The hurricane blew through the Jersey shore pretty much like a typically bad storm. Nothing compared to the horrors elsewhere in the state and in other places. No power for two days, a pain, but nothing tragic. About a half a foot of water in the basement, but that cleared up as soon as the power kicked on the sump pump. My Infamous Roof leaked, my plaster is peeling in the living room and sunroom ceilings again and I have a call into yet ANOTHER roofer (#7) to figure out where the problem is. Phone service is still out, they said that should be fixed by Friday.
Because of changed plans, it developed I was alone when the storm started to hit Saturday night. After some back and forth, I decided to take my friend Christine up on her offer to stay over with them, mostly for the company. I figured if I stayed home alone I would be both nervous and feeling sorry for myself. So I packed up Bella and my kabillion medications and hightailed it three miles away. Came home Sunday morning, creeping down the street I felt like Scarlett in Gone With the Wind waiting to see if Tara was still standing after the Yankees had been through. Tara was still standing! I said yay, Bella said yay and we settled in to keeping ourselves entertained without power. I had my industrial sized flashlight at the ready (also handy as a potential weapon to brain any villains), my Kindle and lots of tea to sustain me and the electricity came back on Monday morning. All in all not too bad in comparison with others.
My neighbors, the Fuckwits, had the benefit of a generator. Why, one might ask, would a pair of able-bodied, 30-somethings need a generator? Why, to keep their beer cold, why else?!?! The generator was so loud it was like have a jet engine relentlessly blasting in my back yard for over 24 hours. I was ready to pound my head against the wall by the time the power came on.
It started, as it always does, with pain that got worse and worse. And I, as I always do, ignored it. The pain in my leg was like someone had taken it and twisted it as though they were wringing out a mop. And then it puffed up like the Michelin man. And then it got harder and harder to walk. Until, finally, I really could not walk at all, I could only do a crab-like shuffle while gripping furniture and molding for dear life.
After weeks of this building up, it finally occurred to me that I needed a course of IV steroids. Bless his heart, my neurologist ordered it without question. I felt better almost immediately after the first infusion. Of course, because nothing is ever easy, my IV infiltrated overnight. When I flushed it this morning the saline collected in a little puff beneath my skin instead of flowing into my vein. So now I have to have a new IV put in and keep my fingers crossed it will last for one more day.
After three days of IV Solumedrol, I will feel better AND I will be a sleep deprived raving lunatic. What a trade off.
I have my new book to help correct my viewpoint. Unfortunately, I can’t find it because Bella knocked it under my bed (yes, things falling off my bed then fly mysteriously horizontally, so it eventually takes a broom and multiple exclamations of “So THAT’S where that was!!”, to find something that slipped off an hour ago. The book is called Alphatudes and it is all about being grateful for all the shitty things that happen in your life. I mean, accepting with grace that life isn’t perfect. My friends, which is why I adore them, say “PHOOEY!! If there was ever a time to feel sorry for yourself, this is it.” Oh baby, I AM ALL OVER THAT. So I am working a crazed balancing act of self-pity and counting my blessings. It is fun, angst and sanctimony at the same time. It is like having my cake and eating it too.
Breaking News: IV and Roof
The nurse was able to get here this morning and get a good line going. Fingers crossed it lasts until the morning. Second infusion down, mania at Eleven.
The roofer, taking in my falling down ceilings, my power wheelchair, my walker and my IV, was practically in tears and wringing his hands in sorrow after evaluating my roof for about an hour. It will, predictably, cost a fortune to repair. A FORTUNE. A brand new roof that I paid $7000 for just seven years ago and have invested thousands more in fruitless repairs. The original roofers botched the job so badly the whole front has to be ripped off. THE. WHOLE. FRONT. OF. THE. HOUSE. That horrible sound you hear through your window? That’s me, wailing. I think I will be able to stop in a few hours.
Sigh. Alphatudes-shmalfaphatudes, where’s the vodka.
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