Showing posts with label Jensen Ackles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jensen Ackles. Show all posts

Monday, 12 March 2012

No Need For Padded Walls: Staying Sane With Chronic Illness

Guest post time: After yet another unsuccessful attempt at scheduling posts here's hoping third time is the charm. For those who sent well wishes, big thanks and love to you all. My youngest made it through surgery and is now sporting a rather fetching, if fetid full leg brace. It's been a looooong week and a half and my exhaustion is at a point where I'm not really sure if I'm awake as I type. Fingers crossed this isn't a bizarrely bland dream and I am actually managing to get this posted. Or if it's a dream, a shirtless Jensen Ackles will soon be in too give me a back rub and make me margaritas as I type.


Either way I am still down for the count, so the guest posts will be rocking out for a while yet, whilst I try and nurse my body back from death warmed up, to death slightly more warmed up.


First up we have the fellow scifi geek and all round rockstar after pointing me in the direction of a Firefly themed Pintrest board, Claire Foust Martin. Claire is a "scuba diving marine biologist turned floral designer, turned chronic illness ass kicker. Mom/wife/blogger & fighter for patient rights for POTS & Dysautonomia". She can be found regularly blogging at STOP POTS Virginia, and her personal blog Bye Bye Bella Flora


 No need for padded walls: how to stay sane with chronic illness. 



Fourteen , count 'em - FOURTEEN - months either at home or in the hospital/doctors offices for me, with no social outings.  And I'm not the only one, or even close to the one with the longest record of time spent indoors.  I had been feeling a bit overwhelmed by the lack of outdoor time, and constant focus on my illness, my kids (with no break), and searching for ways to get better.  Life is about balance (insert "oooommmm" yoga zen breathing pause for effect here).  Even if you are not completely bed or home bound such as myself, you may be severely limited by your illness, and going a bit bonkers being indoors more than the average healthy person, not to mention being sick.
 
So how the hell do we all stay sane?  I REALLY want to avoid the padded walls of a psych ward, even though the padding wouldn't do much good - as I can't walk far enough to run into them.  Padding on the floor would be great though, in case of random face planting incidents. And as sexy as helmets can be - I'm trying to avoid those too.  But just in case, here are a few stylish options, for those of you that unintentionally share my love of hugging the floor and have a fear of the sharp hard edges found in bathrooms:


Pretty bike helmets...but kind of boring.






Bobba Fett's helmet, which I prefer - mainly for dramatic geek effect if found on the ground by anyone.

 


The MEGA NERD and hostile option - a Cylon helmet, with a pointy menacing looking top to impale obnoxious medical workers.


So here are a few tips to finding some balance, avoiding the padded walls, padded bed railings, various helmets, or being strapped down in a straight jacket for going nuts from the isolation and confinement of chronic illness:
 
1. Get online and find support.  This has been the biggest help for me - finding facebook groups, blogs, twitter friends, awareness groups with forums - and start talking and meeting others.  Just knowing you are not alone is amazing.  Many groups (including my site, STOP POTS Virginia, and the non-profit I am involved with, The National Dysautonomia Research Foundation) are starting up Skype meet ups.  Skype is free, and allows you actual face time with other people with your illness.  POTSgrrl recently did this very successfully as well.  Our Team Fight POTS Facebook page is also an easy tool to find online resources, and features many excellent bloggers and links to other pages.



2. Of course there are the standard reading, TV, and movie options - I find that I have become completely burnt out on TV, so I take days and marathon my favorite movies and shows that I have on DVD.  They are usually on in the background as comforting noise.  Hearing "Take my love, take my land, Take me where I cannot stand, I don't care, I'm still free, You can't take the sky from me."  relaxes me and if I need to lay back from whatever I'm doing, I know that Captain Tightpants is gracing my TV while I take a break. (This is a Firefly reference for you un-nerdy folk). 

3. Help others. In my current state, I feel like I am taking and taking and taking - and not doing much giving. Relying on others constantly for support is a real ego blow, and makes that whole "productive member of society" thing kind of tough.  Start a blog, volunteer online, post dirty pictures for poor lonely soles...wait...don't do that, but - you get the idea.  Finding a way to feel useful and helpful to others is proven to increase self esteem, take your mind of yourself and your illness.  It always reminds me that there are many people WAY worse off than myself.


                                         Star Wars peg people!


4. GET CRAFTY.  My hands aren't working too well these days, and I know many other dysautonomia peeps deal with the same thing (and all the other muscle affecting, flaccid finger inducing illnesses do as well).  This has been tricky to figure out - but Pinterest has become my new best friend.  There are loads and loads of links and pictures of crafts on there - and I weeded through many to find some that will work from bed, are cheap, and I can do while my infant is sleeping, that I also can put down and easily start back up when I feel well enough.  I am embarking on painting peg people, and can't wait.  I plan to make Storm Troopers, Jayne with his famed hat, a few Superheros for my son, and maybe a fairy or two for my daughter.  Definitely Princess Leia for my daughter though - have to start her young (she's 6 months old).  And maybe a soccer player for my husband. I'm WAY to excited about these peg people, but that's the point.  You may even get crafty enough to open an Etsy.com store and sell your goods, or sell them and give part of the proceeds to your favorite charity.
5. Get dressed, put on some make up, and maybe do something wild and crazy to your appearance.  I just dyed my hair a crazy shade of maroon (it was supposed to be purple-ish, but my hair had other plans). The act of dying my hair left me bed ridden for days, but was totally worth it.  Since I am no longer working in a professional environment, this was my middle finger in the air rebellion at commonly accepted hair colors.  It may seem lame, but really was empowering. I love it. And everyday I am able, taking the time and expending the energy to put on real clothes, and maybe even some makeup - even if I'll just be laying around the house makes me feel less sick and more "normal".

 I'd like this little nook somewhere in my house.


6. Last one!  Make your environment the most comforting to you as possible.  If that means you are stuck primarily in one room, try to get help, or do a little every day, to make it the best, happiest, coolest, or whatever adjective works for you - place possible.  Some people like zen, some like organized, some like lots of greenery.  Make your favorite or most used space (indoors or out) the most happy place you can, so you can literally go to your happy place.  I love color, plants, and things to be organized.  I had to explain to my husband why the chaos of having drawers left open, or things not in piles drives me nuts.  And I need to be as un-nuts as possible, and boy is he is on board with that.   We are moving back to our old town home that we own (and can paint), and our bedroom will have bold colors on the walls, because they make me happy.  The white walls of our rented apartment near my hospital have been tough, as I HATE white walls. So they are covered in pictures and colorful things for now, and we keep the room neat and organized.  It makes a huge difference for me.
 
Do you have any tips to help others stay sane while battling chronic illness?  Post them below!  Would love to hear your suggestions.
 
-Claire 

Wednesday, 16 June 2010

Mr Sandman Bring Me A Dream: Insomnia (Part I)


Average night in the Rusty Household: 

9:00pm 
Feel exhausted go to bed. Close eyes and think happy thoughts (ie, spin hot guy wheel.  What will it be tonight? Shirtless Johnny Depp, shirtless Christian Bale (Batman Begins only), shirtless Jensen Ackles, shirtless Viggo Mortensen (Aragorn version only, he really needs to be grotty and dirty or it's a no go), shirtless Dave Grohl (don't ask me why, but the man has that weird musician hot thing going on, besides have you heard the acoustic version of Everlong? mmmmm), shirtless....well you get the picture).

9:30pm
Still wide awake.  Spin hot guy wheel again, "why yes Batman I would like a back rub".

10:00pm
Still wide awake.  Realise I need to go to loo.  Try to ignore need to go to loo.  Know that now I realise I need to go to the loo I will never go to sleep until I go to the loo.  Swear.  Get up and go to the loo.

10:30pm
Fall asleep. 

10:40pm
Wake up.  Toss up whether to look at clock.  Know I will be disappointed if I look at the clock so decide not to look at clock. Close eyes determined not to look at clock.  Not looking.  Not Looking.  Not Looking.

10:45pm
Need to look at clock overwhelming.  Look at clock.  Swear.  Turn away from clock.  Close eyes.  Try to relax and find hot guy wheel once more.  Fail and lie there fuming.

11:30pm
Still wide awake.  Go to loo yet again.  Launch myself at bed in attempt to wake up Mr Grumpy so he can suffer with me.  Fail.  He continues to snore.  Bastard rubbing his premier sleeping ability in my face.  Contemplate smothering him with my pillow.

Midnight
Still awake.  Listen to possums making sweet, sweet, love on my corrugated iron roof.  For those of you outside of Australia, it is not pleasant to listen to rooting possums on your tin roof.  There is screeching and thumping, punctuated with hissing and weird clucking sounds.  It is LOUD.

12.45am
Still awake.  Go to loo yet again.  Listen to possums continuing to get freaky on roof.  Laugh as one falls off roof, THUMP!  Silence.  Take that nymphomaniac possums.  Rustle, rustle. Damn they are like cockroaches even a two-story fall wont kill them.

1:00am
Finally drift off.

1:30am 
Wake up again.  Look at clock.  Contemplate throwing alarm clock across room (or at loud rooting possums, or blissfully snoring husband), but apathy wins out.  Go to loo again.  Go back to bed and try to work out the big issues.  Is Beaker or Animal my favourite Muppet?  If Miss Piggy and Kermit had kids would they be Progs or Figs? Is Wile E. Coyote really that dumb, or does he suffer from severe amnesia resulting from repeated roadrunner-induced, coup and counter-coup brain injuries?

2:00am
Still awake.  Go to loo yet again.  Put a hex on my accursed acorn-sized bladder of stupidity.  Unable to even locate hot guy wheel in my head.  Lie there staring at the ceiling.  Begin to have thoughts of tasaring Jeff from The Wiggles.  You'd wake up then Jeff, you smug, purple-skivvied sleeper!

2:30am
Still awake.  Get up go out to kitchen and get a glass of water.  If I have to pee myself stupid(er) I might as well pee out water rather than precious bodily fluids.  Stare out at stars and curse Time itself.  Drag self back to bed.  Accidentally (wink wink nod nod) slam bedroom door.  Let loose a stream of profanity as Mr Grumpy continues to sleep peacefully.  Sadistic bastard continues to rub his sleeping abilities in my face.

3:00am
Fall asleep.

5:00am
Wake up.  OMG!  Two hours sleep in a row.  Woo Hoo.  Loo yet again.  Pee like a horse.  Where the hell does all this liquid come from?  Is someone forcing water down my throat with a funnel whilst I am zoned out in some sleep-deprived dissociative state?

5:05am
Pray I fall asleep again before kids get up at 7am (or worse Volleyball practice mornings with a 6am start, damn them and their desire to do before and after school activities.  Why can't they be like normal kids and waste their life in front of the TV or Computer screen)

7-7:30am
Drag pathetic exhausted body from bed.  Scull strong coffee from bucket-sized mug.  Throw tablets at face.  Hope some get in mouth.  Fail to notice tablet stuck in left nostril.  Pee like horse yet again.

8:00am
Throw on jumper over pajamas, find keys and drive kids to bus stop (though the other morning I started driving them down the hill in the opposite direction, luckily it clicked and I was able to turn around and get them to the bus stop on time and no one was any the wiser).  Start day in normal exhausted state.

Repeat night ad nauseum.

*

Ugh! I hate, no I loathe insomnia.  I've never been a good sleeper but since Bob came into the picture it has become much, much worse.  Now there are times where I sleep.  In fact I sleep like the dead, but this is usually after weeks of no or little sleep and lasts only a day or two.  Basically, it's either coma or wide awake and absolutely nothing in between.

I wouldn't care so much if I could do something when I was wide awake at 3am.  But noooo, that aint happening.  I am even more moronic during those hours.  I tried writing once.  But when I got up in the morning it was a complete jumble of misspelt gobbledegoop, that looked like it had been written by a meth-addled, sight-impaired tapir.

Ask anyone with Bob and they'll tell you the same story.  Insomnia is just part of the package.  What I wouldn't do for a good nights sleep.  (Well I wouldn't do that, you sicko.  Get your mind out of the gutter).  I know back from my PB (Pre-Bob) days that poor sleep screws with your immune system, increases your chances of heart disease, makes you gain weight and does all sorts of nasty things to your body.  Watch The Machinist, bad things can happen with insomnia (hence my Christian Bale fantasy involves his Batman days, not this ickiness).

I can find a silver lining for most symptoms

eg, Nausea = Eat Less = Lose Weight = Fit in old Jeans = YAY,

but not insomnia.  Can't fall asleep, can't stay asleep, can't function when awake = crap! 

I used to teach patients Sleep Hygiene, so this is yet another bitch slap from the Irony Fairy, she is such a cow.

Who knew that narcoleptic cheese-grater man would become my hero.  How I envy that rotund, naked bastard.  Well technically he wasn't naked.  He wore a hospital gown, but combine his enormous girth with his tendency to pull the gown up to his hips to "air" his bits, well he was pretty much naked where it counts (shudder).  Before you get worried, it was not even remotely sexual, especially not for me and not even for him (the man itched with a cheese grater he wasn't exactly familiar with the real world).  It took me a week to complete an interview with this man thanks to the frequency of his narcoleptic attacks.  What I wouldn't give for a week of that (minus the cheese-grater though).

I have tried using Sleep Hygiene techniques and that does help a bit.  I take some herbal tabs with Zizyphus which seem to get me to about 3hrs in a row, which makes life a little more bearable.  But not much is working.  I am tossing up about a sleep study or some sleeping tabs (not that I want another prescription) but thanks to the mechanisms of Bob their isn't a huge amount to do until you get your Autonomic Nervous System sorted out.  And well, that's really going to plan, Right?

 
(I think Counting Sheep doesn't work for me because I count killer Zombie Sheep)

So there is my woe is me wingefest about my lack of sleep.  I know it's not just my fellow Bobettes who deal with this, so I send a big "I feel you" to all my readers who spend their nights contemplating Muppet offspring and desiring to zap beloved children's performers, rather than enjoying the insides of their eyelids.  Insomnia sucks my friends.  It sucks.

In Part II, I'll actually do some helpful sleep tips which are the basis of Sleep Hygiene.   See I can be helpful sometimes.

Cheers
The Nocturnal Michelle :)

Friday, 14 May 2010

Fabulous Friday: Happy Birthday Cougar.

Yes it's that time again.  The one day of the week I am determined to be queen of optomism, perkiness and the glass half full.  This week has been all about me. Me, me, me, me, me, me.  It's my birthday (well on Tuesday it was, but "it's my birthday on Tuesday just gone", sounded crap) and I am embracing my aging and character-filled body.

The big 37, or 73, not sure which.  Depends on the day really.  Having seen Betty White on Saturday Night Live, I have realised that even old chicks can be hip and happening, so I am equally comfortable with 73.  Well for today anyway, don't ask me tomorrow as I may be less relaxed about the whole aging thing and be forced to throttle you.  I have moved from my mid-thirties to the land of possibilities that is my late-thirties.   Yep, Alyssa Milano, Cameron Diaz and me, 37 is hot! (Shut up!  It's my birthday and I can be as bedazzelingly delusional I want to be).

I realised the universe was sending me a hint when MaryMac over at Pajamas & Coffee put up a post about Cougar Crushes on my big day.  Yep, that's right, I can now be classed as a Cougar.  I believe I get some sort of official card in the mail, plus a Team Cougar jacket, and learn the secret butt-grabbing handshake.  I'm pretty sure it's like the Stonecutters, but with better shoes, more cocktails and discount botox vouchers.

(All hail the Queen, Anne Bancroft, The Graduate, 1967)

Now I should clarify that I have no intention of becoming Mrs Robinson per se (especially on the off chance my mother should read this and be totally horrified), for me hitting this milestone means that I am now officially obligated to perve on guys who were born when I was already in school and even some who are of an age (over 18, all legal) that I could have technically given birth to them (now that makes me feel just a teensy bit old).  Not only do I get chocolate birthday cake and pressies, but I must drool over hot younger men.  I shall force myself if I must, I can't let the cougar sisterhood down.  Besides it's my birthdy and I'll perve if I want to.

So for all my lovely readers I think it's only fair that I put up a picture of my cougar crush.  We all need a little eye candy in our life.  Sweet dreams dear readers, sweet dreams.  See even on my birthday I'm thinking of you.

(Mmmm....Jensen Ackles.......mmmmmm.......sorry what was I saying?  
I think I lost my train of......mmmmmm).

Oprah tells me I now know myself much better now than in my 20s.  Apparently I have reached the guru swami level of spiritual equalibrium.  I know what I want and how to get it.  Things are all peachy from now on.  Acording to a recent episode I should soon be jumping out of planes and doing roller derby.  Lucky I still have my old roller skates, and I think I remember my Xanadu routine.  Just give me a week or 6 to limber up.  And lets face it, if Oprah says it, it must be true.  I still believe she and her guests are on a steady diet of Prozac and tequila shots but hey whatever gets you through the day.  I'm willing to get with the program.

According to medical science I am also now at my sexual peak.  Apparently I have it goin' on.  Okay, even I can't say that with a straight face.  Mr Grumpy, stop laughing, wipe your eyes and pick yourself up off the floor.  So my favourite part of Sex and The City was Carrie's closet full of Jimmy Choos, but hey I'm sure I picked up a trick or two sub-consciously.  Is it possible that having it 'goin on', refers to flannelette pajamas, a carfully crafted muffin top, sparkly slippers and flossing out the spinach from between my teeth before bed?  If so, I am officially a sex-bomb. Watch out honey, bom chiki wah wah, call me when you finally make it up the chandelier.

(Mr Grumpy brought me the best gluten free chocolate cake ever.  
It has also been great for breakfast and lunch for the last few days).

So coo, coo, ca-choo, Mrs Robinson, and a happy birthday to me.


Cheers

The Trainee Cougar Michelle :)

Simon & Garfunkel, Mrs Robinson 1968