Category Archives: Universal Coverage – In a Bad Way

Lesson the First

I am summarizing a recent experience into a helpful life lesson, I feel someone should learn from my mistakes. You’re welcome.

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Sept 6 – Itchy inception. Yard work and two red dots on shins convince me I have mosquito bites. But the new plants are planted. Hurray!

Sept 7 – Wake up itching–more spots on legs. Convinced I have bedbugs, I spend the next two days packing every damn thing in my bedroom. It’s a lot. Bags everywhere. I haul boxes to the basement. Wash everything in hot water. Bake it at 500° until smoking.

Sept. 10 – By Wednesday, I have more bites than I can count – frantic itching everywhere. I see the VA doctor for annual physical – I mention the bedbugs and show her the numerous bites. Her response (from the doorway): “I don’t think it’s bedbugs. I’m writing you a prescription.”

NOTE: I do not ask her what she thinks it is. This is lesson the first. ALWAYS ASK FOLLOW UP QUESTIONS!

I go home with Permethrin cream. I slather myself and hope for it to work regardless. I have covered all mattresses in the home with bedbug proof materials, the couch has a nice new plastic sheeting. I have sprayed likely surfaces with over-the-counter bedbug napalm. I dream of chemical Armageddon raining down on the small blood sucking creatures.

Sept. 11 – Bites have spread up my neck and all over my face. Even my eyelids are puffy and sore. I’m beginning to doubt I have bedbugs. But I call an exterminator/inspector and schedule an appointment.

Sept. 12 – Inspector arrives–barely in his twenties. He examines my whole bedroom, common area, and basement. Conclusion: “You don’t have bedbugs. That’ll be $175.00.”

Now realize, based on a Google search of my medication, I truly have scabies. And that Alexei has not been treated. Frantically call his doctor’s office for an Rx for the kid.

Sept. 13. – Saturday – I realize that though I have boxed everything in my bedroom and changed sheets like a germaphobe with OCD every single day–I forgot to clean my new CPaP headgear, mask and my keychain around my neck and realize I have likely reinfected myself. I go to an urgent care to get a new RX for me. (One tube is not enough for two treatments, fyi.)

Both Alexei and I treat ourselves that evening–going to sleep wearing the white, medical-grade insecticide. We can shower when we wake.

Sept. 14 to 19 – I go nowhere–other than slowly out of my mind. I send messages to my doctor’s office that get crazier by the day. My son, thankfully, has his father’s constitution. He does not exhibit any sign of infection and goes to school. I stay home and scratch and scratch and scratch.

Sept. 20 – Second treatment of Permethrin. I am convinced this cream is a panacea and that I will never see the end of these little )⚡︎&@%$! burrowing blood suckers.

Sept. 21-22 – I swear I am never going out in public again. I break up with the massage chair at the mall (one of several possible culprits for infection based on the timeline.) I stand everywhere I go, just in case. I am a complete nutbar even though I’m supposedly cured.

Sept. 23 Starting to feel better. The doctor’s office calls me in to double check and to give me flu shot. I get a clean bill of health.

After this ghastly period, you would think my bad luck was used up for the year. You would be wrong. But I’ll save that tale for another post. This was traumatic enough.

Now I dare you to go sit in public, especially at doctor offices, and not wonder who was sitting in it just moments before? And does it feel like something is crawling under your skin? It just might be!

Fun Fact: Scabies can live on surfaces for up to two to three days.

Fun Fact #2: The first time you get scabies, you might not have a reaction right away. According to Google:

“First-time infections cause itching and rash in 2-6 weeks, while a second infection triggers symptoms in just 1-4 days because the immune system has already been sensitized.”

This was my second bout. And hopefully, my last.

Here’s a picture of me at my maddest, baddest, and most dangerous to know.

Potty Training for Adults

Aging sucks. In particular, it sucks that aging creeps up on you your whole life, you feel fine, relatively healthy, nothing’s worrying you. You’re just going about your life as if nothing was ever going to change.

Until it does. In mortifying ways.

This is that story.

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I have been living with an embarrassing secret. Well, maybe not so secret to many of the people around me who have heard me calculate how far I have to go before I find a bathroom and deciding whether I can have a caffeinated beverage before I leave.

I have an overactive bladder. It’s a common condition. According to an interview with Dr. Kirtly Parker Jones posted on the University of Utah website, “Thirty percent of women ages 40-50 have an overactive bladder.” So, basically, I’m not special.

The weird thing is, you can have this condition but it just creeps up on you over the years until you suddenly realize, you are peeing all the time. A lot of times, I’m peeing preemptively. I’ve gone to the bathroom recently, but am about to the leave the house–maybe take a walk with the kid–so I make a calculated decision to go again to be safe. And it seems like the right thing to do…the smart thing to do. You figure, this is normal. It’s just what happens when you get older. While that may be true, my inexact approach to dealing with increasing bladder issues was kind of back-assward, as it turns out.

I mentioned to my V.A. doctor the bladder urgency, the waking in the nighttime, that while I’m on a medication called Solifenacin that helps a bit, I’m just not getting good sleep.

VA Doc: “I’ll refer you to physical therapy appointment for bladder training. (My word for it. I think they called it something professional like Pelvic Floor Exercises. Which, now that I think of it, sounds like a weird event at the Olympics.)

Me: “I…I’m going to go through potty training again?”

VA Doc: “It’s more like retraining, if that helps.”

Me: “Yeah. No.” I swear this is the universe getting revenge on the Potty Training on the Spectrum article I wrote about my son’s issues.

I meet a nice young lady who gets the most embarrassing part over with first: the pelvic exam. It’s a necessary step to make sure that there isn’t a physical cause to my problem. There is, but again, it is a very common one.

“You have prolapse.” She declares after letting me sit back up.

“Yeah, I know.” I say. But honestly, I’ve never asked whether there’s anything I can do about it. So I do now.

She gives me a brief explanation.

“Basically, the muscles that support the reproductive organs are weak to the point they no longer supports the uterus and it slips out of place.”

She goes on to explain how this contributes to incontinence. There is a somewhat complicated explanation of the bladder as an expanding balloon that has muscles surrounding it and below it. That the balloon learns to work in a certain way based on how frequently I take it to the bathroom and how much strength the muscles supporting it have.

“So how do we fix this?” I ask. “I’m already using a taco to keep things up in place.”

[Sidebar: the folded taco was the first effort to try and keep the uterus from making a break for the border. It’s technically called a pessary and it actually looks a lot more like a donut or a sombrero. But, you fold it like a taco to insert it. Hence my cool nickname for it.]

“We are going to work on some exercises to improve your bladder control.” She says.

“Oh, you mean Kegels!” I feel somewhat discouraged. “I’ve done those exercises–though not with any real consistency. You know, stopping the pee flow two to three times as you urinate.”

She shakes her head at this.

“Yeah. No. That’s the opposite of what we want you to do. Your bladder gets confused when you start and stop the stream. It has to tighten a band that you’ve just relaxed, so all you are doing is tiring out the muscles when what you need to do is relax them. You are also signaling the bladder to pee more frequently in small amounts. Which is the opposite of what you want.”

She describes a lot more about the process. I am not sure I can adequately relate everything here, so bear with me.

“First, you need to track when you are going–you can write it in a notebook or use an App to track where, when and how much you are going.”

“I…they have an APP for that?” I ask incredulously.

“Yep. I think it’s call something ‘you flow’ but any urine tracking app should work.”

Then she hands me some materials to read, saying, “These should help you to identify some common foods or drinks that exacerbate urinary incontinence.”

I scan the list.

“Caffeine, Chocolate, and SUGAR–even FAKE SUGAR? What’s left to live for?” I say this with a laugh, but honestly, I want to cry.

“This is to help you recognize things that may be making it harder for you to control your bladder. You don’t have to eliminate everything. As you keep track of your urination for the next few weeks, you can assess how the effects of multiple irritants may relate to your output and the frequency of your urges.”

I take my handouts, with muttered ‘thanks.’ It is daunting to imagine eliminating or minimizing favorites–the list of irritants is long–and includes spicy foods. The thought of never having Thai food again is just tragic. But the thought of getting up to pee all night long is also terrible to comprehend.

I go home. I do my best to follow her instructions. But my bladder isn’t the only thing confused.

The pattern of kegels done outside of just being in a bathroom is alien. Who sits and clenches their pelvic muscles throughout the day? But, I try.

I find it is hard to concentrate on doing it while standing. So, I decide to do it whenever I am engaged in a mostly mindless tasks and sitting down–like playing games on my phone or watching tv. It works, a bit. I’m on my phone most mornings as a wake up method and watch tv for at least an hour most nights.

But, it is weird. And hard to concentrate on doing two things at the same time. But sitting and just doing kegels is just as weird.

I have an appointment every week to learn new ways to improve my urinary challenges. I also report on the successes or failures.

“I Kegel, but I’m not sure it’s helping that much. Probably because it seems harder to do it after a while.” I admit.

“That’s because you are tiring those muscles out. Repetition will help increase the stamina.” She assures me.

What she tells me next, is less appealing than doing Kegels.

“Now that you know what triggers increased urination, we are going to try to train your bladder to wait longer between bathroom visits. When you get your first ‘signal’ that you need to pee, I want you to do a Kegel and hold it for about 10 seconds. And then relax the muscle and see whether the urge is still there. If it is repeat the Kegel until you no longer feel the urge to pee. We want you to teach it not to want to go so often–extend the length you can hold it by.” She says matter-of-factly.

“You mean, that by going to the bathroom at every opportunity I could, I taught my bladder that it couldn’t hold as much?” I’m flabbergasted, but not in a good way.

She is kind when she confirms my suspicions.

“Yes, in so many words. But the good thing is, we can retrain the bladder to a more normal schedule. We are going to help you–by strengthening your pelvic muscles with exercises; reducing your frequency during the day by stopping the urge using Kegels, for however long you can hold it off, and then, after that, we can work next on night training.”

“Night training?” I say with some small dread that I know what she’s going to say next.

“Yes. After you’ve been practicing during the day for a few weeks, we are going to put off going to the bathroom as frequently at night.”

“How?” I croak.

“Whenever you wake with the urge to pee and it isn’t time to get up, you’ll do Kegels to stop the first signal urge until you can fall back to sleep again. Do not get up and go to the bathroom until the urge is so overwhelming you can’t ignore it any more. It may take a few nights practice, possibly a week, but most women I’ve worked with see improvement within a few days.”

“And…what if I can’t hold it and I pee my bed?” I say, utterly picturing this exact thing happening.

“That’s why they invented Depends products. Wear them for protection–either at night or during the day when you think you may struggle to stay dry.”

Armed with information and a plan, I leave my therapist who assures me we will have a few appointments to check-in after I’ve tried the training.

It is awkward. For years, I became a blood hound for public bathrooms. I always needed to know where one was close by. I used any opportunity to pee, regardless of an actual need to go, thinking that emptying my bladder more often was the way to prevent accidents. But finding it is nearly the opposite of true was enlightening.

But, I did have accidents. A lot of them at first. Especially if I was working in my office for more than an hour, drinking tea, and then suppressed the urge to pee until it became more urgent. (Hey…root word of urgent is urge! How had I missed that before?) After the klaxon signaling my bladder would do any time I suppressed the first or second urge, I had to climb the stairs to my bathroom. That rarely turned out to be a good idea. For whatever reason, it is very hard to hold one’s water while lifting your legs and pulling your weight up over and over while clomping up flight of stairs.

I did a lot of laundry those first few weeks. I had accidents in public. And because I was too self-conscious to wear anything besides a pantyliner–I occasionally drove home in a puddle of my own making. But, with time, they were fewer and fewer. I even mastered the art of getting a plastic hat in place in the toilet and getting my pants down before wetting myself to measure the amount of urine and record it in my phone APP. I even succeeded with night training. (I only needed three nights–and three Depends lady panties to do it. )

It was the weirdest summer I’ve ever had. I’m glad I didn’t have to write a school report about What I did over summer vacation. Or, maybe I have written it here.

It took me years to realize I had a problem. The solution, while embarrassing to discuss with a doctor, was treatable. It hasn’t been perfect. I still love tea and that has it’s resultant effects on my bladder. As does Thai food. But, prepared for such exigencies one can always Depend on sanitary products to keep you dry if you absolutely must have Pad Thai.

So, don’t be too embarrassed to seek help. Ask your doctor about ‘Bladder Training.’ Be proud that you are looking for solutions instead of hiding and suffering in silence.

The internet is full of much better sources than my story. I found one here at UCSF Bladder Training. Enjoy!

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(Final note: I wrote this blog post about a year ago. But, it wasn’t until now that I was brave enough to post this. I don’t want any woman or man with incontinence to live with the condition for as long as I did. Also, this isn’t a particularly funny post. So, I find those harder to write and feel they are ‘done.’ I hope you can agree, peeing against your will is never something to laugh at!)

Dental Damns…

We are past the first hurtle. My son has survived having his wisdom teeth extracted and now has to just get through the next five days on a restricted diet of soft foods. Currently he is having ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

It may have been exhausting, but at least the hardest part is over. Now to survive the days with the benefits of top-notch pain killers. (Norco is the way to go. Sadly, only the kid is receiving them.) But, I am reaping the benefits of a narcotically stunned teenager filled to the gills with bowls of Super Scoop ice cream with a chocolate sauce chaser.

The even better news is that the two family members who have been teetering on the brink of existence in separate hospitals have now recovered enough to be discharged. Huzzah! Let everyone rejoice the homecomings!

And to anyone who was hoping the title of this piece was somehow a salacious intro to a naughty confession, my apologies. I’m sorry to disappoint your prurient desires.

Putting the Art in Cathartic…

I am done.

And by done, I mean more than finished.

Continue reading Putting the Art in Cathartic…

What Happens Among the Sheets…

My sheets attacked while I was sleeping. I thought we had resolved our difficulties and reached an accord. But, I was wrong. So very, very wrong.

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Continue reading What Happens Among the Sheets…

Nothing Going Wrong, Please Stand By

I like to describe myself as a humor writer. Someone who looks at the chaos of life around me and finds the funny in it. But, there is something about life in Covid lockdown that suggests I am actually a disaster-seeking opportunist. You be the judge.

Continue reading Nothing Going Wrong, Please Stand By

A Womb With a View

I went through a rough couple of weeks worrying about a thing that could have been big, bad, and scary but turned out to be big, banal, and mostly embarrassing–so the story ends happily ever after, kind of.

(My fairytale life turns out to be something a whole lot different than my childish self ever imagined.)

The moral of this story is short and to the point: DO NOT GOOGLE SYMPTOMS EVER!

There is some mention of disgusting female-related bodily functions in this post; therefore, the men might want to scamper out of the room like the timid little bunnies they are.

Continue reading A Womb With a View

When You’ve Got that Sinking Feeling…

I think my sink had a heart attack this week. I could be wrong, but the thousands of hours of medical dramas I’ve watched suggests otherwise. You be the judge.

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Continue reading When You’ve Got that Sinking Feeling…

Back to a Future Past…

I’ve been afraid to state an opinion.

Afraid to rock a precariously tiny boat on very troubled seas.

A friend recently suggested I “Woman up” or, in essence, to stop being a coward.

So here goes:

I am truly terrified of COVID-19. Everything I’ve read convinces me this is a plague of biblical proportions. And that’s saying something coming from an agnostic!

But even more than a highly contagious disease, I am afraid to lose friendships because of COVID-19. So afraid, that I have not asked people to wear masks when I’m in close proximity. Even though I have worn mine in my yard…while by myself…while weeding.

I desperately cling to friendships, even when the cling-ee isn’t that keen on tolerating the stranglehold I have on them. I have lost friendships before. I will likely lose friendships again. Possibly over this. And I truly hate the thought.

I have been a coward; and I’m going to try very hard to stop. But even contemplating telling my friends my position, I’m feeling a welling, choking sensation I haven’t felt for years.

TIME TRAVEL SEGUE–NO, NOT THAT KIND OF SEGUEA BACK TO THE PAST KIND:

I had a job once at a place we’ll aptly refer to asDeepHell University.” It was in the fundraising department. I had a very challenging boss who, in her defense, had a very weird secretary. Me. I was the secretary.

(TRUE CONFESSION: I accidentally read a highly personal email from one of her friends when the I.T. guys accidentally linked my new email to my boss’s mail system–and I read it…and replied to it…at length…because I literally did not understand what the internet was and how it differed from emails.) This happened the very first day I worked there, but the boss forgave me. Kind of.

We managed a rocky half-year of an increasingly challenging relationship. This boss made me nervous. Like cat-on-a-hot-plate-in-a-room-full-of-rabid-pit-bulls, nervous. I took everything she said as criticism or complaints. I felt stupid, clumsy, and unsuited to the job. Everything I heard sounded like blame and hostility. I became so nervous I would plot a course around the entire department in hopes of avoiding seeing her. (Her office was right next to me, but around a corner.) It got so bad, I started doing a thing. A thing I did NOT know I was doing. I started holding my breath. I passed out several times before finally wising up and seeking professional help. I’m lucky I didn’t give myself permanent brain damage via concussion or oxygen deprivation. I have never been so grateful to be fired from a job in my life.

BACK TO THE FUTURE…MEANING THE CURRENT OR PRESENT DAY:

So, if you see me, and I keep a six foot distance from you while you are unmasked, do not be surprised and try not to take offense. Please understand, I am not judging anyone. I am not trying to make any kind of political statement. I’m just trying to make the best choice I can in a very bad time in our world.

I’m supposed to see family tomorrow. They prefer to go maskless. (Apparently they didn’t have the same fantasies about becoming Zorro I did as a child.) I really want to see them but I’m also a ticking time bomb of terror–albeit one with a love of alliteration. It tears my heart in two when I’m faced with this dilemma. I don’t want to be considered a nagging worrywart. And yet, if the wart fits…

So I’m asking them to move the get together into the backyard. And crossing my fingers that I am not dropped from future invitations of this kind–especially seeing as I organized this one. But my family has forgiven flakier behavior than this. [More on this topic in another blog post. I’ve confessed enough for one day. It’s best to spread the crazy out a little bit at a time.]

I’d like to think someday we’ll be safer and these extreme measures won’t be necessary. But that future isn’t here yet. (I’m feeling an overwhelming need to throw in another Back to the Future reference, but I’m coming up blank. You’ll just have to picture me driving a Deloreann and wearing a white, fright wig.)

And for those of you too young to get that reference, here’s a YouTube clip. (Proving I am slightly more technologically capable than my younger self.)

Back to The Future Present Tense–Plague Edition

Do you hate me now?

If you knew that, by catching COVID-19 there is no one who can watch my son, would that make a difference? Any sign of even a cold nowadays, and I lose all the help that comes into my home throughout the week. Help that keeps me from going bat-guano crazy. If I really caught COVID, I would be on my own, struggling to take care of a special needs child and afraid to ask anyone to help because I just couldn’t risk exposing somebody else to the disease.

So I will wear a mask. I will try to stay a six foot distance away. And I will not hold my breath waiting for others to understand. I am scared. For all of us!

In parting, I ask you, my viewing audience:

What would you do if you had to choose between friends…and safety?

What would you choose?

…a question that tempts me to include the following:

Out-of-Focus Musings of a Disturbed Mind

Head Rush

I was complimented recently on my writing, it came via someone with a tenuous Facebook connection. It’s the first time anyone who wasn’t a friend or blood relative (and therefore obligated to like my writing or at least lie to me and say they do) told me they found my writing funny. (But funny in a good way.)

It made me feel, just for a nano-second, what it must be like when famous people get recognized. It was awesome and I thanked him…and then felt like a total fraud because I haven’t given two thoughts to my blog in months!

You can thank/blame him for this post.

Continue reading Out-of-Focus Musings of a Disturbed Mind