Wednesday, November 20, 2013
I'm really happy to see these changes taking place! Having someone close to me who is a addicted to this class of extended release opiod, and just had a baby w/ NOW makes it a really big deal to me personally. Breaks my heart. Now I just wish they'd go after the doctors that get people hooked on these meds and then would rather keep them on them when they get pregnant than go through the trouble of detoxing them!
Monday, November 18, 2013
I will click the checkout button and finally make use of all the knowledge I have accumulated and place the order for the supplements to help my body balance itself and fight it's way back, and the medical aids to make my life easier, including my very own recumbent exercise bike or cross-trainer so I can do my PT for my POTS to strengthen body's ability to keep my blood pressure up & my heart pumping normally, regain the muscle I've lost, and last but not least, burn off the fat I've gained through stress and losing my gym membership. I can hire someone to help me prepare nutritious meals and juices I don't yet have the energy for, and rest, peacefully, without having to constantly worry and problem solve to take care of the most simple, everyday basic needs, toiletries, medication, pay my bills on time...
Watch out life, here I come, to take you back. My sincere gratitude to all those along the way that have filled in for the people who should have been there but weren't, who have shown me random acts of kindness, or given me a hand, a roof, a bed/couch, or a meal, an ear, put up with my stunted social skills, or just believed me. Most of them will probably never read this but I'm sending it out into the Universe, so that when they need it that gratitude may be bestowed on you as a blessing. Love, light, and Season's Greetings everyone.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Monday, June 17, 2013
I'm free. I can breathe again. I don't care that I'm not wanted by one sad excuse for a man looking for a way to convince himself he can't love me because he's too afraid. And I have him to thank for it, oddly. He asked me a question, meant to make me understand the rationality of why he couldn't be with me. He asked me, if he told me that the doctor told him he was going blind, and there might be a surgery that would cure it, but it wasn't a sure thing, and his HMO didn't want to cover it and was on his last appeal with them, what would my concerns be? I thought for a second, not knowing what to say, and then suddenly, it was as if my heart took over and started to speak for me. I told him that my concern would be for him...how to help him. I'd help him fight the HMO to get that surgery, and be supportive and reassure him that my feelings for him wouldn't change even if he did go blind. And if he did I'd be there to help him figure things out.
Friday, June 7, 2013
It's official. I finally, definitively, officially, actually had a relationship end because I'm sick.
The funny thing is, I never planned on even dating this person, or anyone for that matter, for another year or so, ideally after getting my Disability money and improving the state of my health a little. It just seemed to overwhelming, too scary with risks like these. Too hard to even attempt. Intellectually, I know that there are plenty of chronically ill people, even people with FM & M.E. & even with all the things I have who have spouses. I like to joke that if some of the people on that TV show where they trade spouses can find spouses, then surely there's someone for me, out there, somewhere. I just didn't want to start looking, and potentially failing at it, now.
Things are bad enough now. Today, I had the first episode of generalized anxiety that I can attribute to my hearing coming up. Hate, hate, HATE it. To make things worse, I was too tired to take any anxiety medicine, which tends to make me sleepy, so I had to tough it out. Way too much to do, and was wayy too tired already. Eventually, I went to the gym and worked some of it off there, but I couldn't finish the full time that I set, and my kidneys were already feeling sore. (Recovering from a kidney infection.)
Anyhow. I met this person. Never intended to date him, so I told him all the gory details of my life; my current abode-ally challengedness, my family dysfunction, my illness & ensuing unemployment. I actually thought it might be amusing (in a sick sad sort of way) to see him run off scared. But something strange happened. He didn't. Nothing I said seemed to shock him, and he shared some of the "adventures" of his life as well. Then I started to realize he actually was kind of attractive. He was smart. He gets sarcasm. And we had so much fun, even if it meant I was pushing myself. It was so wonderful to feel alive and wanted again.
It's all so strange. One week he's telling me how much he likes me, can't get enough of me, the next I feel like I'm being avoided. I just am not up to games. To make a long story short, after much frustration and feeling like a crazy, needy, mess of a girl and hating myself for it, I ended it. Or I thought I did. It wasn't too hard after being questioned about what I thought our lives together would be like in 5 years, what would I be able to contribute. I can't work, I can't clean... I was blown away. The crazy thing is, I understood the logic. It's what I would think too. But I would think it a lot sooner, not after one or both of us is starting to fall for each other. Still, I was speechless. True, or not, it still seemed a bit heartless, and worse, completely unexpected, considering I'd laid it out on the table from thebeginning. I'm afraid I was too shocked to defend myself, so I said we should call it off.
Ironically, he would let me go. Right when I'm getting the wounds covered and healing, he starts sending me messages saying he misses me, and I melt.
Earlier today, I was wondering how I was going to get through the next week without having a nervous breakdown. Last hearing, I was anxious for days, and I usually don't stress over things like that till the last minute, when it's too late. Then afterwards, I just felt so exposed, fragile, I kept asking my poor Mother for copious amounts of hugs, and cuddling with the puppy.
Today, I felt so alone for awhile, in all this. And the guy kept texting, but was back to not answering mine...coming up with excuses not to see me. I decided I couldn't stand the confusion and anxiety anymore, so i asked him and it came down to this: If I can't work, and I can't clean house, I'm not a "fit" for him. Rationally, well, it's very rational. But to me, love is more than rational. He kept trying to corner me into saying I would work or clean. But really, I can't make those promises. If there's one thing this illness has taught me, is that sometimes, you can plan all you want, and well..."the best laid plans"...Life has other ideas. Besides, it seemed just too rigid, almost controlling.
I asked, So does this mean you don't believe I can't work and/or I'm not worthy of love because I can't do those things? The answer," no, it just means you're not a fit for me.'I suppose it's possible. And it hurts. But I half suspect it's just cowardice. Fear. An excuse, and a cruel on at that. (And where was this conclusion when I was spilling my guts?)
I could've just said I'd do it, but I don't know, and I don't lie easily. And I don't want to have to trick someone into falling in love with me. Not only don't I not know, what life with M.E. will bring, but I've gotten to the point where it almost seems arrogant to be so rigid in planning that you really believe things will turn out some way because you planned it. I can't plan anything. Even with the case won, the money, medical care, there are no guarantees, although I have faith, believe it will happen, and believe I can recover at least part of my health and be productive again.
But life with M.E. is in constant flux. So I need someone who will take me as I am. Take all the love I have to give, the smiles I bring to your face, the food I'd love to prepare, my arms around you, my lips on yours. Take the love I have waiting for your children, the joy I bring to holidays I've long missed celebrating properly. Take my listening ear. Let me cheer you up when you're down, take everything I still have to give, I think it would be enough, but if you don't, if your fear and need to control doesn't allow it, I just ask to be left alone, once and for all, to nurse my wounds and steel myself for the week ahead. No more head games, false hope, rational words that cut me to the quick. I'll be fine. I can hardly believe this is happening, especially 6 weeks in to a relationship, it seems bizarre to be forced to plan our future 5 years from now, but I'll be fine. I have more important things to worry about and plenty to keep me busy. I'm so tired of stress. My kidneys are killing me now...
Oh well. I will survive, I will thrive, and I will rise again. And maybe the fear and cowardice of really loving someone will wear off him when I am doing as well as I hope, but it'll be too late...
"One day [I'] 'll have a beautiful life, one day, [I]'ll be the sun, in somebody, else's eyes..." Paraphrased from Black, by Pearl Jam
Thursday, May 30, 2013
I'm really surprised I've never come across this post before! That first comment (below the post) made me well up, it's so true, just meeting a healthcare practitioner who WANTS to help elicits a feeling of undying gratitude in me, personally... Having a doctor who you can tell your complaints to whom you don't have to fear being given that dubious look by...just means so much just in itself!
The last few years, I've come to feel like a Professional Patient. I'd lost my insurance, moved, accquired MORE chronic conditions...and having had to mostly take what I could get, I came to know well the feeling of dread that comes with going to see a new doctor when you have an incurable illness and symptoms that keep piling up. It's funny, because this letter actually sort of describes what I already do... I go in, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. I steel myself for the sidelong glance, prepare myself to not get too defensive if I see the wheels turning in their heads towards the direction of questioning disbelief... Try to find the balance between patience and the firm resolve to get what I need while not inconveniencing them excessively... Give them the information they need to help me little by little, gauging their reaction to see if it's safe to proceed, or if they've had all they can handle, estimating the dominance of their ego so as not to threaten it and risk them shutting me down, if I should play dumb or hit them with everything I know and hope they will let me be a partner in my own care... It's like an intricate dance.
It can be very exhausting, at times heartbreaking, discouraging, and other times fill one with hope, gratitude and encouragement. (Which is why sometimes, I just need to go awhile without seeing a new doctor; you never know which you're going to get!) And it seems like I'm always seeing one...This year, with all the upheaval, it amazingly has only been one, my Endocrinologist, I believe. But last year brought a Neurologist, a Cardiologist, and a Gastroenterologist, and at the very end, a new PCP. (One of those lovely ones that listens, wants to help, is kind, and makes you so grateful!) I finally gained the trust of my Rheumatologist, who now prescribes the drugs I need without looking at me suspiciously, and my longer term docs, the couple I have, are of course still around because they are good at what they do, understand my disease, and give me hope.) So...yes, interesting to see things from a doctor's point of view and have the dance we do acknowledged...so perfectly! And also the fact that Emergency Medicine is SUCH a different specialty...Which I'd come to the conclusion of as well, after having a friend become and EMT and decide that I must be a drug addict or a crazy because if he saw me in his ER he would find nothing seriously wrong with me...which is ironic because he's the one who noticed my POTS-induced tachycardia one night which made me think it was safe to talk about with him. Wow. Big mistake! But anyways, I digress...My point was, I loved what the doc said about avoiding the ER, Good point! (Not that I haven't been tempted lately...Fun times!) Again, good post!
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
The worst one though, seems to be a UTI I have that I'm betting has gone to my kidneys. More than betting, really. Although none has been as bad as that first one I had where I was half delirious, had to be helped out of my apartment to the hospital and had a fever giving my joint pain so bad I could barely walk so they brought me a wheelchair, I have to wonder if it's just a matter of perception. Back then, nausea was a symptom I found so unbearable I didn't eat for 3 days (I thought I had food poisoning or a stomach flu) fever was a rare occurrence, and I'd never had a kidney infection, just a handful of slightly alarming bladder infections.
These days, nausea has become just another of my ever-present symptoms, fevers come and go at will, and I'm all too familiar with my post Interstitial Cystitis diagnosis bladder infection symptoms. More than anything, I just feel weak. And aside from some pangs of pain and bloating, my most alarming (to me) symptom is that my POTS is getting aggravated. Even with my bp lifter, Mestinon, and my Metoprolol, I'm getting dizzy upon standing or sitting, and the same cause heart palpitations, if not tachycardia. I went to a stupid free clinic out here and got some antibiotics from a Nurse Practicioner with a bit of a hostile bedside manner. (She didn't want to give me Pyridium, later turned out that it seemed she didn't know what it was?!? Seriously?!?) And although I told her I was pretty sure it was already a kidney infection (I had to wait a few days to see her, & since the symptoms of IC are just about the same as a plain old bladder infection's...) she told me she'd do a culture & wait & see. (I have the suspicion that to diagnose a kidney infection, you need to do bloodwork, in addition to a urine sample/culture though, no?)
I finally coaxed my brother to lend me enough cash to go see my own doctors, an hour away (literally ran out of gas in front of his place after going to the pharmacy Saturday to get my beta blocker) so hopefully that will go well...although I'm nervous, because I'm afraid I won't be able to afford the antibiotic they prescribe me. (Checked the literature on my former one, which I finished, and apparently it does not have any effect on Kidney infections, fabulous!) So the day after finishing the stupid antibiotics, I go shopping with my brother for a new TV, and I'm sweating and hurting and feeling weak...back to square one. I'm seriously, SO. EXHUASTED. OF. THIS. CRAP. Of everything being so complicated because I'm broke and underinsured... Jumping through hoops, begging, & pleading to get help when I barely have enough energy to go through the motions...Well, just a couple more weeks left now...and I'm not even sure I'm ready. Well, I know I'm not, because my lawyers wanted me to pay $750 to see an expert medical witness doctor type, which I obviously don't have...Sigh...Tired...
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Living with Bob (Dysautonomia): Am I sick enough for you?: Today I read another "but you don't look sick" comment, and it really got my goat ( fainting goat of course). The comment was...
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Now, I've gotten pretty used to my heart rate going wild at this point, & usually just try & keep going about my business, maybe taking an extra beta blocker. But sometimes, POTS symptoms come in a package deal.
Chest pain, a nasty feeling of pressure on your carotid artery, numb/tingly feet & hands...along w/the usual tachycardia.
Times like these, I find it is a must to not just lie down, but lie down flat. Sitting scrunched up or half reclined in a car chock full of personal belongings just will not do. So...here is a nice compromise!
Find a nice park with grass not too far from the parking lot.
Lay down a blanket, preferably not one you'll be sleeping with.
Spread a jacket over your skirt if you are wearing one & you like.
Lie down & enjoy the view. Trees, grass, sun, wind... Little squirrels playing peek-a-boo...
Actually, kinda nicer than lying in bed staring at the ceiling, willing your heart to slow down, chest to stop hurting, & neck pressure over your carotid to ease up!
Monday, April 15, 2013
This story may be shockingly unbelievable, and has to do with sensitive subject matter involving police, psychiatric facilities, shocking acts and irrational people...
Well. Things just continued to get worse where I was staying. She gave me 2 weeks to move out, till the end of the month. Then the next day, I came home to find the gates that gave me access to my room locked, and all hell broke loose. She wanted me gone that night, which she proceeded to tell me in about 15 insulting, demeaning text messages, and I told her she was going to have to wait till morning. (I'd had a really exhausting day, driving out to & putting some of my stuff BACK into my storage, getting my pain medication from the pharmacy, & picking up my mail, then turning around & coming back; plus it was 10pm; how was I supposed to find a place to stay at that hour, on such short notice, even if I didn't collapse from the strain?)
Yes. So I spent the night getting text messages where I was told I wasn't really sick, it was all in my head; that she wouldn't be enabling me anymore, that if I was sick, it was in the head, that I was crazy, a loser, a mooch, a leach, all kinds of craziness. I stopped responding, and they eventually stopped, and I got to make arrangements with a true friend, to get help moving my stuff out the next day.
I'd wanted to go to sleep early, but I got anxious, wondering if that crazed, nasty woman was going to bust in my door in the middle of the night & do who knows what to me or my things...(seeing as how the room is tiny and there is one foot between the door & the bed, at most, it's not like I could defend myself) and sleep wouldn't come easily.
I got woken up to her pounding on the door telling me to get out, and I began to oblige, packing all the things it had taken me TWO trips to my storage to bring back...she'd told me I could have a yard sale, previously...
She was yelling and pounding on the door while I tried to take my meds, keep my tachycardia from getting too out of control, and pack, and then she started removing all the things & food I'd had stored in the garage refrigerator or elsewhere and putting them outside the back gate, screaming at me the whole time, so finally, I started screaming back to leave me to pack in peace, I'd already let her know someone was coming to help me...finally I screamed a threat at her, something private that she didn't want told, that I'd tell it if she didn't leave me to pack in peace. She finally left.
She started texting me though. Then finally stopped, and later, told me she "didn't want to throw me out on the streets if I had no place to go" which I had to try hard not to smirk at, because obviously, she'd wanted to do that last night, so why not now? And that she would leave the doors unlocked so I could load my things and let the friend in to help. Then she got her kids (and the dog that liked me) together and left.
So I finally felt safe enough to get my car, bring it around back, and start loading my stuff, valuables, like my purse, my laptop, etc., first. Then I popped my trunk, and walked back in to get more things, and heard something at the gate. Relieved, I assumed it was the guy who was coming to help me move. I opened the door to find 4 policemen. I started, confused that she'd called them and left, and then relaxed, thinking she was silly and how much easier it would be if she came back and they were here, so she couldn't harass me any more. So I invited them in and asked them how I could help them, smiling.
That's when they told me that my Mom was very worried about me and was on her way over.
Which confused the heck out of me, because I couldn't understand quite what my Mother, who I purposely hadn't seen in over 6 months after she told me that I should search my conscience because there must be some reason I was sick, and ask for forgiveness or something insane and cruel and fanatically religious to that effect, had to do with anything. I had told the crazy woman that she was reminding me of my mother when she was mercilessly insulting me, and she had offered to call her and ask her to take me in...so my first thought was that she had called her, but then how did that explain the cops? Well, they kindly cleared that up for me shortly.
Apparently, my mother had called them because she and my brother were worried about me. They thought I was going to try and hurt myself. The words 5150 Psychiatric Hold popped into my head, and suddenly I became very wary of any and all conversation or volunteering of information with the 3-4 cops in the backyard with me, and when I ceased to cooperate, they put me in handcuffs! I talked them into waiting until my mother arrived to clear things up to escort me out front and put me in a car, and finally managed.
My mother acted all distressed to see me in handcuffs, but her feigned distress suddenly went away when they told her it was procedure, and if she wanted them to hold me, they had to.
When it became apparent my Mother was not going to be swayed, I must admit, I had some choice words for her. Man those handcuffs hurt my tiny, screwed-up wrists! And then my shoulders started to cramp. Thanks for that, Mother. I had some choice words for the cop, once I realized he wouldn't be persuaded to stop and secure my car, with all my most valuable possessions in it sitting wide open.
However, he soon forgave me and we made friends as we waited for 3 hours in the waiting room of the Psychiatric Emergency Room at the lovely County Hospital, and I eventually got him to loosen the cuffs, and let me keep them in the front to ease the redness and swelling in my fingers, and so I could put my feet up on the chair next to me so my blood pressure didn't get too low. (Turns out, at that point it was quite high, and I had a fever.)
When my crazy mother and her pawn, my brother, decided to show her face, it had just dawned on me, that despite them saying that the crazy woman had nothing to do with it, neither of them had known where she lived...
And that's when I figured out that all this was my former friend's way of keeping her secrets safe. She must have gotten in touch with my brother, gotten my Mom's number, called and told her (like she'd been spewing at me) what a wonderful person she had been, trying to help me out, and how I was a crazy, ungrateful, loon, and everything else my mother could possibly want to hear to make her feel better about turning her back on a sick daughter who had busted her bum trying to make sure she had a nice place to live and money to live off of the past year. (She was extremely upset that when people asked me why my Mom didn't help me out once I became homeless, I told them the truth; that her moods had been erratic the past year, she'd been having fits of temper, probably due to her refusing to follow the treatment for her blood pressure, and that she had been being more and more cruel and verbally abusive more and more often, and that I'd had enough, after spending over a decade in therapy trying to learn how to get along with her or cope with her treatment of me, and been repeatedly told that I just needed to stay away from her, which I was doing well at until I got very sick and needed...someone.)
When I tearfully started explaining it to them, then asking them how they could believe her, knowing the woman and what she had put me through in the past as they did, how they could believe her over me, and do this rather than just offer to take me in, my brother flinched, and I was pretty sure he understood he'd been duped and used against me in a very nasty way...he later got in an argument with my mother and left.
Oh, there's more ridiculousness, but in the end, the cop put in a good word for me, after all, I'd ended up telling him how things had been and from my family's attitudes & reactions I think he saw that it was all true, and didn't buy my dear mother talking to me like an idiot telling me that I needed to be evaluated .As with past doctors, the Psychiatrist saw through her bs, heard me out, and the lack of my brother supporting my mother's story helped too, so she told me she was letting me go. There was no need for me to be on a 72-hour hold, or even stay a second longer than necessary. Of course, then my dear mother disappeared, once we got back to reality, where I'm physically sick and she's back in her own sick sad little world where she, and only she has the right to feel or be sick, and everything I've done for her is forgotten and buried...
I walked out, free, but with no purse, phone, money, or even a sweater for the cold wind that was blowing, feeling sick, and sore as the adrenaline wore off and all the awkward positions I'd had to endure began to make my muscles ache. I waited for a friend to come pick me up, and she did, just before I was about to sign into the regular ER and try to get a saline IV in hopes of stilling my raging, beta-blocker starved heart rate and the overwhelming feeling of malaise and weakness. And I still had to go get my stuff back. Escorted by the cops, as the crazy former friend (who never deserved the title) hung up when my true friend called about picking up my things. She opened the door with a look of surprise on her face. Oops. They don't keep sane people in the Psychiatric Ward on 5150 holds, sorry.
*(At least not in this case, lucky for me, but here is the story of Sophia Mirza, who died in the UK of M.E./CFS several years ago, and was put on a Psychiatric Hold by her doctors. At least in my case, I only have my MOTHER to fear.)
Friday, April 12, 2013
I'm just so tired of trying to handle it all.
I asked my brother tonight why they've abandoned me like this, and he won't give me a straight answer.(He said something about my lying to get him to help me move...umm, well if he was helpful, and I hadn't been so desperate, I wouldn't have had to tell a white lie...actually not sure I even lied, just things didn't go as planned, which was a surprise to me, too.) I don't really want his help at this point (or maybe I'm just telling myself that because I know none is coming?) but I'm curious to know what his reasoning is for this all being okay, because I don't get it. I feel like no one hears me. What do they expect me to do? Magically not be sick anymore? Or maybe they do just hope I'll roll over and die?
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Monday, March 11, 2013
I suppose I've hashed & re-hashed, ad nauseum, the whole to attempt to work or not to work dilemma Lately, I'd become much less insecure about it, less liable to feel guilty or question if maybe I wasn't trying hard enough. It's not like I haven't tried. The last two times, part-time, even freelance, and resulting in disaster, and leading me to where I am now. I don't think it's wise at this point to risk it and risk losing any quality of life I may have in the near future. I don't want to end up one of those M.E. patients confined to bed, being fed by a feeding tube, barely able to keep that down, with the lights off and requiring total silence because their nervous system can't even handle those stimuli.
Just yesterday, in fact, I found something I could plausibly manage...but only if I didn't have to expend the effort in marketing and selling my services myself. Unfortunately, that is key.
So here I am. Finally. Homeless. I had my only friends in the area unwittingly volunteer for the grisly task of packing and moving me, realizing too late that I might as well have hired professional movers, because I really had to pay them about the same amount. I pulled a hamstring before even starting; wrapped it tight in an ace bandage, then later a knee brace. I started to panic, then realized, hey, what's the worst that could happen? Honesly? I could collapse, and have to be rushed to the hospital, a whole two minutes away, and my family might actually show up & help me out, lol. Alas, with the help of many painkillers, salt pills, and copious amounts of water, and quite a bit of bossiness, I got the job done. Well, mostly oversaw, but still was on my feet longer than I imagined possible. My brother of course, made things much easier by coming to give me moral support, his idea of which was to come, bringing along a friend who had to be at work in an hour, freak out because the truck with his stuff wasn't ready, and go home. I needed him there for two things: Moral support, and, to drive the truck with his & my Mom's things in it home. He'd hurt his clavicle and couldn't help move, either, but I wasn't even asking him to help pack, just be there, maybe give me a hug every now and then, or some input on which of my Dad's things to keep or trash.Too much to ask apparently.
Anyhow, the days after I was in a sort of shock, staying at my friend's house. Then I went to visit some relatives in Texas, which at first was wonderful. For a couple of weeks there, I felt accepted, like I could just be myself, my post-FM/ME self, and it was okay. I had a family, I was part of something, I could help them when I could the way they helped each other, and me, and it was oh-so-wonderful. I was even considering renting a place & staying there, but then expenses started to get the better of me. And they began going through even tougher times, and suddenly I didn't feel so welcome and knew it was time to go home. My original plan to just keep travelling...well honestly, by that time between the effort of trying to keep up with normal people activities, and the stress of feeling like a burden, I wasn't doing so good, sweating like mad non-stop, hot flashes, tachycardia galore, POTS in full-effect. And I kept getting "normal people" sick. Plus, Texas, at least the part of it I was in, seemed like another world, like a 2nd world part of America that I hadn't really believed existed, and suddenly travelling on to the 3rd World just seemed like a BAD idea. Plus, if I was going to be homeless, or collapse I'd rather do it in Southern California, where that ever precious commodity, my car, was waiting for me, as well as decent medical care.
So here I am again. Still sick. Still fighting the system (my appeal was granted, yay!) and once again, staying with people who more than likely are getting pretty sick of me. And all I want to do is go home, a place which doesn't exist, still occasionally puzzled when I wonder why my dozens of family members don't seem to care. I've always been strong, because I've had to be, but I am so over that. Why is it no one cares? Do they not believe I'm sick? Am I that awful a person? Are people really so self-absorbed these days? Even if I wanted to risk ruining my health completely, what would trying to work now accomplish? Not like I'd be able to afford a place on a part-time job. The lil devil on my shoulder says, c'mon do it! We'll show them, when we collapse and have to go stay in the hospital and truly need live in help, mabye they'll finally understand. But the rest of me says, no. The only one who suffers then is me...I think I need a nap.