Yikes Jeepers, That's no Fun!

Soooooo… have you ever seen an episode of Grey’s Anatomy (or House or ER or Mercy any other medical drama for that matter) where someone gets whisked into the emergency room with heart problems, the doctors crack the chest, and then ultimately massage the heart with their hands?

I have a feeling that Copaxone transformed into an overeager intern upon entering my bloodstream yesterday. I popped the shot into my arm just like any other Monday, leaned on the counter while applying pressure (a little more bleeding than usual), and BAM! The Copaxone hitched a ride in some major vein right to my heart and grabbed on for dear life, gripping, twisting, and wringing all the while. My chest tightened, my body lurched with nausea, pain exploded in white hot spurts through nerves up and down my back, I became cold and clammy, and an overwhelming sense of anxiety took hold. I made my way from the kitchen toward the bedroom, giving pause at the bathroom door to determine whether not a good vomit session was in order. The bedroom won out, and I curled up with my eyes closed for a few minutes, trying to think about squishy little puppy dogs, warm sunshine, fuzzy sweaters and other soft and happy things.

And then, as quickly as it came on, the ambitious little drug released its grip and my body flowed right back to a normal state.

Methinks I experienced my first side effect.*

*From copaxone.com: Some patients report a short-term reaction right after injecting COPAXONE®. This reaction can involve flushing (feeling of warmth and/or redness), chest tightness or pain with heart palpitations, anxiety, and trouble breathing. These symptoms generally appear within minutes of an injection, last about 15 minutes, and go away by themselves without further problems.

Looking Back

In a few hours I'll be 35. Old enough to legally run for president. Old enough for one of my soccer teammates to say, in awe, "I just hope I am still playing soccer when I get to be 35." Old enough to escape the "we card anyone who appears to be younger than 35" clause (yay--no need to carry that cumbersome identification around anymore!). Yes. That is how old I will be.

But before the calendar page flips that unflappable flip, I thought I'd take a quick moment to reflect on the last 12 months. In retrospect, there were a few days that I'm glad are behind me. Really glad. Really, really glad.

But there were also a lot of days I wouldn't give back for anything--and they certainly outweigh the bad ones.

A couple of years ago, I turned 33. I couldn't wait for that year to begin, because I had this feeling--confidence, really--that things were just getting started, and that I was heading in a really good direction. And despite a ridiculous amount of medical testing (and the rather giant costs associated with it), despite a diagnosis with Multiple Sclerosis, and despite a pretty lame break-up days before my birthday, I think things have continued in that direction throughout 34. Because the one thing that came out of all of this rollercoaster year was this: I have a whole new perspective that I never would have gained if my year were status quo.

So, 35, what do you have in store?

I can't wait to find out.

I did it. So there's that...

The talk of the town in Minneapolis this past weekend has been sports. Sports sports sports sports sports. Huge football rivalry on Saturday--U of M vs. Madison. Huge Twins game on Saturday, which resulted in a victory and a tie-breaking follow-up game on Tuesday (go Twins!). Vikings (with Favre) vs. the Packers (HUGE rivals, with or without Favre on the roster) on Monday. And nearest and dearest to my heart--the Twin Cities Marathon and 10-mile Race on Sunday.

A few months ago I decided with a few friends to sign up for the 10-mile race on a whim (it's a tough race to get into, based on a lottery drawing). Much to our surprise, we got in! Over the course of time leading up to the race, I didn't train as well as I would have liked to--the circumstances of my strategy and approach on race day were different than I had been preparing for. But despite any shortcomings in my training, the race was great. The weather was as good as we could have asked for, and my friends and I were all pleased with our results. And on the plus side, it was a great opportunity to get a snapshot to send my adorable niece for her first birthday--which was also on race day.



As if the race weren't enough excitement for one day, I had a 90-minute soccer game that evening. I'm proud to report that I played, and we won. At least I think we won. Or else we tied... at any rate, we didn't lose.

The rest of the events of last Sunday were anything but fun, and honestly they're not topics I'm comfortable with addressing in this blog. The combination of activity and events of Sunday were wholly exhausting--physically and emotionally--and it is not a day I would care to repeat any time soon.

But I finished the race with a respectable time, I made it through the lousy events, and I stuck it out to finish the day at the soccer game--so all in all I'm keeping it on my list of days I can be proud of. Ain't nobody takin' that away from me.

Fixation

PLUS



EQUALS

Batscat effing crazy.

Have you seen the movie Spanglish? When Paz Vega (aka Flor) accepts the housekeeping job at Tea Leone and Adam Sandler's house, one of the first things things they tell her is NOT to throw the tennis ball to the sweet little golden retriever. In my younger, more naive years (circa 2004), I considered this film a cinematic hyperbole for a dog's enthusiasm for play. Wrong. So freaking wrong.

I know now that the Spanglish dog was really just a precursor for how my life would play out a mere five years later.

In the past week and a half, Darby has found the tennis ball. In fact, she found an entire can--FOUR tennis balls. And watch out. If you can't fully commit to the game of fetch, I suggest you ignore her from the moment you see her mouthfull of slobbery green fuzz. Because she can play for hours. It doesn't matter what you're doing, where you are, or what time of day it is. When Darby wants to play with her tennis ball, she's gonna play with her tennis ball--and she'd really like your active participation in her game. Really. And she doesn't mind telling you so.

Last Saturday morning, for example, I was enjoying a lovely morning slumber undisturbed by the weekday alarm clock. Half asleep, I felt something strange along my side. Thud... damp nudge... squish. Drop the ball. Nudge the arm with the cold wet nose. Pick up the ball and chew. Repeat. Drop the ball. Nudge the arm with the cold wet nose. Pick up the ball and chew. Repeat. I could go on and on, but I think you see where I'm going.

Clearly my dog's low platelet counts (and yes, they're still low--as confirmed by the vet this weekend--damn the cursed medical mysteries at Casa Skjold) have hurled her over the edge of sanity, where she has been teetering for dog years.

Evidently it CAN be Done…

So last weekend was the big camping trip I mentioned being nervous about in a few posts. It’s not so much the camping that worried me, but rather the camping with perishable meds.

Fortunately, the stars were aligned, and the weather worked in my favor. It was perfect. Warm (but not too warm) during the day, and cool (but not too cool) at night. The cooler stayed cold, the medication stayed cool (without freezing), and I was able to inject myself (albeit not in the most sterile of conditions) without issue.

Had it been a really hot weekend, it may not have been quite so smooth. But under the circumstances it was a piece of cake. Which means I was able to put my mind at ease and enjoy the weekend. Here’s some photographic evidence to support that claim…


We had delicious steak with wine sauce and melted gorgonzola cheese the first night, complete with roasted corn. Holy crap was THAT delicious...


On this trip I was also reminded of the lost art of Jiffy Pop. And Uno. Awesome.














And of course, the true sign of a good vacation is a pair of happy and exhausted dogs.

And on that note, I leave you with a picture of the sunset as seen from our campsite--and a recommendation for Lake Maria State Park in Monticello any time you need a quick getaway.

Oops I did it again...

Misfire. Gah! For those of you keeping track, that's twice.

Anyone know what happens when a dog licks Glatiramer Acetate (aka Copaxone) off the floor? Huh. Guess we'll see...

Gainfully Employed

After more than a few questionable reactions to everyday situations, Randy's intense rehabilitation program is underway. Part of this initiative is to aclimate him into mainstream society.

Step one of this process was to arm him with a shock collar (if I had more readers, I would anticipate many angry comments to this controversial approach--thank goodness for obscurity!). Despite the negative implications of the shock collar, it is helping Randy to make progress when none of the positive reinforcement techniques we have employed have worked. And frankly, I didn't have a lot of viable options.

Step two is to get him fixed up as a workin' dog.



As you can see, he has been outfitted and is ready to go. In the very near future, he will be tested as a leader (and dog-food carrier) in outdoor survival situations (okay, survival may be pushing it--but we WILL be "roughing it" without electricity).

If all goes well, I'm hoping to get him living independently in a nice home in the suburbs to live out his remaining years. Fingers crossed...

P.S. While Randy may be geared up and ready to head into the great outdoors, for me--not so much. Still pondering my approach to safely storing my meds... more to come on that when I figure out what the heck I'm doing.