see, Aunt Sizzle (which is really what Sizzle calls herself, and I think that’s totally hilarious) will be the one that Jonas loves for all time, while Aunt SarahK will be the one…
(more…)

I’m really glad that there are other celiacs out there who have been doing the gluten-free thing longer than me (I’m finding lots of people who’ve been gluten-free for decades, so yes, I can suck it up and live without essay’s mom’s brownies, and oh my goodness, I just thought of that one — I’ll be back after a short recess of sobbing). Because it’s really easy for me to plan my grocery shopping and learn whether I can still eat the things I want. I am learning, yes, that foods can change by batch (I have to look at the ingredients every single time to make sure they haven’t changed), but for the most part this is taking a lot of the hard work out of it for me.

I’ve requested a few recipe books for Christmas so I can get used to the substitutions in baking, etc. I’ve also asked for a couple of “So You’d Like To Be a Celiac” books so I can better learn the scientific and medical stuff for times like this past Saturday when Bikermommy rolled her eyes heavily at me when I told her that I didn’t want to use the same gravy whisk for the main giblet gravy as for my own flour-free giblet gravy because of “cross-contamination”. Then I can just rattle off a long scientific explanation until she finally says, “Okay! Okay! I get it! You’re so much smarter than I could ever dream! Here’s a new whisk!” Hmm… maybe I should get Bikermommy her very own copy of “So You’d Like to Mother a Celiac”.

That’s something I don’t look forward to — family gatherings at holidays. I mean I look forward to the gatherings, just not the eating part. Eating out I think I’ll be able to handle. I did it twice in Amarillo last week with no problem (except I have to discipline myself that just because everyone else is eating the cheesy crab appetizer doesn’t mean I get to eat it — darn that stupid bread crumb topping). But the family thing — considering that we’re stuck here south of hell, and everyone else is in Texas or Idaho, we’re not so much involved in the cooking game, so I don’t get to say, “Say, can I bring a dish or six?” and then sneak in a bunch of gluten-free stuff… I’m sure I’ll manage. Right? Right?

Back to being happy about this… uh… oh yeah… Suffice it to say, I’m happy that others have gone before me. With just a little googling, I was able to figure out that I can still make Shrimp Jambalaya, Louisiana hot sauce and all. Will make that tomorrow night when Jim & Rachel come over. Oh yeah. That’s what I was doing. Cleaning house. Company coming tomorrow. And they’re staying overnight.

Alrighty… Good news… I think… I almost hate to say it out loud, but I think I have a diagnosis. Dun-du-du-dunnnnnnnn….

Celiac disease. The bestest neurologist ever is sending me for testing to confirm.

First off, I would like to thank all of my readers out there who brought it up in the comments and/or emailed me about it. I had come across celiac disease several times in my research, but most of the literature on CD lists weight loss as a symptom, and hardly any of the literature mentions weight gain. So I had disregarded celiac every time, due to that whole 43 pounds thing. But then one reader (I don’t remember who, I apologize) told me that some people, especially those who present with celiac disease later in life, tend to gain weight rather than lose it. So I started paying attention and looked into whether my symptoms fit. I have so many symptoms, including the seizures, that can be explained by severe vitamin deficiencies. And then those gastric symptoms I’ve been ignoring for years tie in and make it all a nice neat package.

BTW, when I was a teenager, I got a stomach ulcer and had that ulcer off and on for years. I was tested for the h. pilori bacteria, and I was in the 1% of people whose ulcer is not caused by the bacteria. I wonder if the other 1% of us has celiac disease? How ’bout it, science?

Also, I was describing my symptoms to my MIL while we were driving to Texas. I was telling her that lately my muscles start to feel like they’re burning — not from overexertion, but burning from the inside. In fact, they feel the same way that skin rash last November felt — they feel like they’re on fire a lot of times. Hands and feet mostly, but a lot of times my legs, and lately my arms have started up. My MIL asked if my skin feels tight, and yes it does, and she said that sounds like fibro (which she has). She asked if the bad rheumo had checked trigger points. Are you kidding me? Anyway, that wouldn’t explain the seizures, so I either have celiac + fibro, or celiac + Lupus + fibro, or Lupus + fibro, or doctors just haven’t figured out that there is a connection between celiac and fibro. How ’bout it, science?

So here’s what I did. I didn’t want to feel like crap on our road trip and while I was in Texas with my family, so I tried to stop eating wheat for that week. I did really well for most of the week, right? And I felt really well when I didn’t eat wheat. Mind you, I’m doing the Topamax and the Lyrica, but even with the meds I still have a few migraines and seizures. But off the wheat, et al., I had no headaches, very few seizures, few tingles, and my GI tract did pretty well.

Then on Thanksgiving Day, I caved and ate my Grama’s dressing, even though I found out ahead of time that she Yankifies it by putting white bread in it (no self-respecting Texan…). Anyway, sure enough, Friday morning, I woke up with a severe migraine (we’re talking 8 out of 10) and intense nausea. I’ve only had nausea with my migraines maybe 4 or 5 times. Just ask Kris. We had Braum’s limeades with her later, and she got to watch me run off and hang my head by the curb because I thought I was going to puke. I also had explosive diarrhea (you wanted to know that, you did), and later in the day, I had the muscle burning, a million billion seizures, nerve pain in my leg, and back pain.

Ok, so back to no wheat, et al. I was fine the rest of the weekend after laying off of it again.

So I called Dr. Wonderful, my neuro, and asked him to send me for the test. I had started back on wheat Monday night in case he was sending me for the test (besides, being off for one week, I think, with a day’s respite, isn’t going to botch the test results anyway). We had discussed it at my previous appointment, and he knows a lot about it, so I figure it’s not a big stretch to ask him to test me, even though it’s technically not his field — I mean, it is most likely the root cause of my epilepsy and my migraines, and he’s actually a doctor who wants to get at the root cause and not just treat the symptoms. He said that my little experiment confirmed celiac disease, I don’t need the blood test nor the endoscopy and biopsy, and I should just go gluten-free immediately and start to get better. I told his office that my fear is that my one-week result is pure placebo effect… but I didn’t push for the test.

But today I was still uneasy about it, and I had decided not to push Dr. Wonderful for the test. I figured I should make an appointment with a gastroenterologist and get that guy to send me for testing. A new doctor, which is not appealing to me, but maybe I should have one anyway. Sigh. I read all the bios for the gastros in the two associations I frequent. The gastro in my neuro’s association actually seemed most promising, so I called to make an appointment. Wouldn’t you know… they want a doctor referral. Dangit. So I called Dr. Wonderful’s office and left a message… so sorry to ask, but would you give me a referral since you know the situation, and I don’t want to go in and see the internist, and I really want to go ahead and get tested so that I’m sure about the celiac diagnosis before I go on this lifestyle-changing diet for the rest of my life…

Lisa called and said that Dr. Wonderful said this gastro won’t send me for the test unless he’s 900% sure that it’s celiac disease. So Dr. Wonderful’s sending me for the test and also making the appointment with the gastro in case I still want to see the gastro.

My neuro and his staff have been such a blessing.

So. I think we need to rename the category from “all my ailments” now that we know what it is. here are my ideas so far:
*celiac attack
*ack! she’s a celiac!
*no more gluten? no more tootin’!
*celiac? that’s so whack!

What do y’all think?

In any case, we’re going gluten-free around here (and by here, I mean mountaineer musings), so expect to hear about it. Last night I had spaghetti made out of brown rice. It was good. Don’t worry, I didn’t beat Frank down. I made him good ol’ enriched white linguine. But if I (who didn’t live on Chunky Soup and pot pies until 2 years ago) like the rice pasta, I’m pretty sure Frank will like it. I’m the bigger food critic. The true test will be when I make these gluten-free brownies…

But I actually have to keep having wheat until after the test. I’m not going to overdo it, though. I’m not stupid. I know it makes me feel bad.

But yay for knowing what ails me!

Everything I know about the Tyra Banks Show, I learned from watching The Soup on the E! channel. And everything my Grampa knows about the Tyra Banks Show, he learned from me. :-D

I walked into my dad’s livingroom on Thanksgiving Day to see my Grampa K sitting in a cushy chair, remote in hand. I glanced at the TV to see what GPK was watching, and who did I see but panty-party-throwing Tyra Banks chatting away in a girly-fest. I just burst out laughing. I knew that he must have just been flipping channels and had parked it there to see what this show was.

SARAHK: So, Grampa, you watch Tyra Banks, huh? [laughing] She has panty parties on her show!
GRAMPAK: Oh, well then, I guess I’d better just leave it on this channel!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Then my sweet little preacher’s wife Grama walked up.

GRAMAK: Oh, you shouldn’t have told him that, now he’ll never stop watching.

You know. In her sweet, meek, calm Grama K voice.

Rowdi was at the dog spa while we were gone. For her first pond party (Wednesday), Rowdi saw Holly setting up for the party and wanted to be super early, so she jumped five fences and jumped into the pond about a half hour early.

Well, they didn’t want the same thing to happen on Saturday, so they put her on a leash and tied the leash to a fence. So our good dog chewed through the leash, jumped five fences, and jumped into her pond.

Puppy likes to swim.

i will stick to $20 pedicures. i accidentally got the $35 pedicure at my hair salon to save on another trip, and now i have a toe infection. that’s what i get for going to the place where i know everyone, and i know it’s clean. next time i’ll go to the questionable place where they don’t charge nearly enough and they rub my feet as hard as i want them to. and they don’t give me toe infections.

so after about 5pm on Wednesday, i decided i want to move back to Amarillo so i can be only 6 hours from my bestest friend. it was so much fun. we sent the guys out for Chipotle while essay tried on all the awesome clothes i brought her (the ones that i wore once and then grew out of). it was like going shopping without all the waiting. she tried stuff on, it all fit, we said “yay!” and giggled like little girls.

we’re finally home. and sleepy. i hope my boss lets me sleep in tomorrow, but i somehow doubt he will…

I’m dancin’ on a pony keg. Of course, we’re in Jackson, TN, and I don’t know if Johnny and June are talking about the one in TN or the one in MS (and there are others for that matter).

We’re tired. It’s been a loooooong week. As of earlier today (approximately around the exact location of Checotah, OK), I would have said that the Js will never ever again take a road trip together. As of right now, I’ll get back to you on that. Incidentally, if anyone has a clear, non-blurry, non-sped-by picture of the road sign announcing that Checotah is the home of Carrie Underwood… well, you figure it out.

Much to talk about, but of course, it’s past 2 a.m., and we still have another day of driving tomorrow, and Frank works Tuesday. I’m taking Tuesday off for sleep.

A quick list so I don’t forget what I have to blog about:

*How the Cowboys so soundly trounced Tammi’s Bucs, and how many times I thought about Tammi during the game and could just picture her stomping and yelling and saying, “That’s ok, only 5 touchdowns to catch up!” throughout the game.
*What Spidade really thinks the Happy Feet movie is about.
*Puppies with antlers plus curly-headed children gets you sympathy Christmas presents from Grandma.
*We went golfing!
*My Grampa watching Tyra Banks on TV.
*Lots of pictures
*We had french fries and limeades at Braums with Kris!
*There is so much more I’m forgetting, but now it’s 2:30! Come on!

*For now, let me leave you with a little story. We stopped just past Memphis for gas and restrooms. After I peed, I waited in the car for Frank to finish, and suddenly, there was a barrage of people coming into the convenience store for snacks and drinks and whatnot. This one character caught my attention because, well, if he were my child, I would have slapped him upside the head and told him to take off those swaddling clothes and pull up his pants. Ok, picture with me. This was a black kid (I tell you only so you can see exactly what I see in my mind’s eye and have this image forever seared in your brain), and by kid, I mean that he looked about 16, and since black men generally look anywhere from 10 to 33 years younger than actual, he was anywhere from 26 to 49. He was wearing a faded red-and-black striped shirt that hung to somewhere around his thighs, which was about where his pants were pulled up to. No, that’s not true. His pants were pulled up all the way to the spot where butt meets thigh. And I know this, because he gave me a look-see. More on that later. DroopyPants also wore a bright red scarf tied around his head - now this he took great pride in. You could just tell. It was tied just right, hung just right, and hugged his head in just the right way. I didn’t actually notice what he wore on his feet. I was too engrossed in what was going on three feet above ground.

#Gross Alert#
About that look-see. DroopyPants was standing in the checkout line behind three other people, and he decided that he was a bit discomforted or something. I’ve gotta tell you, what he did next took some sort of talent. He managed to pull his pants down even further with one hand (closer to his knees now), and with the other hand, Droopy 1) pulled his shirt up, 2) pulled his tighty-whiteys outward, and 3) scratched his butt. Not just his butt. Down in the valley, folks. I wouldn’t be so specific here, but that’s not the worst part. After DP scratched his buttcrack, he reached out and picked up the Sunday paper off the rack, flipped through it with both hands, and dropped it back on the rack.

A little extra extra in somebody’s Sunday paper.

Nighty night.

I hope y’all have a wonderful Thanksgiving and eat lots of pie.

Give thanks.

i’m going golfing tomorrow. Frank and i are going to golf with my dad and a man he works with. this should be filled with photoshoppable moments. i haven’t golfed since before i moved to Florida. same for Frank.

Yesterday, Bikermommy and I let Frank sleep in until like 3 p.m. or something extreme (except for that part where he thought the water running in the bathroom was the washing machine, because the washing machine is in the bathroom, and who doesn’t lock the door to the bathroom when they have guests?).

We decided to go “into town” and shop a little, but Bikermommy was getting cranky without her lunch. I said, “Ok, but you know I’m trying this gluten-free thing just for this week because I don’t want to feel like crap while I’m on vacation if I can do something to help that, so let’s try to figure out a place where I can eat.”

Naturally, Bikey said, “Mmmm. Let’s go to Rosa’s Tortilla Factory.” I hate her. See, I’m not doing the gluten-free thing forever, just this one week (a stupid week to pick, because hello, no Braum’s malt, and no Rosa’s flour tortillas) because I’m on vacation and want to feel decent for once, and I want to enjoy Texas.

So we went to Rosa’s, because my ma convinced me I could have a tamal or two, and I wanted the hot sauce. I ordered two tamales and a crispy chicken taco. I remembered I love the chicken tacos at Rosa’s. So then Bikermommy felt the need to point out the fact that they were making the best flour tortillas in the world by saying, “Don’t look, don’t look!” and pretend-shielding her face from the tortilla-factory part of the tortilla factory. So I saw the tortillas, the buttery, soft tortillas, coming off the tortilla-maker thingy. I started mumbling to myself. “It’s worth it if it makes me feel better. It’s worth it if it makes me feel better…” over and over.

I went over to the salsa bar and looked for the cups for the salsa. Still mumbling. Still chanting. And Bikermommy had taken the last of the salsa cups. So I walked to both ends of the salsa bar, chanting, looking for the cups.

Apparently, I looked lost. Or, um… unstable. One of the people who works at Rosa’s walked up and said, “Um, ma’am? Are… you okay? Is there… something I can help you with?”

I looked at him with my blank, flour tortilla-craving stare and said, “Salsa cups.”

He said, “Ok, ma’am, I’ll find those for you right away.”

It’s worth it if it makes me feel better.

My mother needs to learn to lock the bathroom door when she’s taking the shower.

My poor husband. And for it to be his first waking moment.

We made it to my mom’s house in Amarillo at 4:30-ish this morning. I don’t know why a 24 hour drive took us something like 35, but anyway, we’re here. We dragged ourselves out of Oklahoma (the sleepiest part of our journey) in the wee hours of the morning by playing 20 Questions. Mostly Frank coming up with the Who (by that time, I had requested that he be only real people or fictional characters) and me doing the guessing.

The highlight of the last leg of our road trip went like this. Good thing I was driving and not Frank, because I’m not sure I could have contained my excitement. See, I’m a gasper when I see something that really interests or excites me. Bass Shoes outlet store? Gasp, almost caused Frank to wreck once. First Braum’s we saw when we got back to my neck of the woods? Gasp.

SARAHK: OH LOOK! CHECOTAH! IT’S CHECOTAH, OKLAHOMA! THAT’S WHERE CARRIE UNDERWOOD’S FROM!
FRANK: Oh yeah, it sure is. I wonder if there will be a sign.
SARAHK: OH LOOK! CHECOTAH OKLAHOMA! HOME OF CARRIE UNDERWOOD! AMERICAN IDOL 2005!

Then a couple hundred yards down the road, I spontaneously began to clap and say, “Yay! Carrie Underwood! Yaaaaaay!”

Anyway. We’re here. Frank saw my mom nekkid. Poor hubby.

Hi y’all!

Where to start… Ok, we got a late start yesterday, because it took me forever to pack, because my back and legs were killing me, and then I refused to leave the house before all 2 weeks’ worth of dishes were done, the kitchen and bathrooms were clean, and I could come home to a relatively straightened house (if something happens to us, I don’t want the person taking care of our affairs walking into the house and going, “O… k… let’s just burn it down and never speak of it again.” This scares me a little, because it means I’m becoming more like my mother every day.)

We made really good time and ate excellent pit barbecue (in Rowdi’s honor) somewhere in north Florida.

I did not plan ahead, because I was so frazzled and out of it and running on about 10 hours of sleep since Tuesday, so I hadn’t mapped out where all the churches of Christ between Melbourne and Nashville are so we’d be able to find one no matter where we were around church time. Of course, we didn’t even get on the road until 11:30, which is after church at home starts, so we had even missed church at home. So we were keeping an eye out for a church that just happened to be along the side of the highway around 6 p.m. (sometimes you get lucky - we didn’t).

Once we hit Atlanta, traffic got slow, and the people in traffic got even dumb-stupider than they’d been all day long. We stopped to find a grocery store after we were north of Atlanta for some Matzo(h) crackers and grape juice. Wow. It had to be in the 40s in Atlanta, and I was not prepared for that with my thin jacket, un-stocking-ed legs, and ungloved fingers. Anyway, we got Frank’s Bible out of the suitcase and had our own worship service in the parking lot of an Ingles grocery store somewhere north of Atlanta. I hate to say, we’ve been having to do this for me several times lately, because I’ve missed church a lot lately with being so sick and being in so much pain that I wear myself out with the doctor appointments and chiro appointments and then have nothing left or and am in too much pain. Funny, in the church hymnals, there are so many songs written by so many people who were in pain or dying or on their deathbeds. There are entire books written about the origins of the church songs, and so many were written when the person was in a place of pain and pulled closer to the Lord and wrote what they were feeling and shared it with the world. I hope I get to that point. I’m not there right now.

When we got to Chattanooga, my leg was hurting enough that I needed to call it a night. I had napped before Atlanta, so I probably could have gone 3 or 4 more hours (it was only 11:30!), so we decided that if we saw a Best Western (always clean, always free wireless internet), we would go ahead and stop for the night.

Wouldn’t you know, there was a church of Christ that just happened to be right along the side of the highway. Ha, if only we’d gotten started at 5 a.m. like we were supposed to!

We found the Best Western right away, and the nice desk clerk (we are definitely in the south) said that the only king bed available was in the Jacuzzi Room, but she had a room with 2 double beds available. Frank asked the price on the Jacuzzi Room, and it was an extra $25. He asked me if that was ok, and I was looking at him like, um… ok… I’m in a lot of pain, and we’re both really tired, and we have to get up so early, so I know you’re not thinking we’re gonna go to splashy town in the Jacuzzi together. And I said, “Really? You wanna get the Jacuzzi?”

And the most wonderful husband in the world said, “I was thinking it might help your back.”

And I turned to the clerk and said, “Yes, we’d like that, please.”

And it really was nice and made me feel a lot better. He’s the sweetest, and the cutest, and I love him the best.

We will be on our way to Texas early early tomorrow morning. All I have to do is pack our stuff (don’t worry, it’s all pulled out into the livingroom, it’s cool), clean the kitchen and bathrooms, sweep the floors, mop the tile floors, and take a shower before we leave. Who needs sleep? Frank is sleeping right now. He will drive first.

We’ll be in and out of communication. Happy Thanksgiving! Y’all stay safe.

No MS! (I try not to say Hallelujah unless I am really thinking about how wonderful God is at the moment, and believe me, I am.)

This really is wonderful news!

(i’m starting to suspect you, celiac disease. you’d better get your important documents in order, because i’m coming after you next.)

even better news is that Lisa is going to work on the Mayo referral while i’m in Texas next week, and i’ll call her when i get back to find out when i’m going. she asked me which department i want to be referred to (because it’s very department-oriented), and i told her to just send me to neuro, since i definitely have more neurological symptoms than any other. the next part was funny. she said, “Ok, so we’ll refer you there for the continuing migraines, seizures, nerve pain, electric shocks [I think she mentioned those], neuralgias, muscle pain, and nerve parasthesias.”

hahahahahaha. yeah. just those one or two symptoms.

i’m falling apart, y’all.

more good news: the book has been sent to the printer, and we (the publishers) should receive the proof while we are in Amarillo. we will start taking orders on the website probably early next week. yay!

I feel pretty, so I’m posting pictures that I took of myself when I got home from the hair salon this afternoon. Yes, I’m still at my fighting weight of 1** (yeah, I was going to say the actual weight and chickened out), but I figure this blog is about my life, and by george, I’m gonna post pictures about my life.

Plus, these pictures somehow didn’t show my extra chin. ;-D

that I think that Microsoft Word has a crack-smokin’ habit. What other reason can there be for its completely arbitrary decisions to insert blank pages where I haven’t asked for them? Not only that, why would the crack-smokin’ program choose to hide said blank pages from me so that I cannot delete them? Cannot! Huh? I mean, I want ONE blank page, not two! So I go and try to delete one of the only two markers that could possibly be causing the problems, and do you know what smokey-face does? Deletes them both! But no, see, I need one! Otherwise, there will be no blank page between the dedication page and the foreword, and the whole book will be out of whack, and the 2nd title page will be on the left side instead of the right side and I will absolutely cry when I make my PDF file and it is wrong, all WROOOOOOOOONG!!!

You explain this to me in terms other than crack and smokin’! You can’t! I’ve hit the little paragraph-symbol-y button so I can see all the behind-the-scenes stuff that’s going on.

It’s Word trying to screw with me. Word is ticked off because I finally got it over its addiction to inserting random page numbers where they weren’t allowed. I kept forbidding and correcting until crack smokey finally gave up. So now Word has moved on to messing with my layout. And people, I did not sleep last night, and I have a house to clean after I get this book to the printers, which is supposed to happen yesterday. I’m so stressed about the book, and I just want it to be over and to the printer so that our precious little publishing company can publish its first book, and we can get our proof back next week and give the go ahead at least by the day after Thanksgiving… and the book can be published and on sale just in time for Christmas presents! It’s all about the shopping!

I’m so sleepy!

Stop with the random page insertion, you crack lover, you.

In the good news department, I haven’t heard bad news from the MRIs yet, and I’m getting my hair highlighted and cut today. I’m also going to stop and get a pedicure, because the doctor ordered it. Well, the neuro ordered relaxation. The chiro did, too, and I know that listening to the chiro will rilly rilly rilly tick off Mr. Haughty Ex-Rheumo. So yes, a pedicure is in order.

Oh, fantastic. I’m seeing all these Wicked Weather pictures on TV, and Frank and I are going to be driving through all the places they’re showing. Well, at least it will be an adventure. Hey, there’s E.D. Hill. She’s in the new book.

the picture i just posted at IMAO!
(more…)

HE WON!! HE WON!! HE WON!! Oh, and YAY CHERYL!! SHE WON!! SHE WON!! SHE WON!!

I did the Cabbage Patch for them. They were very gracious winners.

so here’s a fun picture of Kris taking a picture of me getting my hair done on my big Texas wedding day almost a year ago. and no, i still am not finished picking the wedding pictures, but that’s also on my list of things to do in the next two days.

Emmitt & Cheryl, right?

That freestyle was amazing. And I’m sorry, Mario & Karina were awesome, too, but I didn’t see why the judges were calling that the bestest dance ever ever.

I think it’s Emmitt & Cheryl all the way, baby.

So today I had the MRI of my cervical region and my lumbar region. I have to say, going in the tube all the way wasn’t any different, for me anyway, than going in for just a brain MRI. It’s not like you can move at all while you’re in there (shoot, I’m afraid to breathe for fear that I’ll move during a picture — I feel like I need a massage afterward because my muscles are so tense making sure I don’t move), and you can’t look toward your toes to see that you’re all the way in the tube, so I can’t tell any difference from my previous three MRIs.

Oh, the nice lady who took me back to the MRI dressing and locker area walked by after I had put on my gown and noticed I had it opening in the front. I prefer it that way, because at least then I know that I’m showing quite a bit of my right thigh, whereas if I have it opening in the back, I just don’t know who is looking at what back there. The lady asked if I would prefer to put on a gown that opens in the back, and I told her why I had the front-peeker. Then she said, “Oh, no, I mean do you want to wear two? You could put on one that opens in the back over that one so that you’re fully covered.” 8-O Such an easy solution to the cheeky hospital gown, and why didn’t I think of it before? It was nice, too, because I was much warmer for this MRI with 2 gowns on. Also, I thought to take my thick hiking socks with me so my feet were warm. Then the tech gave me a blanket, so my teeth didn’t actually chatter this time. That helps for a clear MRI.

So I gave the tech my Enya Amarantine CD, and she started it right before she started up the big magnet. I started to relax and settle in. Then right at the beginning of the title track, the #2 track, it all went wrong. Let me set the mood for you.

Enya speeds up to lightning speed and plays in something like devil mode (and this never corrects itself). Right about then, the big magnets power up. The loud ones. The ones that sound like the Emergency Alert System. This is when I note to myself that I’m not allowed to move, so I go through the thought process of wondering whether I can breathe, and wondering how I can breathe so as not to upset the pictures, because I realize that my whole upper body is raised a bit — the Enya situation has tightened my torso to the point that I’ve inadvertently raised myself. So how do I breathe in such a way that I don’t move and let my body back down? But no, I decide, it is best for me to flatten my shoulders against the bottom of the tube. So slowly, with every breath, with Enya’s overdrive alien warlords screaming in my ears, I uncrank my muscles and let myself back down somehow. Finally, my shoulders are flush with the tube, and all that’s left to do is continue to breathe and somehow calm my mind and tune out the aliens. EVIL aliens. And this is when the magnets become their loudest, because the cervical test is almost complete. So it’s ridiculously loud in the tube, and my eyes are closed, because who wants to look at the random grey stripe on the white tube? And Enya’s alien warlords are fighting to take over the planet. This is when the whole machine starts to vibrate. Now, having had three MRIs previously, I know this is perfectly normal. The machine always vibrates uncontrollably right at the end. I always think it’s going to break. And I’m always quite sure that the tech has left me all alone and does not realize that the machine is breaking. So now I have opened my eyes, because if Enya’s evil alien warlords are going to take over the planet, I’d like to have my eyes open if someone reaches their hand in for me to grab it so they can pull me out of the MRI machine; this is crucial, because the machine is vibrating so heavily that the top half of the tube is going to fall in on me at any second. The good news is this: while Enya’s evil alien warlords are destroying the planet, I am not going to die along with the rest of the earthlings. In fact, I am not even going to die of some unknown, undiagnosable disease. I am going to be crushed by the MRI machine, because the MRI tech has abandoned me and forgotten to tell me that she was leaving and I should try to save myself. At least I would have had a gun if she’d let me get out of the machine and get to my locker. Some aliens are vulnerable to bullets, I’m sure.

Then the vibrating stopped, the noise stopped, and thank goodness, the music stopped. The tech buzzed in over the microphone and asked if I was ok. I managed to squeak out, “Um, could you please turn off the music or fix it?”

She pushed me all the way in for the lumbar MRI, and she started the CD over. The craziness started right away, but this time the tech was listening for it. She buzzed in right away and asked if I wanted her to just put on the Enya CD that they have on hand. “Yes, please. Anything but the evil alien warlords.” I didn’t say it, but I thought it. It was A Day Without Aliens Rain. I love that one too.

No contrast with these MRIs, which was nice because no IV in my arm for the duration, but I’m worried that I’ll have to go back and repeat it. I wonder if it’s because the doc and Lisa and I were all gabbing and talking meds and grabbing samples when they wrote up the order, or if he intended it without contrast. I told the MRI tech I would call the doc if I needed to, but she talked to the MRI doc (and she told him what the doc is testing for), and he said go with it as written. So hopefully that was intentional. If not, I suppose I can do another one Friday. It’s not like I have anything else going on this week.

Gotta go put my Editor-in-chief/Vice President hat on.

i, um, gave up on ever winning a weblog award years ago… but i don’t remember there ever being a Best Diarist category before. was there?

anyway, there’s a Best Diarist category this year… and i know someone who writes ok about her crazy antics with her husband and animals… and, AND!!! she writes about her hoo-hah!

so… you know. they’re taking nominations right now. i think multiple nominations for the same blog are a good thing, because they’ll get a lotta lotta nominations and only put up the top few for voting.

and i could actually have a decent shot at this.

this and Culture Blog. i do write a lot about TV, music, movies, and food. remember all that American Idol and 24 stuff? that was me! and will be me again in January! remember how much i rag on Kellie Pickler, who’s adorable but should never sing, ever?

ahem.

have i ever mentioned that i heart y’all? like bunches and bunches?

ok. that’s the only time i’m going to mention it until the voting starts. i promise. oh, and i also promise that once i get diagnosed and start feeling better, i’ll actually write about something other than my health again!
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today i am slammed. laundry - already done two loads. did 2 last night. about to put in a 3rd if i can manage it before the MRI. i don’t even know. am i having 1 MRI or 2? the order is written in 2 separate pieces: cervical and lumbar. so i don’t know if i’m going in twice, or just staying in twice as long. or maybe they can take all the pictures at once, and it won’t take twice as long? no idea. i also have to shower. and i need to leave the house by 9:45. haha.

after the MRI, making a trip to the post office to fax something. then to BJ’s to price mailing supplies. do you have to send Media Mail in a post-office designated container? or do you just put it in your own container, mark it Media Mail, and the post office is fine with it? i ask, of course, because some people are actually interested in autographed copies of The Chronicles of Dubya (which goes to the printer tomorrow - we’ll have them ship the proof to Bikermommy’s house while we’re there for the holidays - did I mention that I thought we had a whole other week or so before Thanksgiving?), and we’ll have those copies shipped to us so Frank can sign them, and I’ll mail them back out. I just need to know how much extra to work into the autographed copies price for the shipping supplies. And the re-ship costs (looks like two bucks-ish).

after BJ’s, i have to park myself at Starbucks or B&N again and finish my final read-through to make sure i didn’t miss any mistakes. then add the page numbers. then come home and feed Frank, do more laundry, finish the back cover (we have to drop in the picture of Frank that we haven’t yet taken and figure out how to fix one problem we encountered), and get it all ready to send to the printer.

once the book is off to the printer, here is the list of stuff that still has to be done before we leave:
finish setting up the webpage for the book
get my hair highlighted
make Rowdi’s lunch for the next week
find &/or train cat sitter
clean entire house
do all laundry
pack
get a pedicure
relaxation, relaxation, relaxation
buy and pack food for our road trip
clean out both cars
get tires rotated and balanced
find all the things that i’ve been meaning to ship to friends and relatives in Texas so i can just take it with me.
inform friends and relatives in Texas that i’m coming to Texas - hey, Tarina, if you’re reading my blog, i’m going to be in Amarillo Monday, Tuesday, Friday, Saturday. we must get together! i’ll call you. or you call me!
ice my right glute. my goodness, how much can one butt cheek burn?

I heart my neuro. He’s a really good doctor who takes his patients seriously and truly wants to help them. Let’s see if I can remember the appointment:

I told him my new symptoms. He wasn’t really concerned about the hoo-hah tingle, because he said that can be seizures. His sense of humor is functioning, because when I said, “and it’s not the good kind of tingle,” he laughed. So did Lisa. I reuse my jokes on each person.

Also, the electrical shocks in my legs can be seizures. Same for the electrical shocks in my fingers. I forgot to tell him that my vision floaters are getting worse.

TMI below the fold.
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I’d like my 4 days back, please.

So I was talking to Spidade right before I went into Starbucks to work hard on the book. And I told Spidade that I only have 9 days to get everything done. Publish the book, get the house sparkly, get all the laundry done, get my hair highlighted, line up the cat sitter, I would love a pedicure if I can manage it (hahahahaha), pack for our trip, and clean out the car. A diagnosis would be nice, but as long as I get that before Christmas, I’m coo’. All before we leave for our trip on the 22nd.

Spidade was confused and was like, what? I thought y’all were coming here Monday.

And I was going, “No, we’re going to Amarillo first. We’ll get to Amarillo on that Monday and come to Ft. Worth on Wednesday and go back to Amarillo Friday morning. But we don’t leave Florida until that Saturday before then.”

And I was like, so we’re leaving here on the 22nd (some date that I randomly pulled out of my pinkytoe). And Spidade was like, well, Saturday is the 18th…

So I said, but no… we don’t leave here until the 22nd. And he said, Um…

And I said, well, what day is Thanksgiving on? And Spidade said, the 23rd.

:-O

Um. What’s Saturday’s date, Spidade?

The 18th.

Next Thursday is Thanksgiving?

Yes.

Um… No, because that would mean I have only 5 days to do everything… Ok, I should go, because earlier today, my neurologist offered to prescribe me some anxiety meds because I was really on edge, and I turned him down… But I may need to call him back.

It’s hard to say who took it worse, me or Frank.

1 The LORD is my light and my salvation;
Whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the defense of my life;
Whom shall I dread?

2 When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh,
My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell.

3 Though a host encamp against me,
My heart will not fear;
Though war arise against me,
In spite of this I shall be confident.

4 One thing I have asked from the LORD, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the LORD
And to meditate in His temple.

5 For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle;
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me;
He will lift me up on a rock.

6 And now my head will be lifted up above my enemies around me,
And I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the LORD.

7 Hear, O LORD, when I cry with my voice,
And be gracious to me and answer me.

8 When You said, “Seek My face,” my heart said to You,
“Your face, O LORD, I shall seek.”

9 Do not hide Your face from me,
Do not turn Your servant away in anger;
You have been my help;
Do not abandon me nor forsake me,
O God of my salvation!

10 For my father and my mother have forsaken me,
But the LORD will take me up.

11 Teach me Your way, O LORD,
And lead me in a level path
Because of my foes.

12 Do not deliver me over to the desire of my adversaries,
For false witnesses have risen against me,
And such as breathe out violence.

13 I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD
In the land of the living.

14 Wait for the LORD;
Be strong and let your heart take courage;
Yes, wait for the LORD.

too bad i have to spend the day inside. i will be working for a while, then going to see my neuro. going to ask him to test for MS and also ask him about celiac disease (i don’t know which doctor handles that one, i assume a gastroenterologist, but i’m going to ask my neuro since it affects the CNS). and i’m going to say, pretty please, will you make me an appointment with Mayo so i can get in super-fast (i’m thinking the week after Thanksgiving would be great — Frank could just drive up in the evenings if i feel i need moral support or whatever, because i’m thinking they’re not going to let him off work 2 weeks in a row). i’ll tell him i’m going to go to Mayo regardless (which is true), it would just be great for you to send me so i get in faster. i think he will.

after the neuro, i have to drive to Sebastian for dog food and then take it to the dog spa, where Rowdi is spending today and tomorrow. then i’m going to find a place to hunker down and work until my chiro appointment this afternoon.

wow, that looks like a really busy schedule, maybe i should move the chiro to tomorrow so i can get more work done.

i did the front pages for the book last night and put headers on all the pages. if i can get the page number thing to work today, i’ll be really happy. Word is stupid, so every time i put the lower-case roman numerals on the foreword and acknowledgments, it tries to number the very first page (the title page) as page 2. i mean, it’s the very first page of all, so let’s put an arabic 2 on it. and then on the 4th page, let’s put a 6. is Word smoking crack?

btw, i really like the British spelling of acknowledgements much better, and i like British treatment of quotation marks much better — some Americanizations are not improvements. i mean, seriously — acknowledge is spelled with an “e,” so why not spell acknowledgements with an “e”? and see how that “?” goes outside the quotation marks? i think the “,” after the previous “e” should also go after the quotes, like the Brits do, but the American rules say put the comma inside the quotes, no matter what the logic. it’s stupid and looks wrong, and i always want to fix it! if only they would let me keep my guns, i would want to move to Britain so i could do proper quotes. except they have that weird “ou” thing in words like “honor” (honour).

ok. i should stop my complaining and get back to work. my absolute and non-negotiable goal is to have this thing to the printer by Wednesday. the proof only takes 2-3 days to come back, so then we just approve it, and we’re off to the presses. i want the book on sale by the time we leave for Texas. oh, i also have to have the entire house spotless before we leave so that when i get back i can start painting.

a’ight. y’all be good.

[Info important to the story: Rowdi has never been allowed in our bedroom, for various reasons. The #1 reason being that it’s never been clean enough that I would trust her to not eat random items off the floor, and I’d never be able to find my socks again. Plus, the litter boxes are in our bathroom right now, and I don’t want her running in there and fetching poo. Even more, I don’t want Sydney to decide that she can’t go to the litter boxes anymore.]

SARAHK: So, what should we do about the dog? She’s never been out in the livingroom while we’re doing it before…
FRANK J.: Oh yeah. I don’t know.
SARAHK: I’m sure she’ll be fine. Sydney will stay in the guest room on the other side of the house, and Minerva will probably be at my feet so she can be in the way.
FRANK J.: Ok.

Notice the lack of response from the male of the species, who is focused only on the mating ritual.

Some time later, we are in the throes of passion, and suddenly Frank starts laughing.

Well, that’ll give the already-embattled hoo-hah some confidence, no?

So I look up at the male of the species, and he’s looking down and to the right. And Rowdi is licking his hand. And then she looks up at me with those big brown puppy eyes and wags that stooopid stub of hers.

I don’t know about y’all, but that’s pretty much a mood-killer for me. You bad bad dog! I lay my head back down on the bed and close my eyes.

Then I hear this “Er-raaaaaaa-errrrrrrr…..” and I look down and see that Rowdi has turned around and headed toward the foot of the bed, but Minerva is there on the floor. Oh good. A confrontation! Meanwhile, all action on the bed has stopped. We’re laughing, but I’m also a teensy bit annoyed.

So I do what I always do in this situation (well, not this exact situation, but in the dog / cat faceoff), which is snap my fingers. Rowdi immediately sits close to the foot of the bed. Then she turns her head around and looks at both of us so proudly like, “Look, mommy & daddy, I’m sitting nicely next to the bed! You should always let me in here!” Grinning that stupid dog grin.

And then… then!! That dumb, smug dog lies down next to the bed and gets comfortable. Like it’s perfectly normal for her to be there.

Of course, I have given up on salvaging the mating ritual, so we leave the bedroom and I am snapping my fingers the whole way and telling her to get out of my room. She prances out in front of me, wagging that stub, and then when she gets out of my bedroom, she turns around and grins this huge, smug grin and looks up at me like, “Please, pet me! Wasn’t that fun? Shouldn’t I be allowed in there all the time forever and ever? Yay!”

And she is really feeling good about herself, because she was able to go into our room and not just walk around, but lie next to the bed, without even getting yelled at (because of timing and whatnot).

Bad, smug dog.