Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Fish Oil, Not Snake Oil

I have been taking Omega 3 in the form of Fish Oil for some time now. While checking out YouTube.com for anything MS related, I came across this interesting video posted by a medical student. His exuberance over something not created by a pharmaceutical company is refreshing.



He's quite a good writer as well. His blog can be found at:
http://bostonmedicalstudent.wordpress.com/

Hopefully he can retain his fascination, inspiration, and determination once he becomes a doctor. The world needs more like him.

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Monday, February 25, 2008

The Halfway Mark

Last Thursday was the halfway mark in my clinical trial and for some reason I've been so melancholy about it that I didn't even want to blog it. I just don't want it to end and there's always the "what if" about whether it will get approval or not. I can't imagine that it won't but I fear if I don't hold my breath and cross my fingers, knock on wood and any other superstitious thing I can think of doing, I might jinx it or something.

Anyhow... the checkup went smoothly. My sister drove me again because of having to have my eyes dilated for the eye exam and OCT. My first appointment was at 9 am for the Pulmonary Function Test, and the last appointment of the day was going to be the OCT at 1 pm. I don't know why I expected it to all go smoothly and as scheduled. It never does.

I'm still getting over this head cold that decided to make a home in my chest. It only bothers me at night and first thing in the morning with a gagging cough that threatens to push my lungs out my mouth. I have started sleeping in my lazy boy all night just so I'm somewhat inclined. If I lay flat I cough nonstop. I was worried that my breathing test would be skewed because of this, so I made sure I told the guy doing the test.

He's the same guy who always does the test and after he did the first part of it (where I'm sitting in the plexiglas box) he said "you actually did better this time than last time since you had a cold last time."

Geeze! I'd forgotten that! Anyhow, he said that my lungs were normal just like they were last time.

Then it was off to go back across 4 lanes of traffic to get from the hospital to the Towers. For the last 7 visits I have walked there, risking life and limb. On this occasion however, the tester guy asks if we knew about the Orange Shuttle. Huh?? All this time there's been a shuttle I didn't know about?

He walks us out the back entrance to the hospital to an area with an orange sign that says "Orange Shuttle Stop". He leaves us there with the warning "Don't take the blue one because it goes all over town. The orange one goes from here to the Pavilion, to the towers."

A few minutes later, here comes a big white bus (he neglected to mention WHITE) and we just stood there as it stopped. No other people were at the stop but my sister and me. We tried to wave the lady driving the bus on, but she just pulled up farther and opened the door. "What are you waiting for?" she asks. "The Orange shuttle, we reply in unison."

"This IS the Orange Shuttle, get on."

We say "no it's not, it's white." (Like because she's inside, we are compelled to describe the outside to her so she has a clue). She rolls her eyes and tells us she keeps telling them she needs something orange to stick in the window so people aren't so confused. Turns out they have 4 orange shuttles and 3 of them are white. Go figure. We get on.

Next stop is the research department to see my trial nurse for the blood work, urine test, MSFC, EKG, and exam with Dr. Kantor.

The MSFC, I'd forgotten all about. It's the test with the dreaded Numbers Guy. See this post for the horrors of the first MSFC exam. The numbers guy stumped me again and I was left sitting and listening to him rattle off numbers for 3 in a row somewhere in the middle. It was those 7's and 9's again. You have to add 2 numbers and say the result and wait for him to say the next number. You add that to the last number he said while trying to forget the previous total which you just said out loud. Sound confusing? Try playing the game. Just as last time, the practice test went perfectly. I waited for the real thing to screw up.

Then, when that was over, I did the peg test and it seemed a little harder this time. My hands just don't want to behave themselves. Either that or the pegs shrunk since the first time. I actually had one peg stick to my sweaty fingers as I went to drop it in the bowl. It release when I had my hand, mid-swing, over the table. I lost precious seconds scrambling for it and nearly knocking it on the floor. If this is a test of how clumsy one can be, does that mean I passed?

Speed walking came next. I was so excited that, between last time I was tested and this time, I have actually retaught myself to run, I just had to ask...

"Is it okay if I run instead of walk?"

(laughter)

"no really."

(more laughter, then a pause)

"you're serious?"

"dead."

"No, honey, it's a walking test. Just walk as fast as you possibly can."

So I walked the way the kids at school walk when they know they aren't allowed to run but can't help pushing the rule a bit by speed gliding. I'm sure I did way better this time than last.

Next, the blood draw. Two little vials rested next to the rubber tourniquet, alcohol wipe and pokey stick. I tried to go to my Zen place and not think about it. I have small veins that wiggle and roll and hide when someone tries to prick them. Last time it took the one lady six tries before she went and got Geri (a name I can remember, yes!) who is the Master Sticker. She got in right on the first try and told me which vein and the angle it lies at in the left elbow area for future reference.

This time I say "well, if all else fails, you can go get Geri."

"Um, Geri got another job."

"Crap! But no, that's fine, you'll do just fine, I'm sure! No offense or anything. By the way, the vein's right here, running at this angle."

Thank God she left me with that tidbit of info before moving on to bigger and better opportunities. My nurse stuck me good the first time. But, right before she did, she said "Oh, I forgot to get the Kit out." She brings out this box and opens it to expose another several dozen vials (actually only 4 more, but once you've reached 6 vials they might as well get the last couple of drops you have left in you while they're at it). I nearly fainted, but I stayed strong.

I still needed to get my EKG, see the doctor, and fill out the PRIMUS paperwork. (That's a questionnaire about how MS affects your life). But there was no time. I was running late for my eye exam. She said "go to your appointment then come back for the rest of this stuff." So I did.

The eye exam went great. No changes to my vision and I left there all blurry eyed, gripping my sister's arm and feeling like Mr. Magoo. We went to the truck and had the lunch we packed while waiting for time to go have the OCT.

I love going for the OCT after seeing the eye doc because my eyes are already dilated and they bump me to the head of the line while the other poor saps are waiting for their drops to start working.

The OCT went well. I kind of enjoy watching the spirograph-like designs and the challenge of not blinking. I never have the urge to blink until someone tells me not to. Kind of like "Don't swallow." when you are having a C-spine MRI. All you can think about is to wonder if anyone every drowned in their own saliva.

We ended up the visit back at Research where I got the EKG and they scheduled a future appointment with the doc because he wasn't going to be able to squeeze me in that day.

The EKG went well. I heard the nurse and one of the doctors looking over my printout.

"Look at this."

"Wow!"

(my ears perk up and my heart starts pounding and palms sweating in anticipation of bad news.)

"Have you ever seen such a perfect EKG?!"

"Can't say as I have. That's a beauty. Just look at that spike."

(huh?)

That was my excitement for the day and lucky I wasn't still strapped to the machine or they might have changed their tune.

I was loaded down with my 3 boxes of new shots and my 3 bottles of pills and sent on my merry way.

Everything's looking good so far. Keeping my fingers crossed that the second half of this study is as successful as the first. I'd love to say I could barely remember my last MS attack -- and not have it be from cognitive dysfunction. :-)

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Saturday, February 23, 2008

Wasting Spoons


Hi. My name is Jeri and I'm a pack rat. I have been all my life and I'm not sure there's any hope for me. I'd really like to change but every time I make an effort to clean a spot in any given area of my home, it ends up becoming a prime location for everyone in the house to set stuff down. This could be solved simply by removing or inclining every flat surface in the house but then it would be hard to eat dinner with everything sliding on the floor.

Even though I have had a predilection for hording stuff and not putting things in their place all my life, (read: pre-MS) I like to use the good old Fatigue Excuse for not dealing with doing something about it now. I can't waste my spoons! I read the story (in which, for people with chronic illness -- lupus in the story, your energy allotment for the day equals so many spoons) and I decided that my spoons are more important than any amount of housework. Finally! I've been given a legitimate excuse not to force myself to deal with the clutter! The only thing better would be a prescription from the doc stating "under no circumstances should this woman clean anything." That would be SWEET.

So now, as I sit surrounded by stacks of papers that should be filed, projects that have been started and abandoned mid-inspiration, and baskets of clothes that have been searching for their long lost birth dresser, I wonder how others with MS are managing. I mean, even though I do have some fatigue and need to take afternoon naps, it's not like I'm on Provigil or something. I don't have it so bad that it has affected my daily routine other than to give me a get out of housecleaning free ticket.

I told myself that I can be happy living like this because it's a waste of spoons to spend all day cleaning. But deep down, I feel like if I really applied myself (and rented a backhoe and a dumpster) that I could have a house that had that minimalist, zen-like appearance that is so calming.

Instead, I clean one section of a room and then put on mental blinders and look only at that clean spot, relishing the idea that if I could encourage clean spots to grow the way clutter seems to my whole house would erupt in plain white walls, polished floors and flat surfaces holding only those indoor sandboxes with the tiny rakes, or maybe groups of black shiny stones that look cool but have no purpose.

I have tried to tackle this problem in the past many times to no avail. I signed up for Fly Lady's email list only to discover my inbox looked like the rest of my house in a matter of minutes. I quickly unsubscribed. Being bombarded with emails telling me I had to get completely dressed every morning including the shoes goes against my philosophy that shoes are footwear for outside the house and my pink fuzzy slippers are acceptable daytime wear when indoors.

I've also bought books over the years to learn how to de-clutter. Last weekend I decided to tackle a closet whose door had not been opened in several years. I found tons of saved gift wrapping paper, empty containers that would be good for holding stuff some day, and paint cans with the remainder of whatever color the spare room had been painted 2 colors ago (in case of needing a touch up). I removed a Lawn and Leaf bag full of useless things I couldn't part with and underneath the stuff on the shelf, guess what I found!?? A book called 500 Terrific Ideas For Cleaning Everything. Honest to God.

All of this is amusing, no doubt, but it's left my mind just as cluttered as my living conditions and wondering if there's a health benefit that could be obtained by sacrificing my spoons for the betterment of my environment. After all, I don't work outside the home and can pretty much take a nap any time I want to. What's it going to hurt to really roll up my sleeves and make a dent in this stuff? Will applying myself bring on a much feared relapse? Does living in clutter cause a mental funk that is conducive to possible exacerbations?

All I know is that Better Homes and Gardens ("than Mine", the cover seems to scream) will never be beating a path to my door no matter how clean I get the joint. Knowing this, what is an acceptable level of clutter? I would really like to get to the bare walls and floor and start over and find out.

I was in a flood once as a kid and we lost a lot of earthly belongings. It makes you realize that "stuff" is NOT important. We had our family and everyone made it through the ordeal none the worse for wear. That was all that really mattered.... so why is it now so hard to part with "stuff"? Some phd guy could probably tell me, but I want a real answer that doesn't uproot my subconscious in the explanation process.

If I fear a relapse so badly that I can't lift a finger to file some papers because I might tax myself, then I'm wasting my good years doing nothing while I'm completely capable of doing lots of things. Sure, if I take the fatigue into account, life has become harder, but I have seen people in wheelchairs who have accomplished more in their lives that I am doing with my body whose legs still get me around. I'd at least like to die with a clean house one day and have my headstone read "She gave up her spoons for a zen-like existence". Better than going out in a blaze of clutter and having my headstone read "if we could have only gotten to her in that maze of stuff, she might have been saved."

It would help if 2 other people in the house weren't also pack rats. They don't even have the moral struggle with it that I do. They are oblivious to the CHAOS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome -- see FlyLady.com). I'm sure the conversation that goes on in their minds as they lay down their tools from the day's remodeling project or their backpack from school goes something like this:

"Geeze, she hasn't even cleaned a spot for me to set this junk down! What am I supposed to do with it? Oh well, maybe it'll balance here. Man, she needs to do something about this." (big crash behind them as they walk away and don't look back to investigate).

I guess I just found the reason those clean spots don't grown. I'm going out to buy a new set of spoons and roll up my sleeves. The only way to test out the theory that a clean house is a health benefit for your mind, body and soul is to actually put it to the test.

I will watch a marathon of Clean Sweep shows where people whose homes are way worse than mine have a make over and get de-cluttered, then pump myself up saying "you can do this! You can throw out that pair of jeans you haven't worn in 10 years or that packing slip from something you got in the mail 2 years ago!" But then I get suspicious that Clean Sweep never does follow up stories 2 months later to see if the newly decorated space is chock full of clutter again. All they did was give the pack rats a whole new set of flat surfaces that invite the full arms to empty spontaneously.

Whew! Just writing about it has warn me out! Maybe I and my spoons will go curl up in the easy chair and gaze at that clean spot over in the corner and drift off into a blissfully uncluttered dream. I hear Fatigue calling. Gotta go.

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