A Word From Our Sponsor XV

With my heath in the proverbial toilet, posting has been a little slack of late.  I do apologise, but simply standing, especially when combined with the tricky act of breathing, has been challenging the last few weeks.

In.  Out. Stay upright.  In. Out.  Stop swaying.  In. Out.  Grab wall.  In.  In. In. Oh shit........

Fun times.

It appears that Bob was feeling a little ignored and he decided to throw a tantrum to get my attention.  It's worked.  All that screaming, foot stamping and dish throwing has been a little hard to ignore.  If only I could lose myself in a tasty bottle of mummies little helper, but alas that is off the cards at the moment.  I am already doing a fair impression of a slurring, staggering drunk, one little sip and I'll be on my ear, or singing Ke$ha songs.

I've been trying to catch up on some of that pesky blog administrative stuff that I always put off.  I've finally gotten around to writing an About page and added a Contact page.  Please let me know what you think.  If it makes sense.  If I look like a loon.  Or have created a grammar and spelling abomination that would make a unicorn cry.

Still working on updating my Dysautonomia Blogs list so if anyone has a blog about Dysautonomia and wants me to add it in please leave your link in the comments. 

In honour of Mother's Day I have re-edited an old post I did for 12 More Pages back in 2009, on combining motherhood and chronic illness.  It's easy to feel guilty as a mum for all the things we can't do for our children but it's time we gave ourselves a break and realise what's important.

Hope you all have a fantastic Mother's day.

Cheers
Michelle :)

I've been singing this a lot lately.  I'm thinking it would make a good Dear John song for Bob.

Basement Jaxx feat Lisa Kekaula, Good Luck, (2003)

Basement Jaxx - Good Luck on MUZU.

A Word From Our Sponsor XIV

Alternative title: I Am the Walrus, Koo Koo Achoo.

Shoot me now. Really, please do.  Or at least knock me out for a fortnight and wake me up when the world is a rosier place.  Next to the recent long list of horrific natural disasters that have happened around the world, my own grumbles appear petty. But hey, that has never stopped me from voicing them.  I'm sure others want to hear my long list of woe is me.  Particularly as I've been on strong pain meds for the past week.  If I break out in a tortuous rendition of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, blame the meds and look away quickly.  When combined with my delusional belief that I am undiscovered singing sensation thanks to a religious devotion to American Idol, it's not going to be pretty.   I believe "hot mess", is the term being used by the kids these days, and may best describe my current level of decrepitude.

In time I will regale you with my exciting exploits of the past week.  Be warned it involves my lady bits, a radiologist I call Igor the Inept, who makes Peter Garrett look competent (sorry, inside Australian political joke.  Peter Garrett in Midnight Oil equals musical gold.  Peter Garrett selling his soul to the devil to become yet another useless politician equals horror movie), and Mr grumpy adding adult jokes to an ABC book he was reading to a complete stranger's two-year-old whilst I tried to not pass out in my local ER.  Good times.  Though the fact that the little boy kept yelling "mummy" every time Mr Grumpy got to "E is for elephant", still cracks me up.

(Do not let this man near your ladybits)

Long story short, what should have been simple pelvic and hip scans has led to popped discs in my back, a popped right hip and and introduction to the delight that shall for ever be dear to my heart, Oxycontin.  I have spent the past five days flat on my back, trying not to move, whilst my three slave boys have brought me chocolate, drinks and taken care of household chores.  I think they realised it was an above average amount of pain as I actually requested an ER trip, when normally I would rather poke my eyes out with a rusty spoon and sit through the entire movie travesty franchise, that is Twilight, than go to the ER.

I have now added the joy of trying to pass petrified pain med poo, and my youngest monkey boys pestilence (common cold to him, ebola to me) to the mix.  Uncontrolled sneezing and popped discs do not good bed fellows make. 

I am still not up to date with responding to comments, messages or emails.  Part of that is due to FB which is trying to drive me to drink, by not letting me access my messages.  If you'll get onto that Mr Zuckerburg, I'll much appreciate it.  And part due to the fact I break out in tears every time I read the lovely responses to Processing.  Stupid drugs making me teary.

Hilariously my friend Kerri has given me a copy of a speech she is due to present at the end of this month, to proof read.  I'm not sure if writing "I am the Walrus" 2O times in the margin and drawing pictures of unicorns in left over dark chocolate Lindt bunny crumbs is going to help, but damn it, aint no mountain high enough, or pain meds sending me gaga enough, I am going to proof read this talk if it kills me.  That's friendship people.  Kerri is a tireless advocate for MS patients here in Australia, so the least I can do is add my cracking intellect to her talk.

(Bob + pain + pain meds + passing rock hard number 2s + pestilence = ......)

Okay, time to go and pass out in a corner somewhere.  I do highly recommend pouring eucalyptus oil in the bottom of your shower, turning on the hot water, closing the en suit door, lying on the tiles and inhaling the fumes, whilst whimpering in pain.  Not sure if seeing Ringo Starr sitting cross legged on the edge of my toilet, drinking champagne out of Thomas the Tank Engine's head is a good sign.  But his voice is rather hypnotic and he had some really good ideas on how to de-mould my tub.

Ugh!

Do-over week please.

Koo Koo Achoo my friends.

Michelle :(

On a serious note:  please give to one of the many funds for the survivors of the Japanese earthquake and Tsunami and the ongoing nuclear threat.  I was lying in the ER watching it unfold live on TV and I still can't wrap my head around the size of this tragedy.  My heart goes out to them and all those around the world touched my natural disasters over the past few months.

I do find singing dramatic 80's tunes as loudly as possible does make me feel better.  This (1982, original filmclip) one of my favourite power ballads.  Sung many times into my hairbrush as a child, sung loudly in the car to the horror of my children and their friends, as an adult.  "Turn around bright eyes. Turn around bright eyes.  Turn around", I hear you Bonnie.  I hear you.  Children of the 80's sing it loud and sing it proud. 

1984 live at the Grammys.  Bonnie Tyler, Total Eclipse of the Heart.

A Word From Our Sponsor XIII

Just a quick update to allay those pesky rumours.  I am in the Land of the Living.  Well sort of.  If the Land of the Living comprises the carpet locked nation of my bed and the small colonial island known as my couch.  I have not decided to forsake all worldly possessions and move into a cave sans internet.  Though it is tempting.  I have not been so embarrassed by Australia's pathetic political situation that I am ashamed to show my keystrokes to the world.  It does however, leave me with a hollow feeling deep inside.  Nor have I been kidnapped by Johnny Depp and been forced to do his sexual bidding (although I would not be adverse to such a situation should he be reading.  Am willing to get on board with Stockholm Syndrome on day one.  Am also willing to provide own bath products to overcome his lack of personal hygiene should this situation occur).

No no.  Nothing so interesting.  Instead it's been a case of The Blargh invading once more, life becoming way too busy, visitors, and a continuing battle of wits with Blogger for which I am woefully under resourced.

For those who have taken time to comment, which is much appreciated, I am not being a biatch and ignoring you.  Blogger has decided to give me intermittent access to moderate my comments.  Sometimes it'll show them.  Sometimes it wont.  Some days it will show me comments from weeks ago and then they will simply disappear into the ether.  I often wonder if they have been sucked into the mystical realm of odd socks, all the packets of Christmas cards I buy on special in the after Christmas sales so I'll be prepared for next Christmas but never find when December rocks around again, the elusive weapons of mass destruction, and the Amelia Earhart.  It has also decided to delete three posts I had ready to post in my drafts folder (and no, I was not bright enough to save a copy elsewhere) and told me that my blog didn't exist even though I was staring at it in another tab.    I am determined to win this battle even if it kills me, and it just might.  Well that or at least tax Eunice to the point of no return.

(I have a feeling this guy is hanging out in my Blogger account and causing all the mischief. Maybe I need to take some tips from this instructional video on how to deal with him.)

Reading has also been a bit beyond old Eunice for a while now so my list of blogs to read is now getting to unassailable levels.  I manage one every now and then but that's about it.  I may have to toss my list in the bin and begin again when I can concentrate for more than two nanoseconds. 

Okay have been staring vaguely at the screen for about 10 mins now.  Time to end.  Hopefully I can soon send The Blargh packing, will win the war with Blogger, and put together enough coherent sentences to create a post.

Until then,

.... So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, good night,
I hate to go and leave this pretty sight.
So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, adieu,
Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu.

So long, farewell, Au'voir, auf wiedersehen,
I'd like to stay and taste my first champagne
So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, goodbye,
I leave and heave a sigh and say goodbye,
Good bye .....

Ah, The Sound of Music, you do make everything better.  Will now drag my butt to my shower chair and break out in a breathtaking rendition of How do you solve a problem like Maria.

Cheers
Michelle.

A Word From Our Sponsor XII

Well my short lived affair with Midodrine is over.  I should have know that he was going to be trouble with all the effort it took to arrange our first date.  High maintenance, and a bastard to boot.  It was all about him from day one. 

Our days together went pretty much like this:

"Take me now Michelle" (lifting my eyelids and sticking his face 2cm from mine).
"Well I really don't want to.  I'm tired and I want to sleep in".
"Take me now (pout). Take me now, take me now, take me NOW"
"Okay. Okay.  I'm getting up.  Geez Louise take a chill pill".
"Take me now". (stamping feet and pouting like a two-year-old).
"All right I've taken you.  Will you shut up and leave me alone, I'm tired".
"You can't lie down.  You have to stay up and spend time with me".
"Listen buddy I don't really want to do that".
"Well I'm going to scream in your ear, poke you in the eye and jump up and down on your chest if you lie back down.  In fact I'm going to do that anyway cause I find it fun".
"Okay okay.  Can I lie down in a little while"?
"Nope.  Have you seen that episode of Buffy with the creepy floating Gentlemen? Remember, I'll scream.  Oh, and in four hours you have to take me again.  And then again four hours after that.  It's all about me lady".
"I don't think this relationship is going last".
"I don't care.
"You're a bastard Midodrine.  Have you heard of Lorena Bobbitt?"

So after a delightful pain-filled trial I have kicked him to the kerb.  He and Mestinon can go hang out together.  No doubt they'll have their own reality show soon, The Bastard Bachelors, complete with smarmy host, and a group of desperate, fame-hungry, vapid, peroxided, 20-somethings vying for their attentions.  Good luck ladies. 

Since I gave him the "It is you. Not me" speech, I've been walking round the house singing Paul Simon's, 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.



Now as happy as I am to be out of such a bad relationship, it has left me in the middle of no-man's land. My cardio can no longer suggest any new meds to try.  I knew it wasn't going to be a good appointment when I was lying on the bed in her office and she looked at my legs and went "Hmmmmm" and did her "Oh Shit" face.  Apparently if Midodrine was going to work my legs would no nolonger resembles those of the rotund, purple McDonald's character Grimace.  After much hmmmming and scratching her head, she actually leaned back in her chair and said "I really don't know where to go from here".

Woo Hoo just what you want to hear from your specialist.  She did give me some huge insights for my money though.

• I'm really ill (no shit Sherlock).

• My venous system in shot (ahhh yeah)

• There's no doubt I have dysatonomia (didn't we figure this out a couple of years ago).

• I don't fit into any of the standard sub-types (again, didn't we establish that a couple of years ago?).

• I have "Michelle's disease' (see above parentheses).

• I don't respond well to the available meds (Duh!).

• I'm not a nutter (parentheses people).

$120 well spent I say.  She did say if I (who knew I'm an autonomic/cardiac specialist?) can come up with any ideas she's happy to write a referral.   There are a couple of long shots that potentially may be of use, which I'll get into if they come about.  But I'm pretty sure from the look on her face that my chances of success are about as good as my chances of actually becoming Heidi Klum.  I know she cares, is frustrated, and is trying her best, but I'm pretty sure a "Dear John" letter is on it's way to my door.

After many hours of internet procrastination/research I did run across one med that might just be worth a try.  I wonder if my cardio will write a script?

What do you think?

Cheers
Michelle :)

Okay this is a late addition but I only just saw it on a friends FB page and I feel it may be the solution I've been looking for.

A Word From Our Sponsor XI

Well I have reprised my Emmy Award winning role as pharmaceutical lab rat once again this week.  After months of feeling like I am back to day one of my turbulent relationship with Bob, my doc recently uttered the delightful words "It may be time for a Midodrine trial".  Of course that led me to a full on Broadway dance of joy complete with jazz hands.  NOT!

Yep, trial time once more.  Treatment for Bob is basically a dose of medicine with a side of guess work.  What works for one doesn't work for another and may in fact create even more problems than what Bob can throw your way.  Joy.

Those of you who have read my blog for a while will know about my war with the Mestinon beast last year (you can revisit the insanity here, here, here, here, here, and here).  Now I did manage to slay it in the end, but it was a hard fought battle and led me to an unexpected and very unpleasant relationship with my porcelain lover, so I am less than excited about yet another foray into the unknown.  (Reading that back I realise that I sound like I have lost touch with reality a bit, but it does make sense, really it does).

Midodrine, like Mestinon, is like one of those relatives from "that side of the family".  You dread when they come to visit and know that if you don't hide the silverware and your wallet, you may end up with a $5,000 credit card bill linked to something called "Busty Asian Babes", and searching for grandma's silverware in a grimy pawnshop.

For those of you who are new or simply can't be bothered going back over past posts (not judging, just being realistic), Mestinon had been implicated in Gulf War Syndrome, YAY.  Though on a positive note, if ever there was a nerve gas attack in my lounge room I did stand a better chance of survival. See silver linings can always be found, and I am silver linings girl.  For example, when I heard that Johnny Depp didn't bathe, my first thought was what a great chance to offer him a sponge bath.  Silver linings people, sliver linings. 

Now my new bestie Midodrine, has it's own delights.  If you lie down within 4 hours of taking it you risk stroking out (luckily I get to take it 3 times a day).  Yep, obviously that makes it the top pick for someone with Bob, cause I never need to lie down.  Bob symptoms vs potential stroke.  Hmmm what to choose?  These are choices we are forced to make at this point in the cutting edge of Bob research.  Now I am still trying to find the silver lining but I'm sure it's there.  They are small so no big horse pills to swallow.  And they are colourful, little sunset orange pills, and I like colour.  Okay so they may be pretty crappy silver linings but I'm trying people, I'm trying.

So far I've had no run ins with my porcelain lover, and that is a good thing.  Lets face it hooking up with an ex never works out well.  However the excruciating headaches, exhaustion and chest pain are a little off putting.  Yesterday I had to go to the train station and by the time I had reached the ticket box I felt like I was having a heart attack (no exaggeration involved), which really wasn't all that pleasant.  Considering I was overtaken by a little old lady with a granny trolley I'm guessing it wasn't that strenuous a walk.  This does not bode well for my plans of exercising.

I wont bore you with the trials of even getting this stupid, potentially fabulous drug.  Suffice to say, it's not on the PBS in Australia and is considered experimental.  This means tedious paperwork, dealing with useless government bodies, the selling of my left kidney to pay for it, and lots of beating my head against a brick wall. 

On a brighter note I was recently asked to be a writer on a new group Dysautonomia blog called DARE: Dysautonomia Awareness Rarely Experienced.  I am joining a group of fabulous ladies (still unclear why I was asked but hey I'll go with it, until they realise their mistake and bring out the torches and pitchforks), from all over the world, different ages and backgrounds.  The aim is to raise awareness, to provide a central information hub and an unrestricted voice for those on the Bob journey.  I will still be contributing to the fabulous 12 More Pages, so now I just need to find the extra braincells and energy to get myself organised.

So in the words of the brilliant Monty Python (yes I'm going through a Monty Python phase), I'm following the philosophy of Always look on the bright side of life.

(Some days you gotta laugh even if you make an ass outta yourself).

So bring on the Camembert.

The Lab Rat Michelle :)

A Word From Our Sponsor X

What I am about to confess may be shocking, so you may want to brace yourself, pop a Xanax, and grab a bottle of "Mummy's Little Helper" * and chug.



My name is Michelle (dramatic pause, deep breath).........

..........and I am a little slow on the uptake.



I know you are shocked because I am always such a sharp, organised, finger-on-the-pulse kinda girl. Yet despite my keen powers of deduction, I managed to miss my own personal blogging milestone.

I have only just realised that I made it to 50 posts and cracked 3000 views, since September 2009.

Surely there's some application on Blogger that ensures fireworks, marching bands and streamers, the second the counter clicks over. Now I know I am an infant in the blogging world, barely able to hold my own head up and not yet able to roll over, but I'm excited, Big Kev excited.

Now I'm not saying that they have all been quality blogs. I'm not even suggesting that they were literate. I know many are grammatical abominations and most verge on a manic outpouring of verbal diarrhoea, but I got there. I hit 50 and that requires dedication and perseverance which are not something I am known for. I can't even commit to continuing a daily routine of cleansing and moisturising for 50 days. So I'm excited for me and am doing my own little Rickie Lake dance in my threadbare, but oh so comfy pjs, "Go Rusty, Go Rusty".

When I started this blog it really had no direction. It was going to be a place to vent my stress and insanity. I thought after the first week I'd grow bored, move onto my next chocolate bar and pursue my dream of becoming America's Next Top Model, (cause they make 36-year-old, Australian, saggy-boobed housewives top models right?). Yet here I am still taping away, exposing my madness to the world. I'm still waiting for the inevitable knock on the front door where either the men in white coats complete with over-sized novelty butterfly net, will be waiting to take me away; or the literature police will be standing there, hammer in hand to break my fingers, so I that I may never again befoul the blogosphere with my key strokes.

I had no idea anyone would ever read my ramblings. I thought I may get a handful of pity reads from friends or family (this is somewhat like pity sex where you are thankful for the effort, but really it's a bit 'meh'), though even that was never guaranteed. Yet I look over to the left and there are actually photos under the 'Followers' section and most of them are people I have never met. I am shocked that they are there. I keep glancing back over to make sure I'm not hallucinating and that they are real. I have no idea how half of you even found my blog. Was it word of mouth? Were you totally bored one day and typing random words into the 'Search' on Google? Was it written on the back of a grotty public toilet door next to "Pookie Luvs Shania" and "Call Bambi for a Good Time"? I'd love to know.

Now I'm realistic enough to accept that some of those photos probably represent people who joined but never read again, and just find the effort required to click 'unfollow' overwhelming. But hey I'm loving every single one of those little photos regardless. Would it be seen as patholoical weirdness if I were to print them out an carry them in my wallet in place of photos of my children?

The fact that the counter has clicked over 3,000 in the last 5mths amazes me. In fact I am rather lost for words. Thank you so much to everyone one of you for your little clicks. It makes a rather strange and unkempt hermit woman feel very warm inside.

For those who have taken the time to leave a comment or send a message I'm sending you big air kisses via the ether. The snazzy double-cheeked European kind. Though if that's a bit much, or you're afraid of internet Swine -flu, I can always give you the traditional Oprah double-hand hug, otherwise known as the "stay away and don't touch me you freaks" Oprah hug, reserved for non-celebrity guests. If you're a blogger you'll know that little burst of excitement you feel every time you see that someone has commented. You don't write for comments, but you treasure every one. I always try to respond, but Bob sometimes interferes with the plan. For those I've missed know your comment was truly appreciated.

So big love to all who taken the time to read, follow, comment or visit. THANK YOU.

I thought I would take this opportunity to let you now about a couple more of my favourite bloggers. Both of these ladies are fantastic, intelligent and wet your pants hilarious. (Hmmm...maybe I should hand out a free Poise pad with each review).

• The Vegetable Assassin: Veg, or The Vegmeister as I like to call her (not that she knows this or is really aware of the existence of an obscure mad woman from Australia, who nearly pees herself whilst reading her words. Too much information?), is a woman after my own heart. If sarcasm were a religion, then she would be my goddess (okay that may sound a little stalker creepy, I'm not really freaky, really). She is one who fully appreciates and uses sarcasm as an art form. Every time I see a new post in my blogroll I know I am guaranteed a good belly laugh with a touch of guffaw, which frequently scares the crap out of my dogs. She is irreverent and intelligent and always entertaining. Whether its her love of cake, vendiagrams and the humble VW or her hilarious adventures with an evil mouse or her addiction to a certain diet beverage, there is something for everyone. She is also the proud owner of one of the supreme blogs of the rant known as Central Digit, enter at own risk! The Vegmeister is also one of the rare bloggers who takes the time to respond to each comment. And not just a simple thanks. Each response is personal and unique and witty. You gotta luv that.

• Calling People Names: I have made reference to the wonderful Aly in previous posts. I love her writing. Again she is a blogger who ensures laughs. I have snorted coffee on my keyboard and I'm pretty sure I peed a little reading some of her posts. Whether its the drama of her childhood or her sexual escapades she is one funny and intelligent gal. Like the Vegmeister she is the owner of another blog, Alyce In Wonderland filled with beautiful and thought provoking poetry. She also has one of the hottest voices I have heard in a long time as evidenced in her recent vlog. For liquid, warm honey, sensuality, you can't beat that Southern drawl. Aly is also a responder who makes her readers feel treasured and you can't overlook that.

So a couple of ladies to keep you laughing no matter how shit your day may be.

As for my health.....well I think that can be best expressed by the Blood Sweat and Tears classic, 'Spinning Wheel':

What goes up must come down
spinning wheel got to go round
Talking about your troubles it's a crying sin
Ride a painted pony
Let the spinning wheel spin

(Ok so I don't get the painted pony part either, but there is a slight chance they may have been smoking some 'medicinal' marijuana, for nausea of course).

So a big thank you to all my readers you are tops. I hope you'll find it in your heart to take pity on the poor, pasty, brain-fogged and gravity challenged woman of Oz, and return to read more of my rambles.

The chuffed Michelle :)

*OK for the uninitiated, "Mummy's Little Helper" is wine. Every mummy needs a little help every now and then. Besides the way I look at it, wine comes from grapes and therefore can be classed as one serve of fruit.

A Word From Our Sponsor IX

Well I'm back from the wilderness finally. I think. Maybe. We'll see. Fingers crossed. Touching copious amounts of wood. Oh lord, I know I've jinxed it now, might as well smash a few mirrors and seek out a couple of black cats. Here puss puss puss.

Thanks to all for the well wishes, they were greatly appreciated. I will get around to answering them but it will probably take some time as whilst the mind is willing it is also beset by a rather thick brain fog at present. So sorry all, but at least you know I'm just brain dead and not being a complete cow and ignoring you. For anyone who has been hanging out for the next exciting instalment of the Adventures of Michelle and Bob, it may be time to get a hobby cause I'm really not that exciting. Actually dull may be the best way to describe my life and mental capacities at present. I do appreciate everyone checking back to see if I've posted anything new (makes my stats look good for very little effort on my behalf), so thanks for the perseverance.

Still on the recovery from my run in with that rather vicious wall. Turns out he brought some friends along and they all decided to play a hilarious game of Stacks On Michelle, which has left me rather bruised and battered.

It's been a long rocky road over the past month. My plan to be in the Guinness Book of Records for the best impersonation of a pin cushion is right on track. I've been poked and prodded, strapped up and down, zapped, scanned and sucked dry through copious amounts of blood tests. I even managed to have needles sticking out of both arms and a leg all whilst attempting to stand. I personally think they strap you down during these procedures so you wont be able to hit them with your pathetically weak arms each time they tell you to relax your muscles. I've also played the less than pleasant game of find the vein with my cardio for about an hour and found that I could still feel pain despite a local anaesthetic. YAY!!

My collection of acronyms is growing with the edition of SFN (I have chosen to rename it SNAFU as that just seems more appropriate at this point) this last week. SNAFU is Small Fibre Neuropathy, yeah exciting I know. Well you can take the girl out of the research but you can't take the research out of the girl, so I went on my usual path of trying to find out all I can about my latest edition. So first article, first line what do I find?, "small fiber neuropathy is increasingly being recognized as the major cause of painful buring sensations in the feet, ESPECIALLY IN THE ELDERLY". That's right "especially in the bloody elderly". Yep, I have added another old chick symptom to my list. That's so depressing. I really have to stop looking crap up. Ignorance really is bliss. Oh yeah, and the major drugs used to treat SNAFU lower you bp, which means I can't use them. I also get to be idiopathic girl again as I don't have any of the known causes of SNAFU. Woo Hoo!! According to my neurologist I'm "such a medical mystery". Well fanbloodytastic, that just makes my day. But wait there's more. I also have the most pathologically abnormal reflexes she's ever seen in someone who hasn't been diagnosed with a serious neurological condition. Surprise, surprise, she has no idea why. Well Merry Christmas to you too lady. I so need a holiday right about now.

I did manage to get out for one night which was a bit of a miracle. One of my physio chicks has made it back to the real world of ballet so we all crammed into a car to watch her performance. Between the four of us we managed to form almost one whole brain and not only picked everyone up, but got there, got a great park, found our seats and got home again in one piece. A triumph for all involved. So a big shout out to Sarah and her pointe shoes. I have no idea how she stands, let alone jumps on those things, especially with such grace and ease. Rather knackered the next day but so worth it.

Speaking of physio, we have recently been forced out of the hospital to a new gym. Our class is lead by a women who I believe is the long lost sister of the Supernanny, complete with the patronising, romper room accent. Well it turns out that we are "unasseptible". We talk and laugh too much, and are wasting her and our time. Delightful. We are also "sneaky", what the hell? I feel like I'm 12 again and have been caught hiding my over-cooked peas under my mashed potatoes! Sneaky my arse. So sorry our neurological and other illnesses mean we can't get into the gym bunny vibe. I am having trouble lifting a half kilo weight because I have a neurocardiogenic disorder (and apparently now SNAFU) not because I'm being lazy! Of course we are rather horrible for trying to make it all a bit bearable by having a laugh! So I must say I am not in the least inclined to make the effort to go back except I decondition at the drop of a hat. Damn it. My bestie Kerri has introduced a new swear word to the world after a recent trip to Ikea, "fargrik" (apparently it means plate, but "plate you"just doesn't cut it ). So I have decided to say fargrik to you nasty gym lady, fargrik to you!!

Well that's about it in a nutshell. There's probably more and I've likely missed something super important that's happened, but its all really been a bit of a blur. I think it's less blurry now but I could just be delusional from lack of blood to the brain. So just read this keeping in mind that I may still be in oxygen depleted fantasy land (it's really quite a lovely land that one).

Cheers
The recently SNAFUed Michelle :)

A Word From Our Sponsor VIII

Have been mugged by that god damn trouble making wall yet again. May be time to hire some body guards. My own personal Grizz and Dotcom, to beat the crap out of the next wall that comes my way.

Spring has hit and and consecutive days over 20 degree C have turned my body to jelly. Bad case of stubborn stupidity led me to the gym. Discovered it's rather hard to do a lunge (or stand) when your legs wont stop shaking and keep collapsing. Now resigned to a hectic Spring living the horizontal, glued to the aircon with my legs up in the air. Woo Hoo!!!

Off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz, yet again. Which means stop the meds which keep me upright and undergo the "unpleasant" test (doctor code for "oh my god this test will be worse than being forced to sit through both "Glitter" and "Crossroads" on loop"). A day of needles, more needles, and then a couple more needles. Ahhh the human pin cushion once more. Strap me down, prop me up, add a couple of electrodes, some radiation, and suck out a gallon of blood, and it all starts to sound like some strange fetish movie.

These pesky issues may impede my blogging ability a tad so it may be a while before I surface in the blogisphere once more. But do not fear you can't keep a Rusty Hoe down.

Cheers

The wall fighting Michelle :)

Sleep time.

A Word From Our Sponsor VII

Ding Dong the witch is dead
The wicked witch
The wicked witch
Ding Dong the wicked witch is dead

It's over! Woo Hoo! No more Mestinon for me. Time for a ritual burning of the bottle and left over tabs to cleanse the universe of their evil!!! (Hmm...maybe I've been watching way to much Supernatural, but hell Dean is hot). OK that may be a little over dramatic but I will enjoy disposing of those little white tablets. Who knew so much evil could be contained in such an tiny unassuming white tablet. I did persevere in the vane hope that they may have eventually turned out to be a miracle, but alas that was not to be. Not that I'm really shocked. Lets face it I've had little success from all the other meds I've trialled. But "you've gotta be in it to win it" as the saying goes, so I'm sure I'll be willing to trial the next little pill that comes along, No 3s and all.

So where to from here? Who knows. I'm personally thinking Barbados may be the way to go. My cardio says I'm so odd I may just be my own form of Bob. No POTS, NCS, OI or the like for me. That's right, I have a bad case of "Michelle's Disease". Woo Hoo! Me and Lou Gehrig, what a way to go down in history. Oh you have to laugh. I've pretty much embraced my freakishness now but I never really had dreams of becoming my own disorder; that just seems kinda pretentious. She did however confirm that I am normal. See a doctor said its so it must be true. I did ask her if I could get that on a card to show people. So it's official now I'm not crazy I really am just a little (well a bit more than a little) unwell!

Well at least I can say good bye, adios, auf wiedersehen, sayonara, arrivederci, and au revoir to my porcelain lover now that the Mestinon beast has been slain. All I have to say to you my pine fresh beau is:

Hit the road Jack
And don't you come back
No, more, no more, no more
Hit the road Jack
And don't you come back
No more.

So now it's off for yet more tests. Oh joy. Well until that time, I am going to rejoice in defeating the son of Beelzebub, Mestinon, and enjoy the novelty of a non-exploding body. See evil Mestinon I told you I'd be back. I won the war.

Veni Vidi Vici

Caesar Michelle :)

Oh man I'm so tired, time for sleep, sleep, sleep. Brain failing fast. Night all.

A Word From Our Sponsor VI

Lets see. How to sum up the last couple of weeks:

Week 6 of Mestinon hell begins. Still living the joyous life of the exploding body, burning toes and weird muscle spasms and shaking. Bob still the same old, same old, despite persisting with what now amounts to an extra 18 tablets of hell spawn a day. My doctor has to at lest give me an A for effort and persistence. Chest infection decided to pay a visit. Not like I had anything else going on. The doc I saw for the chest infection was not only a cow but also incompetent. My specialist physio class has been cancelled, which was the highlight of my week. And to top it all off, the ATM ate my card. Ever had one of those days, weeks, months, years, lives!

Bought a new car last week to help transport two teenagers, assorted teenage paraphernalia, two great danes plus me and the husband. Who thought it would be a good idea to give the brain fog girl a new, larger, fast moving metal object to manage? Too complex for my addled brain. Already I have been confronted by the complexity of the radio, which required a call to David. This apparently has provided he and his work collegues with much laughter and merriment. Why doesn't the magic sound box turn off when you take out the key???????? Oh you open the door and the magic sound box turns off, ahhhhhhhhhhh. I have also provided comic relief for the people in the next car space at the supermarket. 10 minutes of hysterical laughter at my escalating frustration and use of expletives in my attempts to try and lock all the doors on the car with the electronic locking thingy. Apparently they were too exhausted from their laughter to give me a hand. Oh lordy, I need to stay away from these newfangled, beeping electric/computer thingamajigs!!! I did think the greatest irony was that the former owner of our car was Pfizer! Yes, that's right Pfizer. I can't even get away from the drugs in my new car! Arghhhhhhh..................

Well my joy at feeling the cold has run its course and I am back to crazy thermostat. I realised it was truly over when we were driving in the car, me in a t-shirt, David in 5 thermal layers, with the aircon on full. I probably should have noticed the return of my weirdness when I could see David's breath in the car and the fact he kept putting his hands, one at a time under his armpits to try and warm them up. It's probably important to note that it was about 8 degrees C outside and hailing. I have had spurts of cold but not consistently (or when appropriate) and my thermostat seems destined to be stuck on surface of the sun!

I have however, discovered a new method to identify when I have reached the limit for my body. Swept half way down my steps, became dizzy and began dry-wretching. Subtle I know, but I do think I can spot that one!!

Continuing to live the dream.

Michelle aka The Stig :)

A Word From Our Sponsor V

Hi All

First up I just want to thank everyone who took the time to read my post on Dysautonomia as part of Dysautonomia Awareness Week. Thanks to everyone who took the time to also send the link out to friends and family. Only through knowledge can we even start to think about kicking Bob's butt.

THANK YOU!!!!!

Finally worked out how to put up a counter (only took me 4 mths, but hey that's quick for me these days, I'm just shocked I could do it at all), and I clocked over 200 hits for the week, which means over 200 more people know about Dysautonomia. Woo Hoo! Go the Pasty Faced Army!

Ok onto the medication freakshow. Well my mum always told me that if I didn't have anything nice to say................

I have decided to persevere for the 6 wks, it's week 4 now so I'll stay the course although living a life of No. 3s is not exactly how I envisioned my life when I was younger. "What is a No. 3" you ask? Well we all know what No. 1s and No. 2s are. Well there's an ad on TV now for nappies where they discuss No. 1s, 2s and 3s. No. 3s are shown as a baby rumbling in the backseat of a car and then every window of the car is blocked out with a brownish coloured "paint". Is this my life? Really? Has it sunk to this? They keep telling me your body adjusts to the meds but obviously my body is a little slow on the uptake, it may need remidial classes.

My porcelain lover is starting to irk me. He's rather cold and clinical, wears too much cologne and is a little short on conversation, and I think it's time I dumped him. These boots were made for walking baby!

And Blooger well it's starting to irk me to. (Hmm I must be in a bad mood today everything is irking me. Could be the fact I have decided to catch another cold thanks to my masachistic tendencies, not like I had anything else going on). I can't get my comments or followers to show yet again. They are on one day and off the next. WTF? Maybe Bob is infecting my computer too, who knows.

Alrighty have to go before my nose floods the keyboard again, or I face plant on the keys when I pass out from dehydration thanks to my excessive nasal flows.

Ahhh living the dream, living the dream.

Cheers
Michelle :)

A Word From Our Sponsor IV

Bob is a bitch. Actually I think we've probably established that fact early on in the piece but now he's sent his henchmen around to mess with me I'm starting to get a little shitty. (Just realised my rather ironic use of words there!). God damn meds. I swear they are a bunch of double agents. Mata Hari!!! Oh yeah they are all on my side really they are, working to make my life a little bit better one piece at a time. But in reality they are plotting with Bob to crap on my life again!! Underhanded bastards! (Hmm sounding a little paranoid today probably not a good sign. May have to get that checked out. Could just be delirium from lack of sleep and sniffing all that toilet freshener, but you never know).

Ok I can cope with a lot of things but there's a point and I've decided to stick my heals in. Coffee. Yes that's right coffee. Coffee is making me want to vomit. What's next chocolate? Now that would be the ultimate cruelty. Well screw you Bob, I'm not going to let you win this one. I am going to finish my cup of coffee, and if it comes out my nostrils in 5 mins so be it. At least I will have held my ground and savoured every last drop of the rich, smooth flavour of my espresso if but for a few minutes. I will give no more ground. I will not retreat. You don't know who you're messing with buddy.

This means war!!!!!

Oh crap. Times up! Gotta run NOW! Damn you Bob. You win this round. But like MacArthur, "I shall return".

General Michelle :)

A Word From Our Sponsor III

Ok a quick update on life.

Still spending way to much time with my porcelain lover but he now smells peppermint fresh and that's much more pleasing to the senses.

Weird side effect though, I actually feel cold. I hear what you're saying "Cold? That weird Australian woman doesn't feel cold", but it's true. I wasn't sure initially, it's been a long time and I didn't actually recognise the sensation at first, but I do. It was cold last night and I felt it. Still trying to wrap my head around that. So hope it's not just messing with me and I'll go back to my normal middle of the Sahara thermostat setting. We'll see. Not looking forward to increasing my dose tomorrow. Actually that's the understatement of the year. Gut wrenching dread may be closer to the truth. If I spend much more time with my peppermint fresh man my husband may begin to get jealous.

Tip for the day: If your doctor places you on the hell spawn Beelzebub's excretement, otherwise known as Mestinon, don't try and do the grocery shopping. It's not pretty, and is pretty much unpleasant for all involved. (Stupid Michelle, Stupid!)

Cheers
Michelle:)

And Now A Word From Our Sponsor II

Bob and the White Rabbit update:

Ok have started a new med. As if my Maraca wasn't big enough, now I need to buy the jumbo size. This one is a doozie. I get to increase the dose each week for 6 weeks till I get an extra 18 tabs a day. Woo Hoo!!!

Side effects (already) include vomiting, nausea and diarrhea. Most noteworthy information regarding this med is that it is implicated in Gulf War Syndrome. But on a brighter note I am more likely to survive a nerve gas attack should one occur in my living room. Now there's a bonus you don't hear every day!

And when that's all over I get to add another. Woo Hoo again!!!! Can I have the rough end of the pineapple pleaseeeeee......

As a result Bob posts may be reduced over the coming weeks.

Cheers
Superwoman aka Michelle:)

Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound and move faster than a speeding bullet to make it to my porcelain lover in time. Though I wish his cologne was something other than pine fresh. Would it really be wrong of me to pour my husbands cologne in the loo instead???

And Now a Word From Our Sponsor

Hi all.

Had a crappy week of flu flu and more flu. I will hopefully be up to writing more Bob influenced blogs soon. In the intermission I hope you'll enjoy the two insights into my insanity that are "Man Sick vs Women Sick" and "The Love That Dare Not Speak it's Name".

Flu + Bob = Crap with a capital C.

Michelle:(