Thursday, September 27, 2018
Went for my 3 month check to the pulmonologist. I admit I wasn't expecting much in the way of good news, but I was pulling for an upset on decisions about my on-going battle with the insidious disease called Valley Fever.
While I didn't really expect to hear, "keep up the good work, you're improvement has been awesome" (I think I can tell that I'm not), I didn't expect to hear: "Carine, we think it's because of your untreated RA that the Valley Fever is not improving. Rather than upping your dose again or putting you on another anti-fungal that will have even more vile side effects, we've decided that you are what we call chronic."
What does that mean, exactly? That means they don't expect me to go dormant. They're not even sure I'll get better than what I presently am. They asked to speak with my rheumatologist and discuss an oral medication to get back to treating the RA and my staying on this present medication indefinitely.
Of course, if my blood work doesn't either stay the same but gets worse, there goes the RA meds.
That old joke about "medical practice" seems to be ringing true. The pulmonologist says most of his patients who also have either RA or another auto-immune disease seem to be having the same problem of getting the spores in their lungs to move into dormancy.
So I'm allowing myself a bit of a pity party because I feel like crap, everything hurts and it appears that barring some miracle to be determined by a higher power at a later date, this is my life.
Then Pepper's vet gave us the "good news, bad news". Good news, his overall health is pretty good for a cat of 15 with rather bent front paws. Bad news-his kidney levels are a bit too high, his very underweight and he's a very picky eater. Right now, I've got 3 cans of various flavors open in the fridge and he's only licking the gravy off of all of them.
Plus, the anti-nausea shot she gave him Saturday was working like the proverbial charm until about 5 a.m. this morning. He's at least keeping what little food he's eating down, but I'm not going to walk barefoot on my floors anytime soon...
Then there was yesterday morning. I went on my walk with the girls/neighbors and her boys. I was almost home when Steve called saying to get back immediately-our water heater burst.
I was at the park but the girls and I were trying to find a less flooded way of crossing the street and saw that we were the cause of the new pond.
Steve left for work and me with the task of calling the home warranty company and trying to get someone out ASAP.
Our good friend came over to help me turn off all the water sources in the house-seems the hard water wasn't allowing the unit to stop taking in more water. He also drained what was left. Poor guy, felt really bad about giving him all our work.
I'm not sure what made me more angry: I was looking forward to a hot shower after walking 2-1/2 miles and now that was not happening. (Thank you Adam and Sam for living down the block and letting me finally wash the grossness off my body) My wedding dress was stored right where a lot of the water leaked onto (we took it straight over to the dry cleaner who broke the almost 38 year old seal) and I had to pray we paid that mint of money and it was still okay (thank goodness it was!) or that I had to miss water aerobics because the only time they could come was the next morning while the class was enjoying themselves WITHOUT ME!
Thankfully, tomorrow is coming. By then all those towels we used to help mop up the water along with the fans will be clean. I think the welcome mat that was by the door is not going to be saved. I get to go to class in the morning and meet a friend for coffee. Plus my self-indulgent pity party allowance will be over and I can just move on with this thing called life.