(photo)Well, it seems I have run out of swear words. Who knew that was possible? I am forced to get creative with classics like "you purple donkey chair muppet" or "tissue sniffing glass bandit". Word salad (with a side of hypoxia) is a wonderful thing. I'm over being an adult, so I quit. Maturity is not for me. No way. No how. I'm going to pout. Scuff my shoes, and say "I don't wanna", over and over again. I'm going to take off my big girl panties and run around the yard swinging them above my head like a mad woman. Okay, maybe not the last one. My elderly next door neighbour may not cope too well with the sight of her crazy, sans undies, neighbour running around like a headless chook. Frankly, even my ever adoring dogs may be forced to re-evaluate our relationship should they see that little display.
I finally heard from my neurologist and will be seeing her this Wednesday. Two days. Ugh. Fanfrickentastic. Time for answers from my week of hospital testing. Stupidly, I've been peeved that it's taken so long and now that it's here and reality is about to jump up and slap me, I wish I was still playing the waiting game. My mind truly is a wonderfully contradictory and messed up place. The way things sit it's really a no win situation. Option A is that I have a disease of the nasty, better get used to the word 'bequeath', variety. Option B is that I have a disease of the nasty, wont kill you yet but there is no treatment and you'll slowly and painfully deteriorate over time, variety. Option C is they still have no idea of what is going on in my body other than I have a bad case of FUBAR, and I am left to continue on as I am, no idea why and no solutions. Which would also mean I have added to my collection of impairments for nothing (go sural nerve biopsy which is still swollen and scabby, 3 lots of antibiotics and five weeks later). YAY me. Can't wait for that appointment. Personally, I think my time would be better spent watching a bad SciFi movie like Frankenfish or Mega Piranha, or stapling empty Lindt wrappers to my head, as I ignore reality and immerse myself in chocolaty goodness somewhat akin to this scene from Chocolat.
On the good front. Youngest is slowly recovering from his second knee reconstruction of the year. And we are both slowly recovering from me having to help him bathe today. An event that surely rates as a highlight of any 14-year-old boy's life. Now if only we could get rid of the pungent teenage boy funk coming from under his leg brace, that would be lovely. In true Chateau Rusty style we did have a small familial celebration at his first post pain med poo. Lots of woo hooing and such. (When I think about it we do celebrate a lot of poo milestones in this household. There is also much in the way of fart humour. We even used to tuck our boys in at night with a goodnight fart, as well as a goodnight kiss, which always ensured giggles. Not much has changed over the years. I'm sure my mother is suitably proud). He's now sitting on the couch eating M&M's and watching movies, so I'm thinking alls well on his end. The good drugs will do that for you. Me, I'm still in recovery mode, though nearly 24hrs of coma sleep did help things along. Baking and gorging on cranberry and walnut hot crossless buns has also helped considerably.
On the personal front there's a whole heap of, out of left field need to be an adult, decision making to be done. All of which has left me feeling a tad overwhelmed, a tad manic, and desperately in need of a break from reality. Sitting in my pjs, watching 'so bad it's good' scifi, with a Lindt IV is looking pretty good at this point. I may even break out a bit of Two-Headed Shark Attack action to make it through.
I leave you with bad scifi at it's finest (2.6/10 stars according to IMDb) because it must be shared. Gigantic mutant killer piranha who fly and explode, and it stars 80's singer Tiffany and The Brady Bunch's Barry Williams! What more could you want?