One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie

This is NOT funny !!

One. I had one left. One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie!!

Over a week ago, I bought a small package of Thin Mint Chocolate Cookies. Maybe a 9 ounce package. I have been stretching that little package out now for over a week. Not because they’re expensive or hard to find or anything, but because I have this little weight problem you see.

I work in an office with two men. Goober Number 1 and Goober Number 2. We have a communal refrigerator that we all keep our lunches, snacks and soda in. Up until this minute, it was a good plan.

I’d been thinking about this One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie all day long. I know, I know....that’s not a healthy thing to do, to obsess about a Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie all day. (I never claimed to be of a sound mind.) But, I have been thinking about that One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie all day. I even checked in on it at lunchtime when I nuked my lunch plate. It was fine. Sitting there in its package all nice and cool and yummy looking.

So it gets to be 3:30 in the afternoon and I figure, “Ok. I deserve a break. Been working hard. Got a lot done. Very productive day. I think I’ll go get my One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie!!”

Low and behold...what do I find. NOTHING! No Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie. No package that said Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie was in just 3 hours ago. Gone! Vanished! Poof! Here my mouth was all set for One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie and it was gone.

I rarely curse, because the White Trash Academy For the Arts I attended taught us only people who lack a proper vocabulary to express themselves in other, more appropriate ways, curse.

We all share, we bring food products into the office knowing sharing will take place. But my gosh man...who does not know the “Last One” rule!?!

This shit just ain’t funny.

My Word Cloud

Worry, Hissing and Friday

It is Friday. (OK...it was Friday when I started this post) It is 50 minutes from going home time. I am so ready to go home.

It is also raining here at work, along with some serious thunder and lightning. (I have heard several "hissing" sounds along with the lightning which in all my 45 years I never remember hearing before. I've never been afraid of a storm, but am considering changing that stance.) I digress.....

That is pretty much what I do...I work, I worry and I go home. I have not always been this way, but as I get older, whatever this "thing" is that soaks the life from me like a sponge, is getting worse.

I am a worrier. I worry about all the "what if's" of the future. The sensible and intelligent part of my brain KNOWS that worry does no good, that it even does harm (just ask my belly) but if there is an "off" switch someone put it under a newspaper someplace where I cannot find it.

I also no longer enjoy being in crowded places. When I go in a store, or even to church, I feel like everyone is watching me and any minute I will do something terribly stupid or embarassing. I used to be a cop for goodness sake! The fuzz. The Poleeze. A full fledged Law Enforcement Officer. Now, I have to force myself to look people in the eye when I talk to them.

I recently read a, BLOG
on GRUNT DOC and it made me wonder if I may have a brain tumor. Is hyperchondriacism a part of this problem also??? Is hyperchondriacism even a word???

Then there is the depression. Diagnosed in 1992. Medicated, but it seems after 2.5 - 3 years every antidepressant I have ever been on stops working and then the doc has to change them around to get me feeling NORMAL again. NORMAL . I'm not even sure I'd remember NORMAL if it hopped up on a foot stool and slapped me across the face. By the way, what is NORMAL ? Who decided?

I know it is not NORMAL to be depressed every day for 14 years. I also realize it is not NORMAL to avoid going to my favorite "Huge Department Store" because I am afraid I will do something dumb. It is probably not even NORMAL to worry about everything that could possibly happen in life.

I am so ready to go home. Where it is safe.

Drug Seeking...? Maybe, maybe not!

When I found the world of medical blogging, I thought I had died and fallen into a big vat of dark chocolate. I love medicine. I have loved medicine since I was a child and for fun would sit around reading my moms nursing textbooks. My dream FOREVER was to be a surgeon.

Unfortunately, when adolescence hit my neighborhood, my hormones convinced me that other things were more important than school and now at 45, my children are grown and I don’t have the money for school.

So now I live my life vicariously through all the wonderful BLOGS out there belonging to folks in the medical field. I love it!! The one recurring theme through several of them I have felt the need to speak to though. I know it is a touchy subject, but there is more than one side and I want any docs (and others but it is the docs who can prescribe) to hear one more.

I met my “now husband” 7 years ago. I am 45 and he is 52. Dear Spouse lives with chronic pain. He has several chronic illness’ (most of which showed up within the past 4 years. I can only hope that is not a reflection on being around me so much.) Without violating his HIPPA rights, let’s just say a couple of them cause him unrelenting pain 24/7.

Now I cannot judge another person’s pain. Neither can you. I do know I have watched this big bear of a man (6’5) change before my very eyes. When we met, he was full of laughter and merriment. He was bright and seemed to light up a room when he entered it. (He sure lit my world but I’ll tell that story later.) He has worked since he was 15 years old and went to college while supporting his parents since his dad had his first heart attack at 44 and was gone by 56. He is a hard worker. A smart, intelligent man.

For four years, we went from our family doctor, whom we love and adore, to several others before we found someone willing to treat the pain. I know, I know... Doctors are afraid of prescribing the “good stuff” too much or too often. You all have governmental agencies breathing down your necks and big brother watching your every script. I do not pretend to know the answer to this dilemma. I do know, that when we finally found someone willing to “TREAT HIS PAIN”, I have watched some life come back into his world.

There are side effects. Sometimes he cannot keep his eyes open no matter how hard he tries. He was laid off from his job shortly before he was given this pain medication. Since he began this treatment we have noticed that it makes it very difficult for him to stay awake sometimes. Between the sedation and the other symptoms of his illness', I don’t know if he will ever be able to go back to work.

No job means no benefits. No benefits means no insurance. Again, I don’t know what the answer is. Do we let him hurt constantly non-stop 24/7 so that he can hold down (maybe) a full time job, or do we allow him some peace in his body and his mind by giving him the medication required even though it has this other negative impact on his life? He was barely able to work anyway. The 40 hours a week took everything he had. There was nothing left in his non-work hours. He was just totally wiped out. So what is quality of life?

On the medication (Fentanyl), he is more comfortable. He smiles more. He laughs more. He is not as depressed since the pain is lessened. It is not gone, it has just lessened. We accept that it may never be fully gone, but we are thrilled with the improvement he has now.

The future is scary to me. Right now I am able to (barely) pay the COBRA premiums for his insurance. Unfortunately COBRA is only good here in our state for 12 months. His medications come to $1900 a month. With the insurance we pay $200 out of pocket. We’re “making payments” on I don’t even remember how many medical bills each month. Without the COBRA...I do not know WHAT we will do. But I do know that to let him suffer is just wrong. Just plain, downright wrong.

One day, we can talk about how chronic illness changes (and challenges) a semi new marriage.

Later....

This is Thomas. He is a former pound puppy who found us one day when we were walking through our local pound a few months after having lost our 9 year old cocker to cancer.

We had been in there once before, a couple of weeks earlier and saw this same strange looking little dog in the room with the HUGE dogs, but he looked weird and he ran from us when we tried to talk to him. This time, when I bent down on my knees to talk to him, I opened the door to his cage just a bit and he quick as lightning found his way up my chest and around my neck. That my friends, was all he wrote.

Thomas came out of the "adult doggy" section. We were told he was part chihuahua and full grown. A very sweet and compact 10 pounds.

Thomas has been with us for one year now. Several things we have learned about our local "pound"...they are clueless about the age of doggies! Since coming home with us. Thomas has grown to a sturdy non-compact 33 pounds. He may be part chihuahua, but the other part must be Rottweiler.

Thomas is also my first little boy dog. The choice of having a male dog just never came up. The other two I had in my adult life sort of came to me and they happened to be female. The first one was a mini dachshund and she was 12 when I had to have her put down. Lady, the canine before Thomas, was part setter - part cocker and the perfect "Lady".

I was a little wary of having a male, since when you adopt an "adult" male you who knows if he already has that bad habit of "standing to pee"? (What is this anyway....? Is every male animal incapable of sitting like a normal person and avoiding that drip-drip-drip problem!?!)

Male or no, "ugly" or beautiful, I have found a true friend in this little guy. So what if he thinks he is a chihuahua, or that he sees himself as "just a small lap dog". So what if his loving and joyous leaps into my lap and up my body to give me kisses causes extreme pain to my boobies. At least he doesn't care that they no longer look outward and upward.

Whats up with the title?

(And who is that beautiful baby???)

My blogs will include comments, rantings and whinings concerning medical issues I have faced either through my dear spouses' illness or my own. They will also consist of animal stories including those about my own "babies" and last but not least, I dream of writing one day and will use this blog as a way to try my hand on an anonymous audience.

I welcome comments and can occasionally take constructive criticism - depending on the time of the month of course.

The baby is, of course, yours truly.