What's going on with me and this long covid

Hi Everyone.  It’s only been a month or so since my last post, but it feels a lot longer.  Since then, I’ve gotten emails asking how I am, several cards in the mail (thanks for the stickers Bobi) and my friend Diana sent me some (very pricey) herbal supplements to help with things like anxiety and inflammation.  Thanks very much everyone, your kindness and well wishes have meant a lot to me.

When I last wrote on here, it was the fourth week of May and after 5 months of living with long covid, thought I was finally on the road to recovery.  I returned to the senior center a couple times, and went on that wonderful lunch outing at Red Lobster.  The day after that lunch, I spoke to my friend Diana on the phone (who was in Utah, attending her son’s wedding) and it was our first conversation in months that didn’t include long covid.

A couple days later, the weekend arrived along with a pretty serious relapse, and I’ve pretty much been in hiding since the first of June.   Lots of cranial pressure and burning sensation in my head and face, aching in my neck and jawline, cloudy thinking and difficulty concentrating, tremors in my hands, constant fatigue.

I try to get outside daily for a 10-15 minute walk around the block, but always return with the left side of my face inflamed and a desperate need to lie down for a couple hours.  (Sunlight and neurological long covid do NOT mix.)

Aside from those walks, I haven’t gone anywhere, seen anyone, done anything.  I talk to my friend Diana several nights a week on the telephone and that’s it.  She has been a wonderful friend and I’ll be forever grateful, but to say I’m still down about things would be an understatement.  Last year I had a wonderful summer, attending museum and restaurant outings with new friends I’d made at the senior center, visits back home with my sister Shawn and her husband Jim and my niece Sophia, a couple of fun weekend outings in West Virginia with Diana. 

I was hoping for more of the same this year and that’s clearly not happening.  I love and miss everyone.

I’ve been reading and watching everything I can find about long covid, and feel like I’ve learned so much.  A couple nights ago I watched a long interview with Emma Samms, a British actress who wrestles with the condition and talked about one of her lesser symptoms, “always whiffing diesel fuel”.   That knocked me for a loop, I’ve been telling Diana for months how I’m always smelling oil or a type of fuel.

But lately I’ve been trying to focus on recovery stories, and recently came across one man who considers himself 90% recovered and how he believes this condition works.  He says you have to break it down into 3 phases:  the first phase lasts 8-10 months, a roller coaster of anxiety, pain and relapses.  You think it will never end.

(I guess I’m still in the first phase.  I’m in my 7th month, and hopeless is how I often feel.)

He says Phase 2 is next, lasting 5-6 months and there are still relapses, but they’re infrequent and you will begin feeling real hope again.   Phase 3 is almost a full recovery.

He’s very popular on youtube, comes across as highly intelligent and his 3 phases timeline make a lot of sense to me.  I also read a recent study by the NHS, who compiled statistics for 750 people with neurological long covid like myself, and said the average duration was 321 days.  That’s a little over 10 months time.

Right now I have no choice but to hope and believe that old saying “Time heals all wounds” to be true.   Thanks for letting me share all this, and thanks again for the well wishes.  It may be awhile before I blog again, I want to make a real recovery and get some of my old life back again.   Take care.

A tasty outing at Red Lobster, and a surprise or two along the way

A couple days ago, the Senior Center had a lunch outing planned for Red Lobster.  I had a couple good reasons for going, no matter how my noggin was handling the long covid:

1. I haven’t seen Elaine, Claire, Rose or Margie (they don’t frequent the center, only go on restaurant outings) since my last outing on February 9.

2. I’ve never been to Red Lobster, and with their recent bankruptcy, I may not get another chance!

That’s Rose in the yellow & blue striped nautical sweater, more on this special person shortly

After we piled into the Access shuttle, I began feeling that familiar pressure building up in my head & sinuses. 

I muttered “Do whatever you want, I’m still going” and Margie turned around in her seat and said “Are you behaving back there?  I hear you talking to yourself!”   It was funny, but when you’ve been living like a hermit for 4 months and only talking to 1-2 persons on the phone, you tend to get a little eccentric.

Anyway, this was one of my favorite lunch outings ever.  The restaurant seated us at a humongous round table, so I got to enjoy the company of everyone, with Evvie by my side.  The food was delicious (they kept bringing out baskets of hot Cheddar Bay biscuits) and no lie, I ordered a Pepsi (my first one in years) and it tasted like the best one I’ve ever had.

I was a little surprised at all the drinking—Dennis and Paul polished off 6 Alabama Slammers and red wines, Rose had a draft beer in a glass that was 12” high and Evvie had a pretty potent Seven Seas margarita; these people don’t mess around!

I only managed to get a couple usable photos, my Motorola smartphone doesn’t do too well in the dark (but a new phone and camera are coming soon).

Dennis (left) and Paul.  Dennis (a 3 pack a day smoker for 45 years) lost his voice in February so he recently quit smoking and has gone one week without a cigarette.  I’m really impressed!

My Sailors Platter:  shrimp in a garlic butter wine sauce, breaded shrimp, crispy curled flounder and baked potato.  I usually eat half my lunch and take the other half home for dinner, but I scarfed this whole thing down!

My friend Evvie’s platter, similar to mine but with grilled shrimp instead.  I thought her cocktail looked refreshing.

After our meal, while we waited outside for our ride home, I complimented Rose (in the yellow and navy striped sweater at the top) on her pretty necklace.  It had an open heart pendant displaying a small color portrait of a handsome man.

I said “May I ask who the gentleman is?  Your husband?”  Rose said “Yes, a wonderful man.”  I said “Is he no longer with us?”  She said “He died was 60.”  I said “So he passed at age 60?  That’s very young.”  She said “No, he died in 1960.”

What?  That honestly startled me.  I know Rose has two children who talked her into moving back to Pennsylvania from Florida some years back.  But she was married, had a family and lost her husband, all before I was even born?  

She must’ve sensed my puzzlement, she said “I’m 93, you know.”  No I didn’t know that—but I just watched this woman eat a hearty sesame-soy salmon bowl and drink an entire foot tall draft.  I would’ve guessed her age at 75, tops. 

We were the last two riders on the Access shuttle and had a friendly chat. 

I don’t know what I’m trying to say here, I was just amazed at her energy and vitality.  I don’t have a death wish, but in the last 6-7 years I’ve dealt with so many medical issues I’ve sometimes wondered if I’m going to make it to 70, let alone 20 plus years after that.  Rose manages to make it look both doable and something to enjoy while you’re at it.  Thanks Rose.

Happy Memorial Day, Everyone

Revisiting the past with Evvie and Mary, and Andy & Don too

Last week I emailed the Senior Center and said I’d been doing better with this long covid stuff, and could they put me down for lunch the following Monday and for the next restaurant outing too?  Courtney (the director of the center) couldn’t have been nicer, responded and said she was so glad, and they had just been talking about me, and were looking forward to seeing me on the 20th.

I then forwarded the email exchange to my sister Shawn, to let her know I was on the up & up.  She replied she was relieved and glad, thanks for letting her know.

The very next day, I awoke with the left side of my face swollen and burning.  It stayed that way too, for 4 consecutive days.  This long covid is a persistent, stubborn critter.  When someone asks “Hey, feeling better?”  I nod and say I think so, and I do believe it, but the setbacks (or flare ups as my friend Erin calls them) keep a-comin’.

Anyway, I DID make it back to the center for lunch this Monday, as pictured above, my first lunch there since February.  That sandwich was a tasty pulled pork, by the way.  And I snuck a cake lollipop on my tray when no one was looking.  I was able to hang out for a couple hours before things got too much (for some reason, I get a lot of cranial inflammation when I’m talking to more than one person) but I was still glad to get out of the house and see my friends. 

Even if Cranky Connie did grumble “He’s a Chatty Cathy” to someone at her table, and I was just answering Geri’s questions!

As for the restaurant outing I’m scheduled to go on, right now I’m not sure if I’ll be up for that, just have to wait and see.  Fingers crossed.

The other day, I was skimming thru my personal library of e-books on my tablet for something new to read, and was surprised to see this: 

Andy and Don: The Making of a Friendship and a Classic American TV Show.  Why did I buy this?  I’ve never considered myself a big Andy Griffith fan, I bet I’ve only seen a couple seasons worth of The Andy Griffith Show which ran for 8 years (and I’ve never seen a single episode of his legal drama Matlock, which ran for 9).  

I looked up some reviews of this book, all were positively glowing—4.5 out of 5 stars.  I also learned I got it on Black Friday in 2020 for only $2.99.  Ah, okay!

Listen—this book DOES NOT DISAPPOINT.  It’s a huge, terrific read.  It was difficult for me to put down after I started.  I wound up rationing myself to 30 pages daily, I only do that with books I want to make last.

It covers both Andy Griffith & Don Knott’s lives, from their childhoods to the day both died.  Andy grew up a pampered child with an overprotective mother in Mt. Airy, North Carolina.  Don was born in a poor, abusive home in Morgantown West Virginia, 30 minutes from where I grew up.

They first worked together in a hit Broadway play “No Time for Sergeants” and quickly became friends as both admired the other’s talents and Southern roots.  In 1959, when Andy was offered a television pilot as a “good ol’ country boy sheriff” as a spinoff of The Danny Thomas Show, he was eager for work and accepted—but lamented to his wife it was a two dimensional character and doomed to failure.  When Don learned of the upcoming series in the trades, he was desperate for work as well and called Andy and said “Doesn’t a sheriff need a deputy?”  and soon, magic was born.

This book goes into elaborate detail, even pointing out various episodes in the first season where you can see Andy laughing in the background at Don’s theatrics.  Normally such scenes would get reshot, but the producers saw how much Andy adored Don and trusted the viewers at home would pick up on that—they were right, we did.

I could go on & on here about a thousand things, some of which weren’t exactly rosy.  Both drank to excess, and married 3 times.  Andy smoked 4 packs of cigarettes a day.  He also had a terrible temper and admitted as much to reporters and magazines like TV Guide.

He also did not forgive or forget being slighted, ever.  Remember Elinor Donahue from Father Knows Best, who played the new druggist in Mayberry?  She asked to be released from her 3 year contract after that first season.  When she saw Andy at a celebrity function in 2005, 45 years later, she apologized and explained why she left, but Andy curtly told her she hadn’t been right for the show anyway and walked away.

But after The Andy Griffith Show ended, whenever Andy was interviewed about current or upcoming projects, he always spoke of missing his days with Don, and how very much he hoped they would work together again.  He told everyone until his own dying day Don was his best friend.

When Don Knotts died in 2006, Andy (knowing Don wasn’t a religious man like himself) pleaded with his own pastor for confirmation he’d see Don in the afterlife; then Andy delivered a eulogy at his best friend’s funeral declaring he’d be seeing Don again in Paradise.

I sure would like to think they’re together again.

 

My friend and classmate Karen, our school marriage, aging and the realities of everything

This is my friend Karen Huffman, one of her senior class photos from high school.  She gave it to me along with a handwritten note that I somehow managed to hold on to after all these years.

We didn’t date in high school but were very close, and some in our class assumed we were a thing as did a couple of our teachers.  In our senior year we signed up for a class about marriage titled “On Our Own” where we took part in a mock wedding ceremony and were husband and wife for the year.

Karen has a quick, raspy voice and bossed me to no end—but I never minded, she was so funny and kind hearted.  One time Bob Stockdale (a classmate) said “If I was Doug I’d be filing for divorce” and everyone laughed, and when I said Karen’s words were music to my ears, our teacher Mrs. Kline told Karen “This is the man you want to marry!” 

By the way, if you’re wondering how I can recall something from 45 years ago, Karen wrote this was one of her favorite senior memories in my high school scrapbook.

Here’s Karen & myself in the center of our mock wedding ceremony, between the flags overhead.  Our friend Diana is 2 to the right of us, and that’s Mrs. Kline on the far leftBesides being good friends (and wedding partners), Karen & I were also selected by our senior class as “Most Likely to Succeed” for the Senior Personalities in our yearbook.  That’s us at the bottom on the first pageWe fell out of touch after graduating in 1979, but I got updates through the years.  She went on to college and become an elementary teacher, got married and had a son, moved to Virginia. 

We didn’t speak again for 30 years, until 2009 when Facebook came along.  Then we picked up where we left off like no time had passed at all.

In 2015 when I announced on Facebook I was sick of the rat race and taking an early retirement, Karen wrote me and said “Douglas you inspired me!  I’m sick of the race and retiring early too!” 

(For as long as I’ve known Karen, since the age of 12-13, she only called me Douglas.)  Anyway, true to her word she DID retire shortly after I did.

In 2017, when I wrote Karen and said I left Pittsburgh to move back to our hometown and was regretting my decision, she told me that every year she drove up to Pa to spend the holidays with her mom—but this year she was coming a couple days earlier to spend time with me.  We met up the first day for a 4 hour lunch, and the day after I went with Karen to visit her mom and see some old sights. 

She was just as funny, bossy and raspy in person as I remembered from all those years ago.  I am so glad we were able to get together again.

A recent photo of Karen (left) with our mutual friend and classmate Diana

I’m sharing all of this now, because last April Karen complained she was having trouble remembering things, and a couple months later pretty much went silent.  Diana reached out for answers, but only heard from Karen’s pastor that she was not well. 

And then a few days ago, Karen’s son posted this on Facebook:

Sorry to keep everyone uninformed for so long, but we did not have enough information on what was happening with my mother until recently.  She has been diagnosed with Coritcobasal Degeneration, a rare and aggressive form of dementia that resembles Parkinsons disease.  She has limited mobility using a walker at this time and is unable to care for herself in any way.  She is unable to comprehend what is happening and no longer uses her cell phone or social media accounts.  I have moved back in to help care for her until we can get some assistance with a long term plan.  We do appreciate all of the concern and support her friends have given in this time and I will try to update when I am able.

There is no treatment or cure, and life expectancy is short.  She is 62, same as me. 

I remember when we got together a few years ago, I asked Karen how she kept in such terrific shape.  She said “From doing the things I love, Douglas!  I swim at the Y nearly everyday and I have my friends & church family, they keep me very busy!”

Karen, you are and shall remain in my most heartfelt prayers.

 

Soon, this insanely lonnnnng covid will be a thing of the past

This past Saturday, I woke up feeling pretty okay—an hour later, a “spray” of pain washed across my face, stayed there for around 2 hours before going away.

But as the day wore on and it didn’t return, I began to feel elated and wrote that goofy post about my 30 year old vacuum cleaner.  Things were looking up, it seemed.

Sunday morning, I awoke and the left side of my head felt like it had been crushed by a giant’s boot.  I got up, paced for an hour or so and waited for it to fade away.  It didn’t and traveled into my face instead, and I spent a beautiful Sunday afternoon indoors, laying on my bed feeling angry and depressed.

Monday I awoke, and other than a very sore face felt pretty good.  I did my laundry, went for a walk, and later that night I spent a couple hours on the phone chatting with my friend Diana, and for the first time in weeks this post covid crap never came up once.

(Instead we talked about Diana’s upcoming trip to Utah to attend her son’s wedding, and her plans of organizing our high school class’ 45th year reunion.  I applaud her efforts, but have little desire to attend.  But that’s another story.)

Tuesday was a very bad day and I spent the day laying on my back on my bed again.  This seems to be becoming an “every other day” thing, but I hope that’s a sign I’ll soon have more good days than not and finally get to leave this long covid beast in the past where it belongs.

This was my face last May, and here it is last month; it’s gotten better, but still looks like the second photo in the mornings when I get out of bed. 

When I leave my apartment before noon—to get my mail, take out the trash or do my laundry and other residents see me, I always hear “What happened to you?  Were you in an accident?  Did you get beat up?”  I just tell ‘em it’s allergies.

    

Recently, I watched a couple of videos from the Center for Post-Covid Care at Mt. Sinai Hospital in New York, where they have around 500 long covid patients both remote & in-house (and a couple thousand on a waiting list) and the doctor leading the efforts said a couple things that really stood out to me: 

• The more often you contract covid, the greater your chances you’ll get long covid (this past December was my third time getting the virus since 2020)
• Even though studies say long covid cases last on average 4-6 months, the center hasn’t seen anyone fully recover before 6 months
• They’ve also never seen a patient “spontaneously recover”; recovery is very, very slow

Well, I got covid the first week of December and these post-covid symptoms began emerging the first of January, so I’ve now been living with this 4 months.  (As of May 1, I’m in my 5th month.)  Why does it seem so much longer?   Anyway, I am seeing some improvements here and there, even if they’re small. 

I’ve said it before, but I don’t know how I would’ve made it through these past few months without my friend Diana, who has been on the receiving end of some pretty long phone calls.  I can’t believe what a patient, caring person she’s been.  I’m very fortunate to have such a friend.

Also, this blog where you kind people have hung in there while I pound out my 10th post about this.  Thanks as always for letting me share. 

 

 

Four Weddings and a Funeral, and a Hoover vacuum cleaner…sweeper

Way back in April 1994, my sister Shawn came up to spend the weekend, and we made plans to see Four Weddings and a Funeral at the Waterworks Cinema.  Shawn used to come up a lot of weekends then, before she met Jim and got married.  We’d go to the movies, she’d take me grocery shopping, I’d make us dinner.

My Hoover Preferred Vacuum Cleaner, minus it’s separate cleaning hose but still in fine working order

Anyway, I remember the events around this particular movie as I asked Shawn if we could go to the Appliance Store before or after the show, as I needed a new vacuum cleaner. 

That was 30 years ago this month, and that’s what you’re looking at here, the sweeper I got and still use.

I have used it regularly in every apartment I’ve lived in since then, usually 1-2 times a week.  It’s never given me a bit of trouble.  I accidentally tore the separate cleaning hose back around 2005, but you can still buy the Hoover “A” bags that fit behind that plastic shell on the front.  The light at the bottom flickers off & on, but what can you expect after 30 years?

I was telling my friend Sarah in #411 my little story about the sweeper and this movie, and she said “I never heard of it.  I mostly watch romantic comedies.”

So do you own any old appliances you still use, that you’re surprised still work?  This past January I boasted on here about my Rival hand mixer that my Grandma was going to toss in 1984 because it rattled so loudly.  I took it off her hands and used it until this past February, when I made a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies and discovered my dough had sharp white plastic fragments in the cookie dough. 

Out went the dough—and my grandma’s 50 year old hand mixer.

Anyway, the reason I’m sharing my sweeper here is because last night I watched a (very funny, very peculiar) documentary series on MAX called “HOW TO with John Wilson” where every episode starts out on one topic but winds up completely different by the end.  In last night’s show “How to Watch Sports”, he shows us how to clean your apartment before you invite your friends over for the big game. 

But his vacuum was broken, so he takes it to an appliance repair shop in Brooklyn.

The owner of the shop moans it’s a Dyson, and John asks if that’s a problem.  The shop owner (these are real people) says “Hell yeah it’s a problem!  Dyson cleaners are crap, they’re the most overrated things out there!”   He tells John he should get a Shark or a Bissell or a vintage Hoover, and the next thing you know John is at the annual Vacuum Land Convention in Scranton, Pa.  

There are people there from all over the country who collect vintage vacuum cleaners.  One man confesses he’s been in love with them since he was a kid, and his dad gifted him with a rainbow of Hoover uprights over the years.  What the—!!

Here’s one more thing.  I never throw out a manual until I toss the appliance first, so here’s my Hoover manual. 

I wonder if I can still mail in the registration card?  It says to send in by Dec 31 1994 if I want a chance at winning a carpet shampooer.  I guess that ship has sailed. 

And here’s the spare agitator belt that came with the vacuum.  I’ve never needed to replace my Hoover’s belt, I’m still using the original.

 

Sometimes I feel like one, but I’m not a ghost just yet

A couple days ago (Saturday, to be exact) my face woke me around 6am, with it’s customary “post covid” pinching, soreness & burning.  I jumped out of bed to use the bathroom and splash some cold water on it, saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror and felt angry, afraid, defeated.

My damn face looked just like it did in mid-February at the height of this long covid affliction, swollen and ugly.  This has officially become a long-term condition.

I spent the morning doing the customary things I’ve been doing—applying hot and cold compresses, making coffee, making my bed, turning on the news, turning off the news, watching people on the street below my livingroom window.

I have every intention of joining those people outside again.  I just wish I knew when.

This past week, I was folding my laundry and my head & face were pretty hot (any type of exertion gets the flames going), but I just got so fed up with living like a shut-in that I decided I’d walk up to the Senior Center.  I haven’t been there since February 21, I missed everyone.  So I shaved and got dressed and left my building (it’s a little over a half-mile walk) and when I got about halfway there, knew this was a bad idea but hey, too late now. 

When I arrived, I was almost relieved to see Dennis (the three-pack-a-day smoker) in the same spot outside I’d seen him last, smoking a cigarette.  I asked how he was, he whispered “Do you remember me losing my voice a couple months back?”  I said yes.  He said “I still haven’t found it.  Now my prostate isn’t looking good.  How are you?”  I said I’ve been better, was sorry for his problems but happy to see him.  Then I went inside.

Right away I heard “There’s Doug!” and “Doug’s back!”  and I can’t tell you how much I wanted everything to be normal again; but I was dizzy from the walk and the inflammation was so severe I only stayed 15 minutes.  I’m still glad I went though, it was wonderful seeing friends Mary, Debbie, Evvie, Geri, Bridget and Courtney. 

Geri, a petite 80 year old Italian woman who can easily outwalk me, said “We thought you divorced us!”  She is so dear and too funny.  I said I loved them and hoped to see everyone again real soon.

Later that night, I reached out to a couple of people I’ve met in an online Reddit group called “Covid Long Haulers” with symptoms similar to mine.  I said I was at my wit’s end, every time I think I’m starting to get better, I go to bed and wake up the next morning back to square one. 

Miss Lightfoot (one of the members who recovered but still visits to give moral support) said the same happened with her.  There’s no getting better and staying better, it just repeats the same cycle until it finally goes away for good.  Hers took a year.  You know what?  At least I’m getting some good hours here and there. 

On a more upbeat note, I wanted to give a shout-out and thank you to my friend David Hofstede over at the blog Comfort TV.  You really should check his site out sometime, it’s a wonderful tribute to classic television.  Not only does David write a blog, he’s published several books on television as well.

He reached out to me last week and said he’s been following my ongoing ailment, and asked if I’d like one of his books.  He told me not to feel obligated to say yes. 

I said yes I would, thanks very much and this is what he sent.

The book covers many, many tv shows from the 1950s-1970s (and I like how he gives plot synopses of the best episodes from every series). 

But what I’ve enjoyed so far is his look back at “appointment television” (if you’re 60 or older, you probably remember The Carol Burnett Show aired Saturday nights on CBS). 

And then we had those annual shows like the Miss America Pageant or the MDA Telethons hosted by Jerry Lewis for 45 years.

Reading David’s take on those telethons, with the cuts to local tv stations, “big stars” like Norm Crosby or Charo and some of Jerry’s hammier moments really made me laugh.  I’d forgotten so much of that!

It’s a warm, nostalgic read and David delivers so much more than what you’ll find on Wikipedia, trust me.  Thanks again David.

And thanks to everyone out there who continues reading my humdrum posts.  Your feedback has meant a lot, and I cannot wait for the day I can get on here and say I’ve fully recovered and I’m my old self again.  Take care.

 

There’s a sucker born every minute—and I wish more than anything I was one of ‘em

Can I climb on my soapbox for a few minutes?  I saw something on Sunday television this weekend that threw my usual tranquil Sunday-state-of-mind into a bit of upheaval.  More on that in a minute.

When my Grandpap Morris died in 1982, I felt sad for my Grandma Morris and my dad and my aunts & uncles but that was the extent of it.  Pap and I were never close.  He left Grandma in the early 1960s, and when they got back together around 1974, made no real effort to know his grandkids.  When I cried at his funeral, my dad was both touched and surprised.  Dad, I was crying for your loss—not mine.

When my Grandma Barnhart (my mom’s mother) died in 1988, I felt bad her last years were difficult ones, but little else.  She was an unkind person who never liked me and was abusive to my mom when she was a child.  I felt sad for my mom though, who maintained a loud, funny love/hate relationship with her mother for as long as I could remember. 

(I didn’t know my maternal grandfather, he died when Mom was only 5 years old.  Her only possession of him, a 5x7 framed photo now sits on my bedroom dresser.)

When Grandma Morris (my dad’s mom) died in 1997, I was 35 years old and felt the loss of a loved one for the first time in my life.  We were very close and the best of buddies from the time I was 4-5.  She was the best grandma, ever.

Grandma Morris & me, October 1996—my 35th birthday.  Sadly she’d be gone 6 months later

When Dad passed in 2001, I cried pretty hard at his funeral, and then never wept again.  I always wanted us to be closer, and now I knew we never would be.

When my mom died in 2004, I was devastated.  Her passing wrecked me, it was a struggle to get out of bed in the mornings for a good year.  My sister Shawn’s daughter, my niece Sophia kept me going though.  She was a newborn, only 2 months old and with no grandparents on either side to call her own, she would need all the family she could get.  I know I sure did.

Right after Mom died, I was almost desperate to know if there was the smallest chance she was still “out there” in some way, and would we see her again.  I’d scour the internet for articles from so called experts on the afterlife and interviews with mediums who assured us they were in constant contact with the dead.

And then I read Harry Houdini’s story, which saddened me greatly but was the wakeup call I needed.  When his own mother died, he was inconsolable; he often laid on her grave and wept.  But he was a world famous celebrity, and used his wealth to search the globe for one medium—JUST ONE—who could help him contact his mother.  He was unsuccessful. 

Houdini spent the rest of his days giving sold-out lectures on the fraudulent practice of speaking to the dead, that it was all a hoax and every medium was a fake, a charlatan.

I’m sharing all of this now because earlier today, on a respected news program, they did a report on Tyler Henry, a 28 year old “Hollywood medium”. 

He has a waiting list of 600,000 people willing to travel far & wide to meet with him, but when Jim Parsons (Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory) requests to speak to his real-life mee-maw, Tyler Henry will make house calls. 

Tyler Henry; yes this young man is smiling, all the way to the bank!

On CBS Sunday Morning, we see him on the stage in front of a large group of people, asking if anyone knows this random name and does it connect to this random month; yes, yes shouts someone from the audience!

C’mon people, his act is so old school it’s straight out of vaudeville!  Are you that desperate to believe?  It’s okay, I get it.  For a long time, I wanted to believe too.

But Tyler insists he’s real, and tells CBS that he believes half of the so-called mediums out there are phony.  Really Tyler?  Half?  THEY ALL ARE, TYLER.  JUST ASK HARRY HOUDINI.  

You can contact him, can’t you? 

Anyway, if you made it this far—thanks for listening and I’d be very curious to know what others think.  Apparently Tyler has a show on Netflix, but I don’t subscribe to that service so I’ve never seen it.  Am I being too harsh?  Have you seen it?  Does he seem legitimate to you?

I asked my friend Diana (who happens to be a pretty devout Christian) what she thought about contacting the dead.  She said she very much believed in an afterlife, but there was no bridge between their world and ours.  That made good sense to me.

 

Sometimes, not often enough… we reflect upon the good things

While waiting to recover fully from this long-covid affliction and return to a more normal life, I thought I’d share this video I made almost 16 years ago for my sisters and nieces.

My 19 year old niece Sophia, and my 20 year old Kodak EasyShare camera

I made this in November 2008, as a wistful look back at the nice summer we had, and time spent together.  These are my sisters Shawn & Donda-Lin, and nieces Sophia & Drew. 

Shawn’s daughter Sophia was close to 4 here, now she’s 19 and completing her first year at college.  Donda’s daughter Drew was 15, now she’s almost 31.  Where does the time go??

Anyway—I made this at the time using my trusty Kodak Digital camera (seen here) to share on my blog in the fall of ‘08, but changed my mind at the last minute.  I think I worried it might look a little too corny or something.  

I guess that’s one nice thing about growing older… you don’t worry about those types of things so much.

From Blog-O-Vision City in the Teepee… it’s the Waiting Game!

Before I say another word… feel free to roll your eyes and close my blog.  I wouldn’t blame you.  I promised myself I wouldn’t keep writing about this godawful long-covid thing, but I can’t help it.  April 16 will mark the start of my fourth month dealing with this, but for some reason it feels longer.

I got covid the first week of December, it lasted one week, and precisely one month later on January 16 I began getting an intense pressure in my skull and sparkles of pain in my face and lips, and worried something bad was developing.  One month later on February 21 I told my friends at the senior center I’d be taking a leave of absence until this was over.

If you look back thru my posts, I thought it was my TMJ returning from a few years back; a month later, my PCP misdiagnosed it as chronic sinusitis.  I pretty much determined it was long covid, thanks to a couple of excellent PBS documentaries on Youtube and people with eerily similar symptoms on Reddit. 

In fact, these other people’s stories have been downright uncanny.  Ignoring the symptoms for a month, seeing their PCPs, getting misdiagnosed with sinus infections, eventually going to the ER and getting MRIs or CT-scans, being put on nerve drugs like amtriptyline or gabapentin.  (I’m on the latter.)  And then waiting.  That’s all you can do.

Friday morning I got my ER bill for March 22 and the two CT scans. $494.21.  It could’ve been a lot worse. 

I think that luck is on my side, though.  The pain and pressure in my head is 70% gone.  The facial pain is still here, from a dull burn to a heavier one as the day progresses, but Ben-Gay on my neck & face helps a lot come bedtime.

I’m dealing with pretty severe fatigue too, can’t explain it.  I feel okay unless I do something like walk to the store.  When I get home, I feel like I’ve been working in heavy construction all day.  I lay across my bed and pass out for 1-2 hours.

Also when I get up during the night to use the bathroom or get a drink of water, big dizzy spells.  And in the mornings… how do I say this.  Something that most men always wake up with.  I don’t anymore.  Not since February, anyway.

(And all of that is long before I started taking gabapentin.)

But I know I’m getting better, I can feel it in my bones.  Half of the people I’ve read about took anywhere from 4-6 months to recover enough to resume normal living; the other half took 1-3 years.  I will be in the first group, if you please.  Thanks God.

Here’s one good thing from all of this; for as long as I can remember, I’ve kept 2 tubs of ice cream in my freezer.  I’d have a bowl on Friday night, a BIG bowl of ice cream on Saturday night and a smaller bowl on Sundays.  Probably for the last 30 years.

I was all set to get a couple tubs of ice cream the Saturday I woke up with covid in early December.  I didn’t go out that day to buy any, but lost the taste for it after recovering a week later and haven’t touched it since. 

I haven’t been downstairs to my building’s exercise room in 3 months, but still managed to lose 12-13 pounds and keep it off.  So… thanks covid?

And thank YOU for reading.  My next post is going to be a funny (and true) story, about my neighbor I think.  Stay tuned!

 

What a 62 year old bachelor makes for Sunday Easter dinner, and a big setback

This is what I had for dinner Easter Sunday:  2 deviled eggs with smoked paprika, some “Tavern Ham” from my local deli (it’s fatty, in a good way), cheesy scalloped potatoes and oven roasted broccoli.

By the way, I used a box mix to make those potatoes; but if you want to make them taste homemade, add 1 whole cup of milk (the directions say to use 2/3) and toss in half a chopped onion.  If you cook them a little extra slow, the chopped onion will ‘meld’ and thicken the sauce in a really delicious way. 

My sister Shawn said I was welcome to tag along with her & Jim to his son Michael and daughter-in-law Jessica’s for Easter dinner, and I love Jessica.  But the facial pain makes things too uncomfortable to do much smiling, let alone socializing. 

But believe me, I would’ve loved to go—since February 21, I’ve only been out of my apartment 5-6 times to go to the grocery store.  And that trip on March 22 to Mercy Hospital.

Like I wrote in my previous post (with that big smiling photo of myself which was a little premature) much of the weird “long covid cranial pressure” has been reduced in my head, which initially gave me some real hope.  But it seems to have traveled down into my face and neck, they’re in bad shape.  I’m trying to reduce the pain and inflammation with hot and cold compresses, and avoiding more pills unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

But it’s becoming too much for me.  I think as soon as I hit publish on this thing, I’m going to get some aspirin or something.

I’m sorry for continuing to share all this, I’m just in disbelief I’ve been dealing with this for the last 3 months.  It’s creepy how much it reminds me of TMJ, maybe it’s becoming that.   

I only ate a portion of the meal I made above, then gave up and wrapped some ice in a towel to put on my face and laid back down the rest of the day.

Again, I’m sorry for sharing all of this and I hope everyone reading this had a nice Easter.  I’m just angry, depressed, worried how long this is going to continue.

A few days ago my sister Shawn wrote and said she’s hoping by May, things will be better on both our ends and I can come down and just hang out.  It was such a nice letter on her part, I miss seeing her and her husband Jim.  I sure hope things are better by May and I can visit with them and be my old self again.

And get back to the senior center and back to blogging about happier things. 

Thanks for reading, you guys have been great.

It’s getting better all the time… also, a sad goodbye to an old friend

Are you getting tired of my selfies?  I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let that hospital bed mugshot in my last post be the last pic you see of me. 

So, I’ve been taking 800mg gabapentin for one week now and it’s making a difference.  Well, in my skull at least.  It’s easing the cranial pressure, but does nothing for my orofacial pain.  I contacted Dr. Batal (who prescribed the Neurontin) and asked if I could take something like Tylenol too.  He said “Yes to Tylenol, no to Advil, Aleve, Naoproxen.”

I said thanks, maybe I’ll try to hold off on the Tylenol.  When he asked why, I said I was already taking 10 pills a day as it was. 

He said “10 pills?  You’re only supposed to be taking 8 of the Neurontin (gabapentin) daily.”  I reminded him I’m also taking two amlodipine a day for my high blood pressure.  This is crazy!

Anyway, I didn’t retouch this photo or anything (haha) but I DID take it in my bedroom under a soft light.  I know I’m no George Clooney, but I think I look a heck of a lot better than I did 2 weeks ago.  (But outside, it looks like I have 2 black eyes.)  I’m anxious to get the facial pain under control, but I’m nervous about leaving my apartment and going anywhere.  I feel very drugged from all the gabapentin.  I couldn’t walk a straight line if you paid me to.

I’m getting there though.  And right now I feel pretty fortunate.

This past Sunday, my sister Shawn texted me and said “Did you know Mike Pikula died?”  No I didn’t, and it shocked me greatly.  Back in 1980, a year after high school, I landed a full-time job at Murphy’s Mart (a new discount retail store like Wal-Mart in our hometown).  I quickly became friends with several people my age—Brenda, Rita, Kim, Rob, Mark, Mike.  Most of us hung out at Brenda’s house on Saturday nights, ate snacks and played board games and watched television together.

Mike & Brenda fell in love and got married in 1986, but we remained close until I moved to Pittsburgh a year later.  We pretty much lost contact for 30 years, until 2017 when my sister talked me into moving back to Waynesburg.  That didn’t work out, but before I moved back to the city I had a reunion with Mike & Brenda and we went out to dinner at Burgatory (an upscale hamburger joint) and then to La-Z-Boy Furniture where they helped me pick out a new couch.  The same one I’m sitting on right now.

I made Mike do a test sit, recline & lie-down on every sofa we looked at and give it a comfort rating—he happily obliged and it was just like the old days. 

It hardly seemed like 30 years had passed, we laughed so much that night and had such a great time.

Mike died of cancer a week ago, surrounded by his wife, children and grandchildren.  My heart hurts for Brenny Lou, I can’t believe he’s gone.  Rest in peace, Mike.

 

And so it goes… feeling foggy but hopeful

So a couple days ago (Wednesday) I got fed up with being bedridden for the most part, decided I’d confront this chronic head inflammation head-on (no pun intended) and walk to the store.

I got outside, down the steps in front of my building, about half a block up the street and took a tumble.  The pressure in my head just got too much.  An elderly couple walking their poodles across the street dashed over and helped me up.  Um, I love older people—the older I get the more I notice how they look out for one another.  They insisted on walking me back to my building, on the elevator and back up to my apartment.  I didn’t resist, was just too grateful.

I immediately filled my bathtub with Eucalyptus bubble bath and steaming hot water (it seems to calm things down, I’ve been doing this 2-3 times daily) and called my doctor’s office.

They asked what was going on, I told them about my fall and how I’ve been in a steady decline since my last appointment on February 28.  I’ve pretty much been bedridden this past month.  The attending physician there asked if I’d followed the prescribed treatment (antibiotics, daily Flucosan and neti-pot rinses, sinus sprays) and I said yes, but my sinuses were swollen, ragged and burned constantly, and I never had any congestion in the first place.  Just persistent, crushing pressure in my face.  She said “Stop using those products effective immediately.  I’m having everything sent over to the ER, get yourself admitted as soon as you can.”  

So I went to Mercy Hospital, along with my friend Erin (who stayed with me the entire night).  When it comes to friends, she’s as special as they come.

The doctor who talked to me was pretty special too.  Seriously, I felt like I was in excellent hands.  He said “Douglas, we have you here—let’s find out what’s really going on!  We’ll do bloodwork, CT scans of your brain and sinuses, set you up with an IV and a migraine cocktail.”  

Soon my head was swimming, but in a good way.  They did the bloodwork (to check for infections) and the two CT scans.  While waiting for the results, the doctor said “I see on your file that you think you know what this is.  I  want you to spell it all out.  I got plenty of time, so take your time.”   Jesus I almost busted out crying!

I told him about recovering from covid a week before Christmas, and this all starting a month later.  I spent my nights reading up on “long covid symptoms”, and read multiple accounts of people dealing with chronic inflammation and intense cranial pressure, and how it affected some people’s sinuses.  Many were getting misdiagnosed with sinusitis, and their headaches were ignored.  I thought that’s what happened to me.

He was writing a lot of stuff down (I figured it was something like “this patient is cuckoo”) but returned later with the CT results and said “Ok, your sinuses are in rough shape but only in a superficial way.  You have no sinusitis, probably never did.  Your bloodwork is fine and your brain shows no lesions or tumors.  But there is frontal lobe inflammation.”

He went on to say that he thought my long-covid diagnosis was correct, and that when the body is infected with covid, some areas (like the lungs, heart or brain) can go into ‘chronic overdrive’ and continue fighting the virus even after it’s gone.  He was going to prescribe gabapentin, an anticonvulsant that ‘tamps down’ an overexcited brain.

He asked if I was experiencing any brain fog, I said no.  He said “Well… you will.  You’re going to be taking 8 pills a day for the first 30 days, we’ll reduce the dosage if things improve and stay there.”

And so it’s been a couple days, and I’m sitting here in my living room on a quiet Friday morning.  I haven’t been up this early in over a month.  When I got up today and went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, I began to feel the familiar pressure bearing down in the front of my head, like a cinder-block.

But instead of feeling it’s jagged corners in my temples or the roughness of the concrete, it feels like the block has been wrapped in an angora sweater.  My face still feels pulled taut on one side and pretty sore still, but I almost like this drug’s dizziness.  I feel a bit ‘dumbed down’ and I don’t mind.

I’m very sorry I haven’t been keeping up on others blogs and such, but I’m convinced things will be normal again soon.  Thanks very much for letting me share.

 

Anxious for things to return to normal, but right now I’m in it for the (covid) long haul

Isn’t this a strange photo?  This is me sitting on the floor of my bedroom, wearing a Moist Heat Sinus Relief Mask from Amazon.

It’s a very soft, plush fabric that wraps around your head and comes with 3 heat settings and an auto-shutoff timer after 15/30/60 minutes.  It’s comfortable to wear and the heat can be soothing; I only wish it came with eye-holes!  Debbi from the blog ‘Life’s Funny Like That’ reached out to me with a link to this device and after reading most of the customer reviews, I went ahead and ordered one.

The instruction book says “Even though this comes with a shutoff timer, please do NOT wear it in bed or to bed, it can get hot enough to burn.”  So, unable to sleep or read or look at TV, you’ve got plenty of time to sit there and think.

It’s pointless to look back and wish you could have a do-over, but I can easily see how events played out that led me to this.  The Tuesday after Thanksgiving I stopped at Rite-Aid on my way to the Senior Center to see about getting my covid vaccine shot and a prescription refilled. 

There was a line, so I thought I’d come back the next day.  On my way out the door I said to the manager “You guys aren’t on the bankruptcy closure list are you?” and she said “Not yet!”  I didn’t return the following day, and when I finally went back on Friday—sure enough, the doors were locked with a sign on the front saying goodbye and prescription pickups were sent to the Giant Eagle on Mt. Nebo Road.

(That’s when I asked my friend Susie if I could ride along the next time she went there as she did her grocery shopping there.  I went with her the following Monday, she called me the very next morning and said she was sick and tested positive for covid; 2-3 days later I wound up positive too.)

She recovered from covid with no issues, I wasn’t so fortunate.  So if I hadn’t gone with Susie, would things be any different right now?  This is entirely my fault of course, but I bet my IRA I’d be pain-free and blogging about something else.

I haven’t been to the center since February 21.  We had a nice lunch that day of broccoli stuffed chicken and orzo, and they asked if I wanted seconds as there’d been several cancellations.  I said yes, thank you… but also admitted I was dealing with a buildup of orofacial pain for the last couple weeks and it was becoming too much to bear.  Little did I know what was coming…

I have to admit the persistent pressure in my forehead and temples is making me a bit mental.  Earlier today (I’m writing this on a Friday night) I decided to shave and walk to the store for some ham sandwich spread and a can of Resolve Carpet Cleaner.  Maybe do a little ‘early spring cleaning’ and freshen my bedroom carpet.

So I’m standing in line at the deli counter, and because it’s Lent there’s a lot of people in line for fish sandwiches and stuff.  The woman behind the counter says “Next!” and it’s the tall guy in front of me, but he’s turned sideways, talking to a woman not in line.  The deli woman says again “Next!  Next!”  and I lost it and poked the man’s shoulder and said “SHE’S TALKING TO YOU!”

The man jumped and said “Dude!  I was talking to my Mom!”   I said “I DON’T CARE YOU GOT A LINE OF PEOPLE BEHIND YOU!”   He said to his mother  “Can you believe this?  I’ll call you tonight!”

Now see.. normally I wouldn’t have said a word.  But it was my head doing that, not me.

I forgot where I was going with this… I guess I just wanted to put something new out there.  I know I’m going to fully recover from whatever this is.  (Lots of pressure in the front of my head with jabs of pain, sore sinuses and mouth.)  I no longer think it’s sinusitis, there’s no congestion, no (forgive me for being gross) colored discharge.  Just lots and lots of chronic inflammation.  At night I can sleep for the most part, and that’s a good thing.

As long as I’m thanking Debbi for sending me the link to that face mask, I also wanted to thank blogger Joanne for the Neilmed Sinus Rinse suggestion.  I’ve become quite the pro at using it, and the saline wash has been soothing to my dry, ragged sinuses.  I can’t believe I’m in my sixties and never used one before.

If you made it this far, let me know and I’ll add you to my will.  Thanks for listening.

 

That’s my head in the vise and I feel guilty it’s there, but I’m working on it

Last week, the day after my trip to Mercy Hospital to meet with my PCP and an ENT, my sister texted me and asked if I was feeling better now that I started the antibiotics. 

I responded I didn’t feel any better, I’d only taken two pills so far.  She replied “With strep throat two doses of antiobiotics you feel like you’re healed!”  I felt guilty for not having strep.

The next day, my friend Elisa (who works at the Senior Center) emailed and asked what happened at my medical appointment.  I told her my PCP believed this was a long-covid condition and they didn’t have all the answers.  But post-covid inflammation could persist for 3 months or even longer.

My friend said “Sorry, I’m not buying it.”  I felt guilty for sharing such a dire forecast, I should’ve just said I’ll be better soon.  (Still, this is now in it’s second month.)

Three days ago my friend Pat texted me and said “It’s 72F outside!  Go for a walk, I bet you’ll feel like your old self!”   I said okay, but the truth was I just returned from a walk to the market and felt guilty it didn’t make me feel like my old self.

The day before yesterday, I emailed Courtney (the director of the Senior Center I belong to) to inform her I wouldn’t be coming up for the Flatbread Turkey lunch, and could she please express my regrets to my flatbread partner Mary.  She said of course, and asked if I wanted to attend the St. Patty’s Day luncheon next week.  I said I’d better not schedule anything else just yet. 

But I still felt guilty leaving Mary in the lurch for lunch. 

Yesterday morning I called my doctor to let him know I was on the last of the antibiotics but wasn’t feeling much better yet.  He said “Douglas, the antiobiotics were to ensure we got any bacteria in your respiratory.  What are you doing to manage things?”

I told him I was taking a nightly bath with steam and epsom salts, it really seemed to ease the cranial pressure for an hour or so.  And I was going to bed with Vicks VapoRub streaked on my cheekbones like Indian warpaint.  

I added the Naproxen was a game changer, it reduced the pressure in my head by almost half sometimes and for hours too.

My doctor said “I only prescribed you ten of those pills for worst case scenarios, they weren’t intended for daily use.”  Oops.  He asked how many I’d taken, I said 6.  He said “You abused those, I don’t want you taking anymore.  Have you tried aspirin?”

I said yes, but they only help a tiny fraction of the discomfort.  He said “It’s better than nothing.  Next time follow my instructions.”   Yes sir.  Oh the guilt.

Okay, I just finished proofreading all this and boy this is one big boo-hoo, isn’t it?  If I post this on my blog, I’m going to feel REALLY guilty for sharing it with all of you.

But as long as I’m feeling so guilty already….

From my old comic book and sci-fi days… the unearthed videos of ApacheDug

While I’m waiting for this brain fog & long covid orofacial stuff to go away, I thought I’d share something silly I found (and long forgotten) on the internet Sunday.

Several years after my mom passed and before I retired in 2015, I belonged to an online club called Blammo.

Blammo was a place where we got into some pretty heavy discussions on everything from finances to music—but the focus was on comic books, movies, Doctor Who, classic and contemporary science fiction, Star Trek.

It was mostly guys and we teased each other relentlessly.  Some became like brothers.

I was going to do a series of videos on there after the first one got so much feedback, but I worried the guys would see me as a goof and nothing more.

There’s only 4, and they’re only 1-3 minutes long, but if you’re curious to see me jibber-jabber in person so to speak, lisp & all, here ya go.

1.  I made this first one to celebrate my 9000th post… MY 9000TH POST

2.  That first video got such a positive response….

3.  Third time’s the charm?  (I was on something in this one)

4.  Capped and caffeinated (this is still my favorite ball cap)

You take the good, you take the bad, you take ‘em both and there you have—chronic sinusitis

I just wanted to give a quick update on things, if that’s okay—the last few days wrestling with all this inflammation and crazy noggin pressure was making me pretty batty.  I spent most of Saturday on the phone with my dear friend Erin, then did a repeat performance Monday night with my friend & former classmate Diana. 

They were both so kind, I owe them both big-time.  Thank you, thank you.

Early Tuesday morning, I called my PCP’s office and a kindly triage nurse let me explain what I’ve been wrestling with since January.  She told me that my PCP was going to be at Mercy Hospital on Wednesday, get there bright and early and he would do an evaluation.  I almost cancelled when I woke up to the biggest rainstorm Pittsburgh’s seen in 30 years, but made it to Mercy Hospital almost an hour early.  I was dripping wet when I walked in there, but they got me a pair of scrubs and those comfy grip-socks to wear.

It turned out (luckily for me) they’d had a number of morning cancellations.  My PCP and his 3rd year medical student saw me almost immediately, and because we were in a hospital and not his private practice, was also examined by an ENT (ear, nose, throat) specialist.

I have to say, that specialist was remarkable.  He said “Here’s what happened.  You had covid in December, you recovered from that.  Then you got sick again with another virus or infection in a 2 week timeframe.”   I said yes I should’ve remembered that.  He said “That’s how your acute sinus infection became chronic.”

He said the good news was, my masseters (jaw muscles) looked untraumatized and the oral pain was from tissue inflammation, not muscle.  So he didn’t see this being a TMJ issue (at least, not yet).  The bad news was, the orofacial pain wasn’t going anywhere and could probably continue another couple months.    

They gave me an antibiotic to be taken twice a day for 10 days, and a 10 day dosage of Naproxen.  Also some prescription FLonase, and a saltwater concoction to irrigate my sinuses regularly. 

I asked about the intense pressure in the front & sides of my head, my PCP asked if I was sure my vision wasn’t blurry.  I said my sight was clear and he said “Good, then we can probably rule out a tumor.”   Er… good to know.

 

Fearful of going down that rabbit hole again—I hope I won’t have to

I probably shouldn’t be writing anything right now, for all I know a real miracle will occur in the next day or two and everything will be right as rain again.

But the truth of the matter is, this TMJ I’m wrestling with keeps going in the wrong direction.  Every few days it will lighten up enough for me to believe it’s getting better, and I’ll start to do normal things again (like preparing those mini-chicken pizzas in my last post).

I’ll tell a couple friends I’m on the mend, and then the next day it comes roaring back with a vengeance.  Right now my temples and the top of my skull are enflamed, my face aches and my mouth is very, very sore.  Eating is difficult but not impossible (yet).  For some reason, hot creamy coffee soothes things.  Not tea, not broth, hot creamy coffee.

I know I wrote about this a week or so ago, how I was convinced my TMJ was “reactivated” one week after testing positive for covid.  What I didn’t mention is that the TMJ only lasted 2 weeks, then faded completely.  But exactly 2 weeks after that, I got a severe case of food poisoning of all things, and it REALLY woke up the TMJ.  That was in January, but seems longer ago. 

Sometimes blogging can be a real pain in the ass.  I’ve gotten angry emails from people in the past about something political I’d written, or called out for getting my facts wrong, all sorts of things.  But last night I did a search on TMJ in my blog, and was reminded (by many awful posts) how much I struggled with TMJ from December 2018 to December 2020.

Those two years (TWO YEARS!) I remained holed up in my apartment, watching nothing but MSNBC and slurping coffee, Ensure & Metamucil.  I often went to bed at 5:30-6pm, only because the fewer hours I remained awake, the better.

That is the rabbit hole I’m fearful of going down again.  

Last March I went down to my sister’s house and stayed a week while my apartment was getting its furnace repaired and the place ozoned.  I told Shawn I’d been a hermit for far too long, and when I got back to the city I was going to change my life around.  I knew she didn’t believe me but I meant it.

I wasted no time joining my local library, signing up with a local senior center, reconnecting with an old classmate.  I spent a few weekends in the spring & summer with my sister Shawn and brother-in-law Jim, toured points of interest (like Falling Waters) with my friend Diana, went to museums, restaurants and even a gateway clipper ride with the folks at my center.  I made a lot of friends there too.

I can’t imagine having to go back to the person I was before.  (Trust me, you can only “grin thru the pain” for so long, with so many people.  It’s not sustainable.)

Anyway, I know this wasn’t an entertaining read and I apologize for that.  One good thing about having a blog, you can share & share and there will always be someone out there listening, and it really helps.  Thanks for listening and I hope my next post is a brighter one.