THE Emotional Support STD Nitpicky Book Chat You've Been Waiting For

 It's a good thing we're not meeting for coffee because we'd be sitting for hours and hours, and you might get all jacked up on caffeine, whereas I--a decaf drinker--would probably be in and out of the bathroom a lot after having switched to Just Ice Water after my second cup.

Anyway.

I have a lot to talk about in no particular order, so let's get started.

You'll Be Glad To Know That I Do Not Have Syphilis.

So, I went to my superhero neurologist to try and figure out what the heck is going on. He ordered two dozen blood tests after a thorough exam. As the results came in--and some are still coming in--I was shocked to find out just how thorough Dr. B was being. He had my blood tested for all the hepatitises (hepatitisi?), various levels of vitamins and minerals and metals, and of all things, syphilis. I cannot wait to go back and see him next week for my EMG and to ask him Just What Kind Of Girl He Thinks I Am. So far, everything has been negative or within mostly normal levels. The initial diagnosis is Peripheral Neuropathy, but he is not sure of the underlying cause for it. I'm also getting a thoracic MRI to look at my spinal cord whenever the insurance gods/company says I'm allowed. In the meantime all I can do is take one day at a time. I cannot build strength or stamina; the condition does not allow for that. I miss my walks and my life. Honestly, I'm scared.

Pretend Kermit The Frog Is A Picky English Teacher/Editor And Sing! It's Not That Easy Being Me.

The book Orbital is beautiful and breathtaking on every page. As I read it, I felt transported and awed. The cadence of the book is somehow sweeping, yet measured. The language is poetic and majestic without being overwritten. I cannot tell you how many times I had to put the book in my lap and look up from it just to savor a moment of language.

Until I read this:

It's really something, this typhoon, Pietro says when he comes to join her. They watch it hone in on the Philippines and Taiwan and the coast of Vietnam. Its spiral flings clouds for hundreds of miles around a hole-punched siphoning eye. (p84)

My own eye felt hole-punched. With a big red-hot stabby thing. How could she? How could Samantha Harvey make this mistake? How did it get past editors? UGH.

Hone--to sharpen a blade or refine a skill

Home--to focus on a target or goal; to move or aim toward a destination with accuracy

This irritates me so mightily. It's right up there with the misuse of palette/palate/pallet (they're all different things, people!), and...well, to be honest, pretty much everything. 

Still, 99.999% of Orbital is wonderful. Consider this extract from a paragraph:

Our lives here are inexpressibly trivial and momentous at once. Both repetitive and unprecedented. We matter greatly and not at all....death is so close. Life is everywhere, everywhere.

I Can't Swim, But My School Wasn't A Boat

Speaking of books, I also finished The Wager, a terrific nonfiction book about a British shipwreck and mutiny in the 18th century. Engie reviewed it some time ago, and I was intrigued. I also discovered it was written by the same author who wrote The Lost City of Z, one of my favourite nonfiction books, so I knew it would be engagingly written. And it was. I have no quibble at all with the book, but there were several things that just astonished me. First of all, many, many of the career seamen on the ship DID NOT KNOW HOW TO SWIM. Apparently, this was not unusual among seafarers. How in the hell do men decide to join the navy or be a mariner, knowing they could be months or years on a boat that could be swamped by waves, fully cognizant that they could become shipwrecked or lost, and still say, "No problem. Swimming is not a skill I'll need when out on the seas with no land in sight"? 

I think you need to read this book to marvel at all the other incredibly ridiculous decisions these men made in the name of service to the crown, personal honour, and loyalty to their commander at the expense of their own personal safety and survival. I wanted to smack them so, so many times. And tell them to GET REAL FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE.

Walmart Needs To Make Up Its Mind About Aquatic Animals And Safety.

On a slightly related watery note, if you've been a longtime reader, you know that if there is an animal story in the news, I'm all over it; that is my vow to you. Credit for this one goes to Rick, who knew I'd be charmed by the headline. I think you will be, too:

EMOTIONAL SUPPORT ALLIGATOR NO LONGER WELCOME IN PENNSYLVANIA WALMART

I want to thank David K. Li, the reporter on this important story, who provides us not only with this fantastic headline, but the story and video that I want all of you to go read and watch right now. In case you are hesitating, the alligator--leashed--sits in the shopping cart whilst wearing a dress and, in another scene, luxuriates contentedly in a fur collared sweater in her owner's arms. This alligator is about as dangerous as a bunny rabbit, yet Walmart has banned it. “The safety of our customers and associates is our highest priority,” Walmart said. “We welcome service animals in our stores, but it is unacceptable to expose members of the public to potential danger.”

Oh, really, Walmart? This is pretty ironic, coming from the place that sold radioactive shrimp to thirteen states. And if you bought a bag of that irradiated shrimp, don't return it for a refund, say officials. Simply throw it away! Share that radioactivity with the world as it rots in a landfill. Did you eat it? Are you having ill effects? Contact your medical provider. Will Walmart pick up the tab? Oh ha ha it is to laugh.

Maybe seek some solace from your emotional support alligator. Just don't take it shopping with you when you go get your prescription from the Walmart pharmacy.

And While I'm Feeling Snarky...

I don't get how college football is a bigass deal. Maybe it isn't in your state, but I'm in Ohio, and a lot of people here are huge Ohio State fans, and they are obnoxious about it. Here's what I don't understand:  how can you be such a big fan of a college you never even went to? I got my undergrad degree from Bowling Green State University, and I could not possibly care less how their football team does. Ever. Also? Why does Ohio State get all precious and persnickety and call themselves The Ohio State University? Why the The? It's stupid. And pretentious. I automatically refer to all the colleges I went to as The now:  The Lorain County Community College; The Bowling Green State University; The Ashland College (now University). I also took some grad classes at The College of Mount St. Joseph, but they legitimately have a The in their name. I urge all of you to add a The to wherever you went to school just to diminish Ohio State's use of it for prestige and to call attention to how positively ridiculous it is.

Okay! That was a lot. Tell me the The names of your schools and All Kinds Of Other Things in Comments.

image credits:

freepik.com

invaluable.com

letsloop.com

superstock.com

Goodbye, August. You Can Show Yourself Out

 

Goodbye, August. Be on your way and don't give September any ideas, unless it's for the beautiful blue skies, voluptuous clouds, and refreshing temperatures you've left as parting gifts. Other than that, take your leave and all your lousy vibes with you.

I've been struggling with a mystery condition for a while now. After any exertion my muscles suddenly become very weak. I start losing my balance; my feet will scuff the ground when I walk, causing me to trip, then fall. Sometimes, I can sense it happening; other times, I have no warning at all. My arms have no strength, and my hands shake at times with tremors. I cannot carry anything of much heft, and there are times I can't steadily put a drink to my lips. As you can no doubt guess, this has put an end to my daily walks; I haven't been able to take one for a month. 

I miss them more than you could ever imagine. And I am so very tired so much of the time.

This is eerily reminiscent of my Vitamin D deficiency in 2017, except that I've been supplementing D religiously since then. Obviously, these symptoms prompted a visit to my primary care physician, who ordered some labs and a visit with my neurologist. Her initial diagnosis is that my very high dose of Topamax for migraine prevention, that I've been on for twenty years, might now be just too high for my tolerance at my age. "I worry that we might be doing this to you, not a disease process," she said. My dosage of Topamax is extremely high--higher than what is usually recommended--in order to control my migraines. My neurologist--actually his NP--ordered more labs and stepped down my Topamax as a possible solution. Another possible diagnosis is myasthenia gravis; unfortunately, there is no definitive test for it, only markers to look for or rule it out in a big process of elimination. But my initial round of labs looked pretty good, at least from what I saw and could figure out on my own.

And, as is always the case it seems, I don't go back for a follow-up with my actual neurologist until mid-September after new labs are done next week. Sigh.

As so many of you know, Patience is Not My Gift. I'm angry and annoyed that I'm so limited. And that now there is so much more burden placed on Rick. Just running the vacuum can put me out of commission for an hour or more. He escorts me on short little walks in case I tire and begin to show signs of scuffing. Spending part of a day with Theo--holding him, playing on the floor, being active with him, a Very Busy toddler--makes me incredibly tired and sore, but that will always, always be worth it. 

In other news, August marks yet another year for Dept. of Nance. I've been writing here for twenty years now! It's astonishing, but even more astonishing is the number of you who have been here for so many of those anniversaries. Thank you, and a special Thank You to my Faithful Commenters, who engage in and encourage such a lively, witty, and intelligent discussion here. You're the best on the Internet, no doubt about it.

I'll write a more celebratory post soon, but I wanted to share this news with you, my friends and virtual support group. Thank you for being here, and thank you for writing over at your places. It's a joy to start my day with you every single morning.

Shaking A Few Things Loose

This week I feel a Big Purge coming on. As I was packing to go to the lake for the weekend, I noticed that there were several things in my closet that I hadn't worn all summer; in fact, I couldn't remember the last time I had worn them. Clearly, it's time for them to go. That made me think about the rolled-up rug in the office closet and the shoes in there that haven't been worn lately either. Time to box and bag things up and call my favourite charity, Vietnam Vets of America, and get them out here for a pickup. (As usual, I'll try to inspire Rick to--cue dread and doom music--go through his things as well, but I don't expect that to amount to anything.)

I'm also feeling the need to Purge a few Thought Nerfuls and Cerebral Clutterbits taking up space in my head, so I'm going to give it a rattle and see what shakes loose.

BOOBS.  As in, mine are because I am Rebelling and refusing to wear a bra for the rest of the summer as of about two weeks ago. Now, to be fair, I am not Copiously Endowed, and because I am an Older Lady, mine are not, shall we say, prone to Being Bouncy. I have spent too much money on trying to find a bra that is even remotely comfortable, and yes, I was even professionally fitted. If I am wearing something sheer, I wear a cami; if I am not, then Shirt Only it is. Chances are extremely good that I continue this for all three remaining seasons and for the rest of my life, especially since I Just Don't Care. 

BOOKS.  I finished--with some disappointment--Parallel Lines by Edward St. Aubyn. Listen, the writing is excellent. I remain entranced and entertained by the character Sebastian, who features in the opening chapter and made me want to read this book. BUT. There were too many characters cluttering up the landscape and they weren't all different enough to make me notice. As a matter of fact, at one point I just sort of skipped lots paragraphs concerning a couple of characters AND IT MADE ZERO DIFFERENCE TO THE PLOT. And the ending made me irritated in that I put up with SO MUCH just to get to...this? Maybe your reading will be vastly different and I truly hope so. Maybe I am just a Huge Pain In The Ass about modern fiction.

However.

I am now reading Orbital by Samantha Harvey. First of all, thank you Julie for reviewing this book over at your place and for providing an excerpt. This book. This book is so achingly beautiful that when I read it, there are times that I simply have to put it down and breathe and recover myself. This morning I took it out on the patio with my coffee; the sound of my little pond waterfall was in the background, and now and then a bird would sing. As I read I would almost be overcome. What an incredible piece of literature. I feel privileged to read it.

PLANTS.  My basil is a green machine. I've made so, so many jars of pesto--in total a little over two quarts so far. I put it in little jars so that it stays fresher longer. Somebunny has gotten into my parsley despite my menacing fake owl and mowed down almost an entire plant. One suspect lounges quite nonchalantly under my swing in the evenings. My catnip got a severe case of powdery mildew, so I cut it all back and took it outside. Neither Piper nor Marlowe care/d a whit about catnip in their old age (I found out), so I was basically growing catnip to give away to the grandcats (Baker and George) anyway. (Side Note:  Jared and Jordan often threaten George that "Nana will come and speak sternly to you" when he misbehaves because they heard me threaten him with that ONE TIME.)

PLEASURES.  It's important to make note of Small Things That Make Us Happy, and here are mine in no particular order:  

1. Coffee

2. The family group chat

3. My porch and patio

4. My little pond and waterfall

5. Blackberries

6. The icemaker

7. Seeing Theo's crib in the office

8. Watching the two little boys across the street and remembering when Jared and Sam were that age

9. My volunteer tomato plant 

10. Piper snoring

I absolutely cannot wait to read what you have to say in Comments about Boobs, Books, Plants, or your life's little Pleasures.