My apologies for the length, randomness and disjointedness of this Debbie. I really cannot do any better right now. I’m sure I’ll be able to expound and clarify things in the coming weeks.

On Friday before my appointment, I was scared and I couldn’t figure out why. I said before that I thought I was improving. The Bell’s Palsy had appeared, but I was being treated and the hospital people were just going to just tell me I was doing great and they’d get my hearing fixed.

The vasculitis people [they who treat the Wegener's] were happy with how things were going despite the Bell’s. They reduced my steroids and upped the methotrexate and sent me off to see the ENT. ENT looked in my ears and we talked about the Bell’s and said he needed to get a colleague to look. Then they told me I needed to be admitted for a few days to get my infection under control. Apparently, Bell’s Palsy only applies when they don’t know the cause of the paralysis, they knew the cause here [the infection] so it wasn’t Bell’s and I needed to have more aggressive treatment – namely injections for the steroids and antibiotics.

I managed to do okay at first, Weasel and I got some lunch, I have her a list of things I’d need. We arranged to see each other during visiting hours. I didn’t have a time-line for the stay and I was so tired, overwhelmed, scared… Anyway, I wrote a few things down while I was there.

Friday Afternoon
I was scared about the hospital appointment today and I couldn’t figure out why. I guess being admitted might take some of that.
I was more scared for my face I think, the idea of having my face malfunctioning scared me.
I’m tired. I’m scared. I want to go home.
I miss Weasel.
I want to talk to my Mom.
I want this needle out, it hurts.
I meant to ask for my douche [for my nose] and I forgot.
I would like all this illness stuff to stop please.
I do not want to be here.
Please let me go home. Please.

Friday 10pm
Oh sweet girl, it will be okay.
These things hurt when they happen, mostly while they happen – but they pass.
You’ll look back with horror and sadness for what you had to live through, but you’ll live through.
If I could hold you through words, paper and pen I would.
If the sadness could be bottled and dosed out over time in more manageable chunks I would be the bottles.
Oh baby. Remember you are loved.
Feel homesick if you have to.
Feel angry if you have to.
This too shall pass.

I’m not sure if the latter part of that is unique to me, but I talk to myself like that when I’m particularly distressed. I’ve never seen it written down before though, I usually just say it to myself.

I didn’t have to have the IV polls or anything, it was a small needle in my arm that had a tube attached that they could inject through. It was more uncomfortable than anything, but there was only one or two comfortable positions to hold my arm in before it started hurting.

Saturday 10pm
I have started song rations, I can listen to four or five songs before the pain is unbearable. The headphones are awful [these are the ones that come with my hearing device]. I have such vivid memories of the songs. I nearly came. Music feels so amazing – it steals my breath.
My hearing is still dodgy at best, but I can hear when people talk more. I can listen to music and some TV.
I have spent the day crying off and on. I am tired.
I am watching a film called Downfall about Hitler’s last days – brilliant.
Weasel was here for four hours this PM. She gave me TV, internet and phone access. We had crummy sandwiches downstairs. There are Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups to be had in the hospital though! Drinks [pomegranate juice mmm]. Talks. Snuggles (Bliss!, Rapture!, Heaven!)
She has gone above and beyond duty.
I am so grateful to her for taking care of me.
I pray for an early release [they told me earlier in the day it would be Monday at the earliest] but my track record for this illness does not bode well. I suspect it will be Wednesday [the latest they suggested]. My lip sticks out more. I didn’t spit my mouth wash and I can wink. Maybe I will get a Monday release.
I am expecting an injection soon – then I will sleep.
Except I took my sleeping pill. Sleep…
Two very long days.
I am infected now I sleep.

The protocol was clearly working, my hearing was already improving, but I was having issues with the hospital environment and it was difficult to see progress and keep perspective.

It took me a little while to figure out the schedule. It was silly to take my sleeping pill at 9-whatever because I had to have an injection at 10. The schedule was one of the hardest things for me. They did morning rounds at 6:30 [although I woke up around 5/5:30 the first couple of days because of stress]. They didn’t feed us until 8:30/9 though so I was starving by the time breakfast came round. At the weekend they don’t bother with menus and whatnot so I was confused by the whole process and I was still having trouble hearing staff etc. The doctor did their rounds between 9 and 11. Lunch was at 12/12:30. Dinner was at 5 – so I was hungry again by 9 and I didn’t dare ask for anything. They drugs came and went at all times. I was having three injections a day. The anti-viral meds came five times a day. They took my blood pressure a lot. I understand the logic of wanting to keep an eye on people, but I am on beta-blockers which keep my blood pressure low for me so the misstep in logic bothered me a lot.

Sunday PM
I have fallen into the hope trap. My smile is nearly back and I know I have two more injections before rounds tomorrow.
I am scared to hope. I want to go home so badly.
I want this thing out of my arm. I want my DVDs, computer and freedom.
I want my wife. My boy.
Clothes – all my clothes.
Food – anything, anytime!
Showers!
Subtitles! Privacy!
Please let me go tomorrow.
Today was very up and down.
I continue to cry.
Mal & Stoat came today. They were great. Mal gave me permission to cry. They called my brave.
I have Peanut Butter Cups and Spider-man movie [which I listened to with headphones, resting my ears during the ad breaks]. I am trying to stay positive.
In a bid to see silver linings I will say that being deaf was useful for getting out of small talk. No idle chatter for me. It was a relief.
I also liked sleeping in quiet – but hated my heart beat.
Stupid hope. Keeping me up now – despite sleeping pills. Bah.

Obviously, my heart really wanted the Monday release, my brain knew it was unwise to get my hopes up. I can never stop myself doing that sort of thing. Like when I get obsessed or worried about something – which I did 1000s of times this weekend.

Re: Monday written Tuesday AM
Awful.
Got told one more day.
Meds bolloxed completely – the pharmacy had my chart all day so no meds for me. Including injections and anti-viral stuff was upset (overly) by the whole thing and felt so stupid.
I had to have more blood tests before they’d give me the methotrexate and the woman who tried to do it couldn’t find a vein to save her life. So I got poked eight times (once in back of hand). Finally, she got a colleague to do and it he got a vein and the blood first time.
Doodle came up to see me a few times which was nice. Mal showed up after work and they stayed until Weasel.
Thank god for these wonderful people.
Weasel just lays with me but it makes me feel so much better.
I am very blessed.
Handwriting is shaky at best. Feeling very out of sorts. Home will fix it.
Watched House of Flying Daggers on TV last night. It was pretty [very beautiful] but confusing. I would rather watch an ‘ugly’ Kevin Smith film any day with good dialogue and plot.
I’ve been told I can go home after a hearing test. She’s calling to get the time now. Please let it be soon. Home has been my sole thought since my arrival. Home.

Getting poked that much with the needle sucked. God it hurt, and of course it was stressing me out and she just kept telling me that the more stressed I was the smaller my veins would be and the more it would hurt. I can’t turn off the pain and upset. After she left another girl came and wanted to take my blood pressure. I’d just had a new injection needle/tube thing put in on the right and my left arm was the one that had just been poked eight times. She did it on the left. Then I had an hour to calm a bit and the other guy showed up.

There were other logic deficits as well that I had trouble with. I’ve been medicating myself at home for months, I bring my drugs to hospital with me. They lock my meds in a cupboard then dish them out according to one chart. If the chart is gone, I get no meds. So on Monday when the doctor said I needed to start ear drops they sent my chart down to the pharmacy and they kept it all day. I missed loads of my doses and I couldn’t have any painkillers and I was so stressed about it. I just wanted to let it all go, but I couldn’t.

On Tuesday, as soon as the doctor walked in I started crying, I was so sure he was going to tell me I had to stay another day. Thankfully though I could go as soon as I had my hearing test and had my drugs checked by the pharmacy. I was so desperate to go. I asked if someone else could collect my drugs later and let me go home, they said yes. So I had a dose of the anti-viral at noon, the next one was at three then I could go. So I arranged for Weasel and Stoat to be there at 3:15. At 3:25 I asked the nurse for my drug, I was ready to just miss the dose like I had yesterday if I had to. They found the last dose and we packed up and left.

Going outside and getting in the car was wonderful. I was still so tense though. I didn’t relax much until we pulled in the drive. First thing I did was get in the shower. Long, hot, uninterrupted and I could dry off completely before putting my lotion on and get dressed after my lotion dried. In theory, turns out I’m as weak as a kitten. I showered okay, but Weasel had to put my lotion on. I didn’t dry my hair. Weasel cycled back to the hospital at 6:30 and collected my meds, 3:30 release is 100x better than 6:30. Thank god for her.

The anxiety disorder definitely reared it’s head during all of this. I was a complete wreck. I cried on and off the entire time. I couldn’t stand the schedule and having to do everything with an audience. I hated not being able to get my own water [for example]. Weasel really said it best, hospitals are scary, boring and lonely. I am very independent and I hate asking for things.

Today I’m still really tense and sort of shaky. I feel like there are things I am supposed to be doing, but I don’t know what they are and it’s making me more nervous.

This has been so incredibly hard to write, but if Debbie has taught me anything in the last lord-knows-how-many-years it is that getting it out is better for me. Writing all of this down helps me process how I feel and get it out of my system. So perhaps now my chest will loosen and I’ll be able to stop feeling so overwhelmed.

I’m back to the doctor’s tomorrow. My sick note has long since run out [or has it run out today? I've lost all track of time], my birth control and antidepressants need a review and I desperately need to have advice on relaxing. This hospital stay fucked me up.

Last night I just sat with my Simpsons DVDs, I talked to the boy on the phone for the first time in a month, I had pizza [crunchy food with flavour!!], I talked with Weasel, I called my family. They’re all in Phoenix with Blanketgirl and her family for Thanksgiving. I so want to be there with them.

Today has mostly consisted of sitting around being so very glad, grateful and happy to be home. I’ve been trying to breathe and stay calm, it hasn’t really worked. I’ve watched more DVDs, I’ve updated loads of programs and downloaded many things [my poor computer hadn't seen any action since the 11th!] and I’ve been listening to music!! Everything sounds a bit tinny and far away, but I can hear it and I’ve heard this so much my brain fills in the holes my ears leave. I’m just so happy to have some music. It is useful for blocking out the in-my-head hospital noises too. I can hear the nurse’s station phone ringing and the beeping of the the blood pressure machine. I’m definitely better than I was 24-hours ago, but I think it’ll take me at least another two days to return to anything normal.

The other thing bothering me is my body. It doesn’t look like my body anymore. My legs have been rock hard for six years, I’ve been lifting weights at the gym for three years, I work hard. My legs are becoming softer, I can see it. My face looks strange, with my nose saddle and half working smile. I don’t see me anymore, I don’t feel like me.

My arms look like an addicts.

Over the last week or so when I finally started sleeping better and things were hurting less, I managed to convince myself that there was light at the end of the tunnel. I was approaching that knife edge I keep balancing on: trying not to push myself because I was feeling better but trying to do more than I have been. In short I though I was getting better finally.

Then on Tuesday night, I brushed my teeth and smiled at myself in the mirror, only to find that the right side didn’t work.

I panicked momentarily then I went and showed Weasel, we talked about our options at nearly midnight on a Tuesday night and decided to call NHS Direct. They said it sounded like Bell’s Palsy and I should see my GP the next day.

We got an appointment for 5pm and the doctor confirmed, Bell’s. I have a prescription for anti-viral drugs.

This actually explained a few things for me, last week my right eye was watering like crazy. On Saturday we made bruschetta and I had trouble keeping my lower lip out of the way when I bit into the bread. When I used my mouth wash little bits kept squirting out. When I shut my eyes to go to sleep my right eye seemed to slip back open a bit.

It isn’t complete, my forehead seems okay, I have trouble squinting but I can still shut my eye. When I wiggle my nostrils the right one doesn’t really move. I can’t smile. The doctor said it was very rare for a case of Bell’s like this to be permanent, it was usually the ones that lost all control on the entire side. Should be better in a few weeks, eight maximum. We hope.

Doctor wasn’t sure if this was related to the Wegener’s or not, so on Friday when I see the hospital people they’ll have to look at it too.

My current sick note for work runs out this week, we have a second one that’ll take me to next Tuesday. After I’ve seen the hospital on Friday I have to see my GP again on Monday [two week follow-up for the antidepressants] and the latter can arrange for another note.

I’m not sure what else I can do, I’m still deaf. I am still taking 2-3 naps every day. I’m medicated up to my eyebrows.

After the doctor’s I wanted some air. I asked Weasel if we could walk home. She said yes and said that if I needed to stop and get a taxi that she had her mobile. So we headed off. I did it, I walked all the way home. It was tiring and sort of cold, but I did it. I haven’t moved that much since early October. I have plans to walk home from the hospital on Friday too. Unless this pain in my neck gets worse or my ear falls off or I break a leg by looking at it cross-eyed.

It would be very easy to fall into a ‘why me’ trap right now, so I’m trying hard not to.

I wrote my Mom a very long e-mail today all about that’s happened lately because I don’t know when Weasel last spoke to her. Seeing the last three weeks spelled out like that was sort of distressing. Day-to-day my life feels pretty dull, I’m not able to do a lot. But when I can save it all and list it, I can actually see that things are changing, that good things are starting to happen.

Ever since I started douching my nose for example, I can breathe more comfortably and my nose hurts less. I am sleeping better [not brilliantly, but better]. I don’t fall asleep easily these days, but once I get there I can stay there for up to nine hours. I still have two naps during the day, but I try not to sleep after 5pm to protect my night time sleep.

This isn’t an ‘every night’ thing yet, I still have a night when I don’t sleep, or it is ‘dozing’. I still have days when I wake up with headaches so bad all I can do is take drugs and go back to sleep.

It also highlighted the changes in her life. She and my Dad celebrated their 32nd year of marriage on the 7th. I told you about my dog passing away, she says that my sister invited my Dad to look at puppies. I’m not sure if it is for them or for her, I asked though.

I didn’t tell you about my Grandpa [her Dad] passing on October 27th from West Nile Virus. I can’t imagine what she’s feeling. I’m not feeling much of anything. I didn’t know him all that well, I only saw him a couple of times a year [and only once in the last eight years] and I always felt vaguely awkward around him. In fact, I only realised that he and Horatio shared a birthday when my Mom sent me his life sketch.

I told her that Weasel and I were both on antidepressants. I am not looking forward to the many conversations about depression that are bound to follow. She likes to dwell on it and poke at it and really examine it whereas I like to pretend it isn’t there and I’m fine really. Just with this one and right now because my coping molecules are maxed out.

This year has had too many little and big things of a negative nature. I want things to be good, fun and easy again. I keep having things discussed about ‘when I’m better’ and I wish I had some idea of when that will be. In theory my sick note runs out next week and I have to go back to work. I have another note somewhere taking me to the 25th [?] but I suspect I’m going to need longer. I can’t even walk around the block without needing painkillers and a three hour nap.

That’s the thing about the future though, no idea what’s coming.

Last night I got out all of my evening drugs, the beta-blocker, a vitamin, pain killers and an antidepressant. I took them all and continued on. My brain sort of woke up a few minutes later and said, ‘hold on, did you just take two little white pills? was one of them an antidepressant?’ and I was like, ‘yeah’ and it was like ‘sweet lord, you take that in the morning – you’ve totally just overdosed!’ Then my stomach dropped out and my heart stopped and I died.

Okay, I maybe didn’t die.

I instead read my leaflet, the ‘If you take more Citalopram than you should’ section which says, “Talk to a doctor or pharmacist immediately. Symptoms of an overdose include: sleepiness, a condition of near unconsciousness with apparent mental inactivity, reduced ability to respond to stimulation of coma, seizures, changes in cardiac rhythm, irregular heart beat, feeling sick, vomiting, discolouration of the skin, sweating, hyperventilation.”

This made me a little nervous so I called out to Weasel who immediately came to my aid. After panicking at her a little and asking if I should go vomit or similar and showing her the leaflet she gently pointed out that I was only taking 10mg. Which is tiny small. In fact, elsewhere in the leaflet, it even says, ‘the recommended starting dose is 20mg per day’. It had been a good 12-hours since the previous 10mg, so I decided that today I’d take my ‘morning’ dose at midday then tomorrow I could go back to morning as usual.

Amazingly, this is only the second time I’ve overdosed during this illness. I keep track of my painkillers on a bit of paper so I know what I’ve taken and when. A few weeks ago, I reached the end of the first column and had started the next with a Tramadol hydrochloride at 4am. Around 5am I was still awake, still miserable and still in pain. I got my painkiller sheet out and didn’t see the start of the second column and according to the first column I could have another dose of something. So I had some Dihydrocodeine. I’m allowed to take both in a day, but not at the same time. Every four hours maximum of four time in 24-hour I can have one or the other.

So cue the panic and the getting Weasel again. Again she talked me down and we decided I was probably going to live.

I currently take 4-6 doses of painkillers every day [four kinds], five kinds of vitamins, beta-blocker, antidepressant, immune suppression drugs on Mondays, folic acid on Fridays and steroids. My little table by the TV looks like a pharmacist’s shelf.

I want to be off all of them.

After I finished watching all my Friends boxset, Doodle very kindly lent me Veronica Mars season one, Gilmore Girls seasons one-six and a few movies. I’ve watched them all and returned them. I’ve got plans to mix-n-match Simpsons seasons one-10, Firefly and Alias seasons one-five. I’ve started with Simpsons, I watched all 13 episodes of seasons one yesterday and today and I’m well into season two.

One of the episodes was of course Homer’s Night Out, where Bart takes a photo of Homer dancing with a stripper at a bachelor party. I could never figure out what Marge’s problem was. I don’t think it counts as cheating, I don’t buy the whole ‘objectifying women’ lark and seriously, it was a bachelor party – aren’t strippers part-n-parcel?

Robin from work sent me a card yesterday. I thought it was going to be a bog-standard ‘get well soon’ job. She did say that and that she missed me. But then she said that A has handed in his notice and his last day will be 30th November. I’m not surprised, I knew A had wanted out for a long time. What confuses me though is that he doesn’t have another job lined up, and leaving now when I’m sick is just a shitty thing to do. I’ll barely be back to say goodbye [and I may not even get that] and whoever replaces him will have to wait while I get re-established and settled. I expect to get back to work before my health is 100% as well, so that extra stress isn’t going to help me. There is never a good time to quit, but I thought we had a fairly okay vibe between us and I feel like this one time he could have hung on for a month to help me out. Although if he doesn’t get another job he may end up staying [according to Robin's card].

I’m sort of mad that I found out this way too. I have deliberately stayed away from anything that could cause me stress because my pulse tends to sky-rocket and I stop sleeping and then my head/teeth/neck hurt 100x worse because of the anxiety. I’ve learned my lesson though – Weasel must check all post for me before I see it. Right now, my focus is on getting better and screw the rest of the world. Being deaf means that the phone is off limits and if I don’t e-mail people they assume I’m not well enough to use the computer. No one who would want to stress me out [Mom, work] reads here so as usual I use Debbie to vent.

Weasel has been working on Library Thing like crazy cataloguing all our books [all our books, including music books]. She brings a stack of 10 down every hour or so, puts them in and gets a new stack. It is an impressive undertaking and I’m just glad I’m not doing it. I do wish there were a way to sort of link our profiles together. I’ve only made a half-hearted attempt when I first found it. The adding tool difficult to use and I am never sure whether X book counts as ‘mine’, ‘hers’ or ‘ours’. Ah well, as long as something is bringing her joy.

Just back from having more blood taken for testing. They like to watch what it is doing when I’m being treated for all this crap, apparently my white blood cell count could suffer.

Stoat came out and collected me, drove me there, waited for 10 minutes in the car park then drove me home. He has taken me to my last two hospital appointments and at least three doctor appointments now. To save us the taxi fare and to support us. Because Weasel doesn’t have to get me home safely she was able to cycle to the doctors, meet them with me then cycle to the pharmacy before coming home. Most of my prescriptions are being refilled – six of them. Three painkillers, immune suppression, sleeping pills, calcium+vitamin D.

Stoat & Mal have always been so wonderful, so supportive of Weasel and I. Back in 1999, Weasel and I were just learning each other, getting ourselves established. We had a system worked out, Weasel got paid on Fridays, we bought food on Saturdays. One Friday the bank decided instead of just processing the cheque they’d sit on it for a week. So we had no money. My parents had sent us a cheque in dollars for Christmas, but because of the currency conversion the cheque didn’t clear for ages. So we had money waiting patiently for us, meanwhile we didn’t have any food. Weasel’s parents came round a gave us a box with cereal, cheese, bread and canned goods. They saved us.

When our ‘landlord’ at the time decided that he was going to be going away in January for an extended period and we couldn’t stay in his house Stoat & Mal agreed to let us move in there. Doodle very kindly moved into the box room [tiny 'third bedroom' that you can't swing a cat in] so we could have the other double room.

When it came time for me to apply for residency in the UK Stoat & Mal wrote letters on our behalf and agreed to support us financially should the need arise so that I wouldn’t use public funds.

They are really amazing people and I feel so lucky to have found Weasel and ended up as a part of this family.

It made losing my family a little easier to bare.

I’ve always maintained that we wouldn’t have done so well if we hadn’t had their support and encouragement during the early days. We are better because we have watched their example. I am so grateful to them for all that they’ve done for us over the years. I just wish ‘thank you’ sounded as big as I mean it to be.

Lately when I encounter new people I say straight away that I’m deaf and apologise if I ignore them or seem rude. The funny thing is that every single person I’ve said this to has gone on to talk to me. Probably saying something like ‘it’s okay, I understand’. But I can’t hear them so I just smile. Sometimes if I have a notebook handy I’ll pass it to them and get them to write it down.

I’m getting better at understanding mime. Weasel is particularly adept. For years we talked about taking sign language. We both find it fascinating and we thought it would be a fun way to talk to each other in plain sight. Especially since I love talking about people around us and she’s always worried that they’ll hear. I wish now that I had pursued it more aggressively, I went as far as looking up the dates, times and prices and meaning to show them to Weasel for her thoughts but that was it. I wish I’d followed through. We will still do it – we’re both still interested; I just wish I’d known that I might need it some day.

This has made me think a lot about people who are permanently deaf. How do they cope with people who try to talk to them even after learning that they’re deaf? Do they just stick with friends and family who know about the deafness, know sign language or have notebooks to hand? Simple things like the doorbell or telephone become challenges. The timer for the bread or oven, the humidifier letting me know it is out of water – all of these are indicated with beeps and rings. What about smoke alarms and carbon monoxide monitors?

And god the music. I miss music. I hear songs in my head all the time, my pulse often sets the beat and picks the song. How can people live without music?

I invited Weasel to watch a film with me on Sunday and she selected Serenity. We put it in and I pushed my subtitles button as usual and it didn’t work. I assumed the disc didn’t have them. It was disappointing. I felt bad that I was going to ruin this fun thing for her because I couldn’t hear. Thankfully Weasel is a resourceful sort and she read the box and went back to the main menu and selected subtitles from the language menu. We enjoyed the film as usual.

Weasel got a shiny new computer last week, she got all moved in and everything was great then it died. They picked it up yesterday evening and hopefully we’ll have it back no later than Saturday. Thankfully she was able to rescue all her data. I haven’t been using my computer much – just the bare essentials so I’ve handed it over to her for the duration. This actually worked out pretty well for me because I’m using the media server that’s hooked up to the TV instead. I’m not able to wear my glasses/contacts so having the extra huge font sizes works well, being able to lay down and browse websites is excellent.

If you’ve read Weasel’s website at all, she mentioned that she’s on antidepressants now. This is her first time on them. I started mine today. We’re both fairly depressed and anxious these days. This is my third time taking them. When I was 16 they diagnosed major depression and an anxiety disorder. They put me on a new drug called Paxil. It later turned out that Paxil wasn’t good for children and it also increased suicidal tendencies. After I nearly killed myself in 1997, they switched my drugs and I improved. I stayed on the antidepressants until 1999. I weaned myself off them after I moved to the UK.

In 2004 I was having trouble with my job, our noisy downstairs neighbour and a complete lack of fun in my life. This time it was minor depression, but the anxiety was still there. I stayed on the antidepressants for eight months. This time I thought I’d dodged the depression bullet and went straight for the anxiety, but having talked with the doctor yesterday it seems not. She drew several circles: ‘Guilt’, ‘Frustration’, ‘Pain’ and ‘Anxiety’. In the centre where they all overlapped she wrote ‘Depression’. So although I don’t feel depressed as such, the accumulation of all of this leads to it. I expect that depression is going to be something that shows up periodically throughout my life. I hope that I get better at dealing with it every time.

I’ve been very weepy for the last month. I presumed it was exhaustion, frustration and general illness. I’m thinking that I might have wanted it to be those things so I couldn’t deny the depression a little longer. I don’t like being depressed. I don’t like how my Mom behaves when she knows I’m depressed.

I miss having plans. Making plans. Planning the next visit with the boy. Anniversaries. Birthdays. Christmas. I’ve hesitated on all these fronts because I don’t know how I’ll be doing in two weeks or even tomorrow. I have to have a blood test tomorrow. They’ve got me continuing with my Wegener’s treatment for at least another two weeks [steroids and immune system suppression]. I have my next hospital appointment on the 16th. In theory I have to be back at work on the 15th. I’m not sure how that’s going to work. I’m trying not to think about it because it stresses me out.

I keep telling myself that things will get better, I just have to wait. I remind myself that I nearly died October 1997 and I met Weasel in January 1998. Four months for my world to change beyond recognition. I’ve also decided that we’re totally stockpiling some serious karma here and the pay-off will be awesome.