The Funk in My Trunk

Since the MRI, I've been trying to shake the knowledge that a serious funk is coming on...

So I reverted to watching VH1. That should help, right?

New Kids on the Block have the number one hit this week. Summertime. I heart it.

I'm so disgusted with me I'm breaking up with myself.

Back in September, I hurt my back. Really hurt it. The kind of hurt that made me go "Screw it, that can stay on the floor" because I couldn't bend over to pick it up. I could barely sit in the car. I kept working, but only because the techs at work could do all the heavy work. I could barely sit long enough to do a treatment, and had to do all of my notes while standing. It seriously, seriously sucked.

Over the past 9 months the PTs and PTAs at work have been kind enough to work on me, and with their help I have to say I'm probably about 70% better than when I started. That being said, it still sucks. I'm in pain every day. I haven't slept through the night without waking up due to pain since September. I still can't do anything without significant discomfort. I had to use a TENS unit daily to make it through the trip with The King Family Circus and all the traveling we did.

So I finally agreed to have an MRI. After having to reschedule it, then postponing it, it was time. I didn't have any trouble in the tube (lots of people freak because it's rather tight quarters and you can become claustrophobic quickly). When I came out I asked the tech if she saw anything nasty. Of course, she can't give me any results because she's not the radiologist. However, I know that she knows. She didn't cough up any info, but said, "I hope you can find someone to help you soon." Uh-oh.

I trucked it back to my office and found the orthopedist I work with. He was in his office doing some paperwork, so I asked if he had a minute to peek at the MRI, since the radiologist probably won't get to read it for several days. No problem. Now, this guy is pretty reserved, doesn't get riled up about much, and tends to understate someone's problems, so I wasn't expecting what I got.

He scared the shit out of me.

I have a very large disc herniation at the L4-5 level of my spine. It pushes straight backward into my spinal canal, and takes up more than 50% of the space my nerve fibers should be in. Now, at L4-5, your spinal cord has gone from a solid rope-like structures to being individual nerve fibers that resemble a horse tail, hence it's called the cauda equina. Anyway, those fibers are being squished directly into the bony part of my spine instead of floating in the middle of the canal space. Ouch.

The MD told me I needed to see a neurosurgeon ASAP, because it's not likely to be fixed with injections, and if it gets any bigger I may well find myself without much use of my legs. He thinks I need surgery, stat. No bending, no lifting, no jumping, no running, no riding Jimbo the Fat Boy(walking would be okay, but the getting off and potential of the horse spooking makes it a no-no), no playing volleyball. No doing anything that increases the load on my spine, less it cause the bulge to increase. He's pretty much surprised I can stand up straight, none-the-less work. It really was a direct quote when he told me to tell anyone who asked me to lift something to go to hell.

So, on Monday I should know when my appointment with my neurosurgeon of choice is. On Tuesday, I'll ask one of the visiting neurosurgeons (who comes to our office from Lynchburg) to give me his opinion, too. I'll be seeing a neurosurgeon in Richmond at VCU. I've met him already and am very impressed with his cutting edge techniques and commitment to minimally invasive procedures to reduce pain. I'm anxious to hear what he says.

At least now I know what's wrong with me (or at least what's wrong with my spine) and why I'm dealing with so much pain every day. Don't get me wrong, though, I don't want to have this problem. It's one of those Catch 22 situations. I was half afraid that it was a herniation (or a tumor) and I was half afraid the MRI would be clean and there wouldn't be an explanation for the pain I'm feeling.

So that's what's up with me. What's up with you?

MD: You need to see a neurosurgeon. Now.

TK: Are you sure?

MD: See where that GIANT BULGE is? (Points at MRI) That's where your spinal cord should be. See where all those nerve fibers are squished up against the bone? That's not so good.

TK: Aaaawww, nuts.

MD: No jumping, no running, no impact of any kind. And if anyone asks you to help them move something, tell them to go to hell.

TK: Got it.

By the way...

Did I mention I have asthma? Asthma. Asthma, as in, it's a chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Read as: COPD. I have an old person's disease.

This all started at my 20-minute-turned-2-hour doctor's appointment on Thursday. I usually see the nurse practitioner, but I needed a quick follow up appointment for my hell-fire-and-damnation UTI last month. (Now, it turns out I didn't actually have a UTI, but they don't really know what the hell it was. I digress.) The MD had reviewed my chart and wanted to check a few things out more thoroughly.

Like... Why do I wheeze when I breathe deeply? Why can't I run or do the stair climber or hike uphill for more than a few minutes without being unable to breath and needing to vomit? Why does my back still hurt 9 months after I hurt it? I swear. That guy and his questions.

So, I came away from the appointment with two asthma medications, a new allergy med (which sucks), a chest x-ray, a lumbar spine x-ray, and an MRI. Fancy, huh?

But, after all of that I can say this: Today I did 20 minutes STRAIGHT on the stairclimber without feeling so out of breath that I puked. I took 3 or 4 thirty second rests due to my legs feeling like they were going to FALL OFF, but that was totally different than stopping because my sweet sweet oxygen was being cut off.

Hmmmm, maybe knowing I have an old lady disease isn't so bad after all.

Holy crapola, folks. I just noticed that this is my 700th post. Aren't you sick of me yet? Seriously, I don't think I'm that interesting. But hey, as long as you're here for the show...

• White Girl Asian Burritos are not so good on the 2nd day. Oh, they'd be fine if I made them 2 days in a row, but really, they don't keep well. No wonder My Favorite Asian was always trying to get me to take home the leftovers. She knew better. Me? I tried wetting the rice paper again to get it by. Not so much.


• PB was impressed by my WGAB prowess. He was also hungry again 2 hours later.


• I've won 12 gas cards now. Quit begging. You have to claim them in person, and I'm sure the $50 gas card does not outweigh the cost of getting to FarmVegas.


• PB and I took The Force to the Richmond Zoo on Saturday. It was tons of fun.
• We made monkey noises,
• had an up close and personal encounter with a giraffe,
• and he fed an albino deer right from his hand.


• I ran for the bushes when they went in the bird house.
• This is the most pathetic thing at the zoo.


• It is hi-freakin'-larry-ass to hear a three year old (who was standing next to me) explain how the lion wasn't there that day because he had an owie.


• I think I had more fun watching the bears wrestle in the waterfall than The Force did.


• My heart melts when The Force holds his arms out and says "Hold you!" when he wants to be carried. I feel slightly guilty, but selfishly giddy when he does it away from PB's arms and into mine.

Shit. I totally have pictures of all this stuff, but Blogger is being uncooperative. Oh well, I guess you'll have to hold your breath until I come back. Okay, all better now!

I'm going to the zoo! I'm going to the zoo!

I know it's disguised as a trip for The Force (aka, PB's son) but really, I asked to go. Meaning, I begged to go to the zoo. I only agreed to wait until PB had him for the weekend because I have to realize I'm 33 and not 8.

Also, stay tuned for a report on my trip to Yogaville. Seriously, they say it's not a cult, but it's definitely a serious commune... and maybe a cult.

I hate my mail-order pharmacy.

The end.

Today is sloooooow at work, so I decided to run home for lunch... well, that and I split my pants and needed to put on a new pair, but that's another story.

The maintenance guy came to fix my freezer (again) so Pooh King had to stay in the bedroom so as not to kill him. I let Pooh out, took him for a walk, and started to open up my takeout box.

Otis: Meow.

Me: Otis?

Otis: Meow!

Me: Where the hell are you?

Otis: MEOW!

Yeah, Otis is in the little teeny tiny baby kitten hiding spot. Read as: there's a corner under the cabinets that isn't closed in completely. There is enough room for 4 teeny tiny baby kittens to get in and out (as Otis and his siblings did when they were tiny). Apparently, there's only room for 11.5 pound big Otis to get in.

I just spent some considerable time figuring out how to get the kickplate off of the dishwasher to give him enough room to get out. If my pants hadn't thrown in the towel already, I'm sure they would have just then!

Damn cat.

I've got gas!!!!!!

Seriously! Free gas!

The local country radio station has been doing a gas-card give away. When you hear the "gas busters" jingle, be the 5th caller. You get a certificate to take to a local car dealer. Then you have to test drive a car to get your gas card. Well, we all know that I just bought my gas-sipping George Jetson in October.

TK: Look, I just bought this car so I'm not in the market for another. If you really want me to waste your gas test driving a car I won't buy, I will, but really I just want the gas card I won.

Salesman: Fair enough. When do you think you'll be in the market for another car?

TK: When I have the need for a minivan.

Salesman: Really? I could help you out with that. Are you expecting?

TK: No, and I'm not married. It will be a while.

Salesman: Oh. Here's my card. And here's your card.

TK: Thanks!

I won a card for myself, and since you can only win once, I've been calling in and winning for my friends. So far, I've won 5!!!! I've got gas, and so do my friends!

Pics from the Burgh

J attempting to climb the dinosaur in front of the Carnegie Museum of Natural Science. He's a determined little dude!
Baby May likes to hang out watching her big bro's antics
J engaging Chris in a rousing game of soccer
J's favorite cover position to keep Chris from getting the ball
Feel his fury. Sometimes being 3 feet tall just isn't fair!

I had such a good time! Poor Peg was sick almost the entire time I was there. (I think there may have been about 23 minutes she was well after I arrived, then the head cold set in.) Still, though, that girl was a rockstar. She stayed up doing "stuff" my whole trip. She didn't even slow down! I have to admit that on my last night I took a picture of her and Baby May asleep on the couch together. In true Peg style, she had tried to stay up watching a movie, only to pass out with the baby on her. I realized how sick she was then, because she had tissues shoved up both nostrils. I took the picture, but because I value her friendship more than yours, you can't see it!

I'm home. The whirlwind trip is over, and I've even been to work (not that there was much to be done there!)

My trip to Pittsburgh was wonderful! J is a wonderful, loving, funny, intelligent little boy. He's got the normal 3 year old growing pains that come along with wanting to be the center of the universe but having to share it with your sister, parents, and friends. I've got news for him... it's still hard at 33 to realize you may not be the center of the universe! Each night he would ask if I would still be there when he woke up. On Sunday night, I had to break the news that on Monday morning I would be leaving to go back to Virginia. He listened and understood the other obligations in my life that necessitated my return, but thought it would be a good idea to put my address and car into Yoda's GPS (their minivan) so he could tell where I was all the time. He wants to lo-jack me! My favorite thing he does is stand in front of Yoda and say "Open Sesame!" Every time he's amazed when the automatic doors fly open. Chris is good with that remote key in his pocket.

Mary Lynn was 13 months old the whole time I was there. She is so sweet and smiley, and then screams bloody murder because her molars are coming in and she hurts like hell. She is a pretty pretty princess with a propensity for drama. She loves to be held, but when Peg or Chris leave the "baby-safe area" she pitches a fit, wailing with her Joplin-esque pipes and hanging on the gate as if she was in baby prison. If the 'rents don't pick her up immediately upon their return, she takes 2 or 3 steps toward them, then throws herself on the floor and wails some more so as to punish them for not tending to her quickly enough. It's really almost funny to watch as her little personality emerges and she throws her 13 month old weight around. While she's been a bit anxiety-prone around anyone but her parents and brother, she took to me as quickly as I took to her. She would lean out of Peg's arms to me, take a quick hug and smooch, then rebound right back to her Mama. It became known as "the rebound pass".

Sunday night, that poor baby screamed for about 1.5 hours in the wee hours of the morning. I woke up at 1am to the sounds of 4 molars coming in with a vengance. After a few minutes I looked at my clock. 1:09am. I figured it would stop any minute since Peg would be in with her. 1:11, still crying. I figured I would lie there for a few more minutes since maybe Peg and Chris were letting her try to self-sooth. The longer I laid there, the more she cried, and the more I was convinced that Peg and Chris had probably died in some freak carbon monoxide poisoning leak that had somehow failed to turn the corner and seep under my door. Poor little Baby May, she was crying for her dead parents, I was sure of it! So I crept down the hall whispering, "Peg! Chris!" and waiting to find their lifeless bodies in bed. (I can talk myself into all kinds of scary horrible things at 1am. It's why I can't/shouldn't watch scary movies.) I almost shit myself when Peg came around the corner and met me at the doorway. She was sick all weekend, and sick and sleepless is not a good look.

P:"I'm in there and she's still crying."
Me: (attempting to quit weeing in my pants, so surprised was I to see Peg not only alive, but walking) Oh, okay. I'm going to go back to my room then.

I crept back down the hall and crawled into bed, careful not to awaken J. I'm not sure what I thought I could do, short of jumping on top of him or throwing rocks, that would arouse him from his Baby May-proof sleep, but I wasn't taking any chances!