It gets warm in the locker, but by end of visiting hours, the gift shop is closed and there is NOTHING around the hospital where you can buy food or gas or pop… or coffee.

Yesterday, the drive there was incredibly snowy.  The Ohio turnpike was closed.  There were wrecks everywhere.  We drove through very nearly white-out conditions.  I’m glad we went.  We brought books that she wanted to read and work through, and clean clothes.  We were very nearly the only visitors there.

Today it is less snowy, less windy, but way way colder.  The trip will be less scary, I think.  And now we know where to park.

Today marks the official end of my week off.  I’m not entirely sure where it went.  i got a good bit accomplished, but I have so much more I wanted to get done around the house.  I will have to make a more concerted effort at doing it in smaller bites rather than trying to tackle everything at once.  I do know that I OVER did it several times and my body protested loudly.

Nine weeks (almost ten) is too long to go between Orencia infusions.

Cold doesn’t seem to bother me nearly as much as heat and humidity did.

Stress wreaks havoc on my body.

Pain makes me extremely bitchy.

Stress wreaks havoc on my body… (it was worth repeating).

One cup of Sheetz mocha and two cups of regular coffee (one chocolate creamer, one regular half and half) all mixed together make a wonderful way to wake up on Sunday morning.

The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron is an incredibly good book that Squirrel Girl and I are both working our way through.  Me, through the electronic version, her through the paperback version we bought her yesterday.  I need to focus on my dreams as well as what puts food on the table and trying to be the duct tape that keeps everyone together.  The latter is far more exhausting than any of the former put together.

My knuckles scream… all of them… everywhere.  My ankles… my back… breathing aches my lungs (who knew that aches could be a verb).

I stopped my prednisone almost a week ago… just like the doctor said.  I’m living on naproxen and sheer grit.  I have to make it thirty-three more hours.  in thirty-three more hours, I get my infusion. I don’t care how sick I feel, I will not admit to anything other than the pain to my Rheumy’s PA.  I will get my infusion tomorrow… and afterwards, I will go to visit my squirrel again.

Listening to audio books chases the way too quiet away.  The boys sleep late.  The dog hunts the missing squirrel girl and lays at my feet.  I’ve been posting on my facebook vanity page.  I wonder if I can fix where these post…

It’s time to face the day…

 

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