The warm blanket we snuggle under.
The kitty who meows us awake.
The neighbor who looks after us (and who we look after).
The kitty who appreciates our attention.
The coffee shop employees who know my order.
The job that gives me goals and motivation (and health care and a paycheck).
The kitty who finally trusts us.
The family for being who they are.
The meals we share.
The quiet times in the evening hours when it's enough to just sit beside you.
The last words we exchange before we sleep.
For this, and for so much more, I have much to be thankful for.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
A Totally True Tabby Tale
This
is Tabby. As you can see she'd like to shake your hand. (And yes, she has thumbs.)
Anyway, that's Tabby. Tabby is a gooooooooooood kitty.
It is mouse season here on the East Coast. As it gets colder and wetter, the outside mice get the brilliant idea to move indoors. There's not a lot one can do except to accept it and set traps in obvious "mice" areas. We have VERY cat-safe traps, so that little paws are kept safe. It wouldn't be a problem for Tabby so much ... she's beyond kitten-hood (about 10ish years old) but Shiloh is estimated to be a curious teen ... about 3 years. So yeah, we're careful.
We've known we have mice (plural ... because honestly no one has "mouse") for a couple of weeks. Not because of signs or droppings but because Tabby has been staring at corners and doors and just generally acting weird (even for a cat).
Last week, I moved the kitty toy box from the corner of the living room because Tabby was staring at it ... and she pounced. (She's about 12 lbs but even so - it was a definite pounce.) The mouse she caught had a body length that was smaller than a large paperclip ...... this was a smalllllllllllllllllllllllll mouse. She looked up at me, mouse mouth and all, as if to ask "ok so now what" and I pleaded to her to please please please head into the kitchen (non-carpeted floor and not a lot of super heavy things to run underneath) and she LISTENED to me!!! SUCH a good kitty. By the time she dropped the little creature on the kitchen floor to show me, it was very close to dying so I praised her (a LOT) and disposed of said critter.
Fast forward to a few nights ago. (Well, a few mornings actually ... 3:20am according to the bedroom clock.) Dead quiet throughout the house. Not a creature was stirring, not even a ..... well ... actually ...
So Tabby comes padding quickly into our bedroom (her little feet on the carpet make a small "psshh" sound as she walks) and says, in an urgent-type voice, "Meow! Meow meow meow! Rrrrow merrow!" which was either "Come quickly, Timmy's fallen into the well again" or "Come see the snack I have to share!" The Awesome Boyfriend was awake and standing before I was fully awake but we both followed as Tabby proudly marched into the kitchen to show us her latest hunting victim ... another ridiculously tiny mouse that was, again, nearly dead. "Such a gooooood kitty" we said, while rubbing our eyes and reaching for a paper towel and a plastic zip-top bag.
And of course she is a very good kitty. But consider this ...
She caught this creature somewhere in the house, likely played with it for awhile, left it in the kitchen, walked into our room (when she could have VERY easily brought the mouse with her), told us to come to the kitchen, and went back to the kitchen for her praises and kudos. I've had some smart kitties before ... but ... geez, that's impressive as heck to me! It seems against the nature of a beast to hunt and then LEAVE the hunted to go get the humans to show off the kill. Seriously I can't believe she didn't bring the mouse into our bedroom.
Needless to say, Tabby's getting extra treats for this. And I'd be honored to shake her hand.
Anyway, that's Tabby. Tabby is a gooooooooooood kitty.
It is mouse season here on the East Coast. As it gets colder and wetter, the outside mice get the brilliant idea to move indoors. There's not a lot one can do except to accept it and set traps in obvious "mice" areas. We have VERY cat-safe traps, so that little paws are kept safe. It wouldn't be a problem for Tabby so much ... she's beyond kitten-hood (about 10ish years old) but Shiloh is estimated to be a curious teen ... about 3 years. So yeah, we're careful.
We've known we have mice (plural ... because honestly no one has "mouse") for a couple of weeks. Not because of signs or droppings but because Tabby has been staring at corners and doors and just generally acting weird (even for a cat).
Last week, I moved the kitty toy box from the corner of the living room because Tabby was staring at it ... and she pounced. (She's about 12 lbs but even so - it was a definite pounce.) The mouse she caught had a body length that was smaller than a large paperclip ...... this was a smalllllllllllllllllllllllll mouse. She looked up at me, mouse mouth and all, as if to ask "ok so now what" and I pleaded to her to please please please head into the kitchen (non-carpeted floor and not a lot of super heavy things to run underneath) and she LISTENED to me!!! SUCH a good kitty. By the time she dropped the little creature on the kitchen floor to show me, it was very close to dying so I praised her (a LOT) and disposed of said critter.
Fast forward to a few nights ago. (Well, a few mornings actually ... 3:20am according to the bedroom clock.) Dead quiet throughout the house. Not a creature was stirring, not even a ..... well ... actually ...
So Tabby comes padding quickly into our bedroom (her little feet on the carpet make a small "psshh" sound as she walks) and says, in an urgent-type voice, "Meow! Meow meow meow! Rrrrow merrow!" which was either "Come quickly, Timmy's fallen into the well again" or "Come see the snack I have to share!" The Awesome Boyfriend was awake and standing before I was fully awake but we both followed as Tabby proudly marched into the kitchen to show us her latest hunting victim ... another ridiculously tiny mouse that was, again, nearly dead. "Such a gooooood kitty" we said, while rubbing our eyes and reaching for a paper towel and a plastic zip-top bag.
And of course she is a very good kitty. But consider this ...
She caught this creature somewhere in the house, likely played with it for awhile, left it in the kitchen, walked into our room (when she could have VERY easily brought the mouse with her), told us to come to the kitchen, and went back to the kitchen for her praises and kudos. I've had some smart kitties before ... but ... geez, that's impressive as heck to me! It seems against the nature of a beast to hunt and then LEAVE the hunted to go get the humans to show off the kill. Seriously I can't believe she didn't bring the mouse into our bedroom.
Needless to say, Tabby's getting extra treats for this. And I'd be honored to shake her hand.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
The November Chronicles
I will write about my MRI experience in time. Yesterday I experienced something and, since it is fresh in my mind, I'm gonna write about it.
*****************
Along with "arm tremor", I've experienced an extreme decline in fine motor control in my right hand. My once blazing typing speed has dropped considerably, and I just don't even enjoy using my laptop in my downtime anymore because it's more frustrating than anything else.
Because I've slowly developed this tremor, I've slowly found ways to work around it. Since my handwriting is so stupidly tiny and damn near impossible to read, I either use pre-printed labels or I create a document on my computer and fold it into a note card or whatever. If I can pre-fill out forms in my own time, that's ideal. I also have a weird "left-handed assist" thing I do whenever I type now. I get to a point of typing where I use my left index fingers to reset my right hand ... kind of picking it up and dropping it back onto the keyboard ... and then I carry onwards. I also use my left hand for ANY mouse-related computer stuff, even 'tho I am (of course) right handed.
When I'm sitting on the couch at home, I have a pillow shoved up under my right arm for support. Even though I'm not asking my arm to DO anything. I also occasionally give my right hand a brief massage with my left hand. I do random arm "windmill" movements to keep my shoulder lose. I push my right arm straight against something solid to work out any tightness in my elbow, which aches a little from being folded at my side all day. (Even when I'm walking. Actually ESPECIALLY when I'm walking.)
All of these things are dexterity-related. None of them are strength-based things. I do *feel* as though I have lost muscle tone in my right arm from overall lack of use over the past three years, but that's from just not trusting the arm itself. It has betrayed me.
*****************
I met last week with a Physical Therapist. I arrived about 9:40am because I would be asked to fill out a few forms (ugh), sign and date here, initial here, and then I sat quietly and waited for just a few moments before Janie called my name. We spoke (and did various tests) for an hour. She had me seated in curtained-off area in a very busy room but I had her full attention. She was a good listener and allowed me to do my best to answer her questions as honestly as I knew how. I explained that I didn't have a loss of mobility so much as a lack of dexterity. I also shared with her my fears over loss of muscle tone in my not-as-actively-involved right arm, but explained that I really believed that was more in my head than my arm.
We tested grip strength. We ran movement-based tests. We tested resistance and push and pull but when all was said and done, she confirmed pretty much what I had already known: there was no obvious difference in strength between my left hand and my right. She did, however, ask if I'd be willing to return the following week to see an Occupational Therapist, who would be better suited to address my dexterity issues. I was fine with this and we made the appointment for Tuesday at 8am, which was my choice.
*****************
Yesterday I arrived at 7:55am for my 8am appointment. I was given the same forms to sign and initial. Janie walked by and greeted me (by name) and said that Dawn would be with me shortly. The front desk then pulled Janie aside and asked (in a voice I probably wasn't meant to hear) if she perhaps still had my chart. All the notes we'd done ... tests we'd gone through ... anything we'd thought was important was in that now-missing chart. This was less than ideal.
At 8:10am my chart was found and at 8:15am I was called back. I was given water to take my daily dose of Selegiline with and Dawn said "so what does that do for you then?" I told her that it helped to make my arm tremor slightly less obvious. "So if you take enough of that, the shake goes away?" she asked. "If only" was my reply. "I was taking something else but it was over-treating it and in time would cause unwanted movements." She looked sideways at me. "If you take a pill to undo shakes it will cause you to shake?" she asked. "Basically yeah" I said. "Have you seen a Parkinson's patient who has kind of 'flowing' motions? That's the side effect I'm trying to avoid for as long as possible."
While none of these questions were annoying or extreme, the idea that this sort of information was new to the person who I was hoping would help me control the dexterity of my fingers was a bummer.
*****************
We spent most of the next 40 minutes testing ... my arm strength. Given that Dawn was used to dealing with patients who had been in splints or stitches or casts, it wasn't surprising that she didn't have a lot of things to suggest for maintaining dexterity but it WAS frustrating. If she'd gone over my chart in advance ... ohhhhh wait, they'd lost my chart until 5 minutes before I sat down.
As I was answering her questions, Dawn would walk over to another patient and say "uh huh" but I didn't get the feeling she was actually listening to my responses. All in all, it felt like ... being in a hair salon. Same gossip-y vibe, same regular customer base, same rotating of who is overseeing someone's progress ... it was disappointing. I did actually speak up ... more than once ... to say "it's not connected to strength or muscles, it's about nerves" and "it's not a strength thing, it's a control thing" but I was clearly wasting my time. And Dawn's. I guess that was it ... I felt like it was a date neither of us had the guts to bow out of. She finished the appointment with a basic "call me if you want more ideas" but I'd stopped caring about any of her ideas about 20 minutes before that.
I walked out feeling like a guest speaker who had been invited to a forum attended by convicts. I wasn't prepared and she wasn't interested. We were both there because we felt we had to be.
*****************
It's only been two months since my diagnosis, and I don't KNOW what kind of questions to ask, or even WHO to ask. I can only describe what my hand and arm feel like ... I don't know what to do about it. I know what I've BEEN doing about it but that's not working as great as I'd like anymore (she typed, using her left hand to reset her right). So yes, I've muddled through this far but I'd like more muddling tools. And the "not being listened to" part? Yeaaaaaah ... that's not cool.
*****************
I arrived at work feeling dejected. I realize and accept that not every medical or service-related hospital-type person will be up on all their "Parkinson's" info but this was frankly just a case of "lazy". And honestly, pre-diagnosis this wouldn't have been a trigger with me at all. But that's not the situation, which is unfortunate all the way around. I'm post-diagnosis and this IS a trigger. Again, today is the best I will be. By this time tomorrow, I will miss my level of what I can do today. My time - with regards to what I can do now, how I can prepare for the future, and steps I can take to grasp (no pun intended) onto any level of achievement - is being stolen from me at a rate I do not know by a thief I cannot even see, let alone fight. Am I frustrated? I don't even have time for that.
I was met at my desk by a co-worker, Liz, who happens to have all kinds of connections in the medical world specific to Neurology and when I lamented "I just need a name of an OT with Parkinson's experience", Liz (bless her heart) said "I know three. I'll see who has room and get a name to you."
I hope Dawn doesn't wait to hear from me for too long.
*****************
Along with "arm tremor", I've experienced an extreme decline in fine motor control in my right hand. My once blazing typing speed has dropped considerably, and I just don't even enjoy using my laptop in my downtime anymore because it's more frustrating than anything else.
Because I've slowly developed this tremor, I've slowly found ways to work around it. Since my handwriting is so stupidly tiny and damn near impossible to read, I either use pre-printed labels or I create a document on my computer and fold it into a note card or whatever. If I can pre-fill out forms in my own time, that's ideal. I also have a weird "left-handed assist" thing I do whenever I type now. I get to a point of typing where I use my left index fingers to reset my right hand ... kind of picking it up and dropping it back onto the keyboard ... and then I carry onwards. I also use my left hand for ANY mouse-related computer stuff, even 'tho I am (of course) right handed.
When I'm sitting on the couch at home, I have a pillow shoved up under my right arm for support. Even though I'm not asking my arm to DO anything. I also occasionally give my right hand a brief massage with my left hand. I do random arm "windmill" movements to keep my shoulder lose. I push my right arm straight against something solid to work out any tightness in my elbow, which aches a little from being folded at my side all day. (Even when I'm walking. Actually ESPECIALLY when I'm walking.)
All of these things are dexterity-related. None of them are strength-based things. I do *feel* as though I have lost muscle tone in my right arm from overall lack of use over the past three years, but that's from just not trusting the arm itself. It has betrayed me.
*****************
I met last week with a Physical Therapist. I arrived about 9:40am because I would be asked to fill out a few forms (ugh), sign and date here, initial here, and then I sat quietly and waited for just a few moments before Janie called my name. We spoke (and did various tests) for an hour. She had me seated in curtained-off area in a very busy room but I had her full attention. She was a good listener and allowed me to do my best to answer her questions as honestly as I knew how. I explained that I didn't have a loss of mobility so much as a lack of dexterity. I also shared with her my fears over loss of muscle tone in my not-as-actively-involved right arm, but explained that I really believed that was more in my head than my arm.
We tested grip strength. We ran movement-based tests. We tested resistance and push and pull but when all was said and done, she confirmed pretty much what I had already known: there was no obvious difference in strength between my left hand and my right. She did, however, ask if I'd be willing to return the following week to see an Occupational Therapist, who would be better suited to address my dexterity issues. I was fine with this and we made the appointment for Tuesday at 8am, which was my choice.
*****************
Yesterday I arrived at 7:55am for my 8am appointment. I was given the same forms to sign and initial. Janie walked by and greeted me (by name) and said that Dawn would be with me shortly. The front desk then pulled Janie aside and asked (in a voice I probably wasn't meant to hear) if she perhaps still had my chart. All the notes we'd done ... tests we'd gone through ... anything we'd thought was important was in that now-missing chart. This was less than ideal.
At 8:10am my chart was found and at 8:15am I was called back. I was given water to take my daily dose of Selegiline with and Dawn said "so what does that do for you then?" I told her that it helped to make my arm tremor slightly less obvious. "So if you take enough of that, the shake goes away?" she asked. "If only" was my reply. "I was taking something else but it was over-treating it and in time would cause unwanted movements." She looked sideways at me. "If you take a pill to undo shakes it will cause you to shake?" she asked. "Basically yeah" I said. "Have you seen a Parkinson's patient who has kind of 'flowing' motions? That's the side effect I'm trying to avoid for as long as possible."
While none of these questions were annoying or extreme, the idea that this sort of information was new to the person who I was hoping would help me control the dexterity of my fingers was a bummer.
*****************
We spent most of the next 40 minutes testing ... my arm strength. Given that Dawn was used to dealing with patients who had been in splints or stitches or casts, it wasn't surprising that she didn't have a lot of things to suggest for maintaining dexterity but it WAS frustrating. If she'd gone over my chart in advance ... ohhhhh wait, they'd lost my chart until 5 minutes before I sat down.
As I was answering her questions, Dawn would walk over to another patient and say "uh huh" but I didn't get the feeling she was actually listening to my responses. All in all, it felt like ... being in a hair salon. Same gossip-y vibe, same regular customer base, same rotating of who is overseeing someone's progress ... it was disappointing. I did actually speak up ... more than once ... to say "it's not connected to strength or muscles, it's about nerves" and "it's not a strength thing, it's a control thing" but I was clearly wasting my time. And Dawn's. I guess that was it ... I felt like it was a date neither of us had the guts to bow out of. She finished the appointment with a basic "call me if you want more ideas" but I'd stopped caring about any of her ideas about 20 minutes before that.
I walked out feeling like a guest speaker who had been invited to a forum attended by convicts. I wasn't prepared and she wasn't interested. We were both there because we felt we had to be.
*****************
It's only been two months since my diagnosis, and I don't KNOW what kind of questions to ask, or even WHO to ask. I can only describe what my hand and arm feel like ... I don't know what to do about it. I know what I've BEEN doing about it but that's not working as great as I'd like anymore (she typed, using her left hand to reset her right). So yes, I've muddled through this far but I'd like more muddling tools. And the "not being listened to" part? Yeaaaaaah ... that's not cool.
*****************
I arrived at work feeling dejected. I realize and accept that not every medical or service-related hospital-type person will be up on all their "Parkinson's" info but this was frankly just a case of "lazy". And honestly, pre-diagnosis this wouldn't have been a trigger with me at all. But that's not the situation, which is unfortunate all the way around. I'm post-diagnosis and this IS a trigger. Again, today is the best I will be. By this time tomorrow, I will miss my level of what I can do today. My time - with regards to what I can do now, how I can prepare for the future, and steps I can take to grasp (no pun intended) onto any level of achievement - is being stolen from me at a rate I do not know by a thief I cannot even see, let alone fight. Am I frustrated? I don't even have time for that.
I was met at my desk by a co-worker, Liz, who happens to have all kinds of connections in the medical world specific to Neurology and when I lamented "I just need a name of an OT with Parkinson's experience", Liz (bless her heart) said "I know three. I'll see who has room and get a name to you."
I hope Dawn doesn't wait to hear from me for too long.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)