Do we know how to party, or what?
Let me fully explain this, so you totally understand the measure of awesomeness our day included.
I am a football fan. 49ers by birthright. But if I can't watch them, I will root for any Bay Area team, being a 5th generation Bay Area-ite. (Bay Aryan sounded too Nazi-ish) Which works out great, because I married a Raider fan. Yes, it's a mixed marriage, but somehow we make it work. Now that poor, poor Al Davis, currently up for Sainthood, is gone, things may get a bit better in our home from mid-August to late January. And the draft in April. (By the way, how can 4 million people constantly wish for the demise of one man, then the very split second he is gone, elevate him to heights even the Pope hasn't seen? Is it guilt? C'mon, Raider Nation, you know what I'm talking about. :::shakes head, moves on:::)
And like many mixed marriages, we do our best to support the other one in their respective love and adoration and/or utter contempt, depending on which side of the Bay you root. We even have clothing to root for the other person's team in case we get an opportunity to go to a game. (Lord knows you can't wear anything but Silver and Black to Oakland, for fear of death.)
This year, we got to go to the Steelers/49ers game, so of course Sky King had to get a jersey in red and white. Luckily Sports Authority had a buy one/get one deal, so he got a shiny new jersey and I got a toasty hoodie to go over my #85.
When this speaking engagement came up, we had a big decision to make: Stay home in the warm comfort of our sectional, dining on pork by-products and processed cheesefood, or schlep over two hours (that's if there's no traffic) to sit mere minutes from the stadium we want to be in. All to listen to science-y people talk science-y talk about a disease we wish we knew nothing about. The obvious choice was to go to the speaking engagement. (PS, thank you, Sky King-I OWE you...)Which was complete with a $50 hotel bar lunch and several trips to the bathroom, which was suspiciously close to the TVs in the hotel. Beers even magically appeared in Sky King's paw for each of these trips to the bathroom (which totaled 5-I think he may need a urologist...).
True love, I tell ya.
All this, so that our visit with my new doc tomorrow will make more sense. Tomorrow, we will be making some firm plans about my treatment. Tomorrow, we will find out which co-infections I have. Tomorrow, we will get a full picture of my health situation. Today was reserved for learning.
We listened to the doctors, and we learned quite a bit. For instance, I may have passed my Lyme to my children, and husband. Because I was running out of shit to feel guilty about. Thank you, spirochetes.
We learned that treatment is measured in years. 5 being the starting point.
We learned that some of the meds that kill these little fuckers are also used to kill cancer, and malaria. So, I am really covering all my bases. The reason treatments take so long is that the co-infections (other infections that come with Lyme, because ticks are notoriously germ-ridden whores) sometimes pierce and infiltrate the red blood cells. And red blood cells are hard for meds to penetrate, and they are constantly regenerating, so you have to completely toxify the system to cover all the current red blood cells and to help get rid of the germs in the cells that are forming. I'm speaking completely non-scientifically, and more than likely totally inaccurately, but trust me-this shit is serious. Those little microscopic organisms are some bad-ass mofos.
We learned that many of my problems can be linked to Lyme, and may therefore be gone when I finish treatment: fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, Raynaud's, depression, joint pain, muscle pain, bad circulation, night sweats, bad sleep pattern, poor memory, muscle tremors, brain fog, forgetfulness, and generalized bitchiness.
Yes, I might become less of a bitch. No, really. REALLY! I know, right? How amazing that would be! (Right now, many of the men that read my blog are trying to figure out how to secretly test their wives...do I know you, or what?)
Ya see, it seems that Lyme symptoms flare about every 4 weeks or so. Which is the length of a woman's menstrual cycle. And, hormones make symptoms worse. So, in addition to being regular old bitchy what with the bleeding and the trips to the bathroom and the bloating and the cramping, Lyme makes it worse (Sky King was probably saying in his head, "I didn't need to spend 5 hours in a car in the middle of the playoffs for a doctor to tell me THAT").
So, it seems that a quick 5-year coarse of malaria drugs given intravenously can cure my bitchiness. Small price to pay to get me to a place where I:
- Don't scream out the window at people that cut me off
- Don't pull muscles reaching over Sky King to use the horn he obviously cannot find
- Don't have to resist the urge to stab a bitch in the eye who says to me, as I cruise through the lobby wearing my bright red jersey, "Oh! Who's playing today?" Holy fucknuggets
- Don't want to confront stupid people with their stupidity-not necessarily to help them learn better, but to prove to the world, them included, how utterly stupid they really are
And, since you asked: The 49ers played against the Giants. And a shitty little man named Williams, soon to be formerly of the San Francisco 49ers, has now entered the witness protection program for his single-handed destruction of our deserved spot in Superbowl 46.
And once I'm cured? It may be hard to recognize me, what with the bitchitis all cleared up.
So here's a tip. I'll be the one with the husband with a huge smile, and I will be walking perfectly normal, over-scheduling myself for shit I should've said NO to. And I will look uh-MAZE-ing, because I will have lost 50 pounds from the vomiting the medications bring on.
While I sit here complaining about the treatment that will most likely alleviate many of my awful symptoms, I know this blog will be read by people that have things that can't be cured. I have friends with depression, friends with Cancer, friends with Lupus, friends with MS. Lots of friends with lots of invisible illnesses. The irony is not lost on me. We each have our own battles, our own struggles. Just because I have Lyme Disease does not diminish you being out of Pike's Place K-cups. It's all relative, and we all get our time to dwell, to have pity-parties, to mourn the loss of the life we loved.
Unless you know nothing about football. Then, you can rot in hell.