One Track Mind Tracks

When I have something on my mind, I mean really stuck in my brain, everything is about that thing. Songs and movies send me messages, the universe is collaborating and laughing at me because, even if I try, I will not get that thing, whatever it is, out of my brain. I'm not a paranoid schizophrenic; I don't really think the universe is conspiring, but it is easier to think that than to think my brain is stuck on something. (Although, the "shuffle" function of my iPod might be able to read my mood and create theme music for it... But I have heard other people say the same thing, so I do feel a bit less crazy for thinking it. Plus, you know, it is Apple... Isn't Steve Jobs kind of god-like? Omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent and whatnot. Maybe they figured out how to capture that in the shuffle function.)
The worst part of my brain's tenaciousness is when I am trying to figure out a person. Every thing they do--the way they move, what they eat, the set of their mouth, the color of their shoes, the music they listen to at the gym--isn't just a clue to me, but also a clue for me. Just for me. As if they know I am trying to decipher them and they decide to play along. I'm sure this obsessing is part of the reason why I find it difficult to make friends. I assume so much from the clues and I am so negative in general that these clues either add up to, "I do not like you, Kayly," or "I'm such a jerk, Kayly." Although, a few times in my youth, they added up to, "I'm a really great guy. You should totally try to date me." And the clues were so, so veddy, veddy wrong.
I've been in counseling a million times and know all about "negative thought patterns" and "dysfunctional behavior," blah blah blah. Cognitive behavioral therapy does not float my boat, though, and this behavior is so deeply rooted in who I am that I'm not sure I can change it or get rid of it, anyway.

O hai! Iz u my dokter?

OK, so. I hate being vulnerable, and feeling ugly or gross makes me feels very vulnerable. But I have this rash, these hives, this swelling, this peeling, burnt looking skin and it's not getting better. In fact, each phase has been uglier and more gross and more painful and humiliating than the last. So, I'll lay the whole thing out here for a few reasons.

• I feel like if I talk about my most vulnerable moments that I will eventually realize I shouldn't feel bad about normal bumps in the road.
• Maybe one of you has gone through this same thing or something similar and can share some advice.
• I'm pissed off about the whole thing and maybe putting it out there will calm me down a bit.

Early in the year I had a rash on my chin and the right side of my face. It looked kind of like ringworm which is not a worm at all but a fungus. It is related to the fungus that causes women's yeast infections, thrush, athlete's foot and the yeast infections babies get with diaper rash sometimes. I used several things to treat it and it went away.
I used the following treatments:

1. Twice a day I applied Skinbiotics Treatment Oil by Derma E which is tea tree oil and oregano oil, both anti-fungal and tea tree oil is also an anti-bacterial.
2. Twice or three times a day I applied Nelson Bach USA Pure & Clear Acne Gel which contains tea tree oil and calming homeopathic ingredients.
3. I continued my acne routine which is the kit by Nature's Gate called Natural Results Acne Treatment containing a cleanser, toner and lotion. I made to sure to remember to do the routine twice a day, every day, even though I'm usually a bit lax with it. The salicylic acid in the kit is anti-microbial and the ingredients are calming, soothing and moisturizing.
4. In between the toner and moisturizer steps above, I wiped a cotton ball with colloidal silver all over my face and let it mostly dry .
5. I drank 10 drops of NutriBiotic Grapefruit Seed Extract in water three times a day.
6. I took 15 drops of BioAllers Allergy Relief Mold Yeast and Dust Allergy Treatment under the tongue every four hours.
7. I drank a ton of water. Way more than my normal amount.
8. And I tried to cut back on sugars as much as I was able.
   

The rash seemed to disappear and I continued the treatment for about two extra weeks just in case there was still something in my system. That brought me to the middle of February.

Then, the weekend before last, I got a small rash on my chest. The area covered was about as big as my hand and the bumps appeared to be hives. They varied in size between two or three times the size of goosebumps to slightly smaller than a pencil eraser. They itched. Not horribly, but as much as you expect hives to itch.

I happened to have a dermatology appointment due to my ongoing hormonal acne (for which I am now trying spironalactone again; I had used it years ago for polycystic ovary syndrome) and showed them the rash. I mentioned I had had an unknown rash on my face a few months before and that this rash itched. They--the resident and attending--diagnosed me with folliculitis even though it doesn't look like folliculitis I've ever seen and this was on an area where clothes don't rub and I--obviously--don't shave. I have been around no new environments, tried no new products of any kind, had no new foods and didn't think I was under any new stress or anything. So I thought, "Fine, I'll take the two doctors' word for it and use the 10% benzoyl peroxide body wash" which is the first line of defense for folliculitis, though you may be familiar with it solely as an acne product. They said use it at bedtime and wash with my normal stuff in the morning.
The first morning I woke up with a slightly red, slightly dry and tight (even though I had moisturized with the advised cream), somewhat larger patch of rash. "Hm, maybe it has to get worse before it gets better?"

The second morning everything was the same as the first, but the rash had spread on my chest, and further up my neck. "Weird."The third morning my skin was "severe sunburn red," dry as hell, flaking, burning and painful. The rash had spread up neck to my face. That night the entire rash and inflamed areas itched like hell. I'm talking crazy making itching. Over the course of this rash I had been taking benadryl to no avail and it still didn't help. Not even the benadryl spray or hydrocortisone gel. I had an event to go to that night so I slapped some makeup on and tried to be brave. It wasn't to bad. [This picture is from Monday but is indicative of Saturday as well.]
Sunday and Monday were pure hell and the call I put into my dermatologist's office Monday wasn't returned until 4:55. I didn't hear the phone ring. I saw the message from the resident who said he needed me to call him back, but he was done at 5:00. By the time I called it was too late. Meanwhile all day and night for those two days, I continued using Aveeno Skin Relief Moisturizing Lotion for cooling and itch relief, Aveeno Anti-Itch Concentrated Lotion for skin protection and itch relief and moisturizing with La Roche Posay Lipikar Body Balm (which, incidently, costs the same for a huge-ass bottle in France as the little tube costs in the US: RIP-OFF!). The glycerin in the lotions always burns a bit at first as my skin is highly sensitive, but, let me tell you, I've never experienced burning this bad. But I powered through those first few minutes because it seems every lotion has parabens, glycerin, fragrance and/or petroleum derived products and they all burn, but glycerin is the only one I don't get a reactive rash after using it.
All the while, since shortly after the rash started, I have been waking up with swollen upper and lower eyelids and lips. The doctors did not seem concerned at all about this. Not that it wasn't related to the rash, but that it is perfectly normal to start waking up with swollen eyelids and lips all of the sudden. The swelling is worse on some days by others and looks not all that bad--but still noticeable--by the time I photograph it.

Friday:
Saturday:
Sunday:
Sunday:
Monday:
Tuesday:

This morning I called the dermatologist's office again and the girl I talked to yesterday (to leave a detailed message for the resident) told me that he said if the benzoyl peroxide was too drying then to use Cetaphil cleanser (which contains SLS, which I normally avoid like the plague as it also badly irritates my skin) instead and to keep moisturizing. "Great," I said to the woman, "And what do I do to get rid of the rash since I can't use the benzoyl peroxide and Cetaphil obviously will not clear up the rash, even if it is folliculitis, which I highly doubt it is at this particular point in time as I did when he diagnosed that." She paused and admitted he did not give any pertinent directions as regarded the rash. She asked me what drug he had given me for the itching. "Um, none? And it is about ten times worse than it was." She paused. Then she took thorough notes on the call and said either she or the resident would call me back today.

It's now 6:26. I think I'm not getting a call back. What do you think?
But just in case this plague is somehow related to the February plague, I've taken it upon myself to add steps four, five and six back in for now.
The phone literally rang as I typed that last sentence and it was the resident, who seemed to remember nothing about my case, insisted it was probably my "acne acting up on [my] chest neck and face." I said, "But it looks nothing like acne, it itches like hell and I've never had more than a half dozen to a dozen spots at one time in my entire life, much less a full face, neck and chest eruption resembling poison ivy at this point in appearance and itchiness even though I've been nowhere near the plant since last spring." Doctor: "Sigh." Me:"..." Doctor: "I guess I can fit you in tomorrow.Can you come around 3?" "No I have another very important appointment then, but it's in Hershey so can I come right afterward?" "Sure, I'll let the nurses know to put you in for about 3:45."
So. At least one more night of this hellish itching and Hellboy redness. Dude better give me something other than a damn wash or I'm kicking him in the balls and telling him that pain he feels is acne.

Old Playboy vs New Playboy

I just read an article on Bust's website [NSFW] about a Tumblr [NSFW] consisting solely of pictures of vintage Playboy models.
It's weird: When I was a child I remember all of the feminists talking about how these images promoted unhealthy body images for women. I would sneak peaks of my grandpa's Playboys whenever we visited my grandparents in Chicago, where my grandpa was also a member of the Playboy Club, which was the first of the clubs. I thought these women were beautiful and glamorous and thought, "I hope I look like that when I grow up."
Fast forward about thirty years and you'll find me saying, "The women in Playboy promote unhealthy body images for women." I created a memory that the women from the '70s and early '80s Playboys were not so different than those today. Mostly white, mostly blond, mostly fake tanned and fake titted and mostly unnaturally thin. The only thing I remembered was that the whole infatuation with hairless vulvae did not exist back then. (Translation: There were lots of large, scary, unruly bushes back then; even in Playboy.)
Trotting over to the Tumblr [not kidding: NSFW] page, I found myself pleasantly surprised. These women may not be fat, but some are certainly zaftig by today's standards in media-- soft porn or otherwise. I even recognized my upper arms on one woman, my breasts on another, my bum on another and on and on. Yes, the women had large breasts most of the time, but there were also women with fairly small breasts and, as far as I can tell, these breasts were original operating equipment. Yes, there was an obsession with tan lines back then, but they were so much cuter than the orange fake-bakers of today's Playboy who want us to believe they all live near nude beaches or something.
These images were so much healthier for girls and boys as far as realistic expectations. So why did my generation and the one before ours corrupt these fairly wholesome, healthy looking images into the plastic looking women of today? And if Playboy and other nude magazines keep going at this rate, what will the women look like ten, twenty, thirty, even 75 years from now? Will it circle back around or will bizarre fetishes continue to force the models to deform themselves until they are almost not even human anymore? When Mr. Hefner created his visions for Playboy, it was supposed to be wholesome, girl-next-door nude fun. “Clean sex has greater appeal than tawdry sex,” he said. So how did the fetishes for hairlessness and oversize breasts (along with other fetishes which used to have their own, special magazine) creep in? What will it take for it to creep back out?
At this point in history, I doubt Playboy will ever go back to the au naturel girl-next-door types since they are competing with the abundance of internet porn creating stiff--er, no pun intended--competition for the Hefners to keep up with if they want to make a buck.

The Blob in the Cozy Cave

Some mornings I wake up in the most lusciously comfortable position in my cloud of bedding on the gorgeous island of my bed and can't force myself to move, much less leave the bed.
This morning was like that. No pain, no kinks, perfect temperature, all of my limbs and parts had melted into one wonderful oozy blob of happy.
So I laid and thought for almost an hour. It was delicious.
And this is one of the days which makes me thankful for unemployment.

Cozy Cave Confession

I am not a person who always needs complete darkness to sleep, but I do employ several sleep masks for bad sleeping nights. I like the coziness of the blackout darkness when I sleep.
We also keep the heat very low during the night, about 60°. So sometimes I toss on a zip-up hoodie if my pajamas are not warm enough. On these nights, I will pull up the hood, snuggle down under the blankets and pillows and pull the drawstrings tight on my hood so only my mouth and nose stick out. I'm like Kenny-from-South-Park in reverse. Instant blackout mask! And, for some reason, I think there is something luscious about breathing the lovely cold air while the rest of my body is toasty warm and floating on the cloud of bedding and mattress.

Comment Gone Post

I just finished leaving a comment on a post by The Bloggess, and I thought that it actually might make a good post in, and of, itself. So here ya go:
I'm so out about my mental illness, people get sick of hearing about it. I do periodic posts about it, and my last was, as someone else had done, in regard to the shooter in Tuscon.
I've suffered from chronic major depression and chronic anxiety disorder for as long I remember, literally. I didn't get help until after my oldest son was born in 1994. They told me I had PPD. I didn't. I was just scared to keep going the way I had been since I now had a human being depending on me.
My worst episodes of depression have happened since I've had my children. The kind of episodes that are so black and so long that I seriously consider suicide, but I never act on it because I cannot do that to my children and I know how to get help now. Even though it is motherfucking, god-damned hard to get that help sometimes. Lack of insurance or time or fucked up policies when we did have insurance all were obstacles at times.
I've been on various drug regimens for almost 17 years, now. Currently I take an SNRI, an anxiolytic and a mood stabilizer. There is some disagreement between various of my doctors whether I have bipolar II or the chronic major depression *and* chronic anxiety combo platter, but they all agreed that either way, adding a mood stabilizer would help and it has.
And you wanna talk stigma? In February of 2008 and again in February 2010 I had a round of ECT. Five treatments each time. Feel free to check the tag "ECT" on my blog for an explanation of the process and dispelling popular myths about it. [Please read from the oldest post at the bottom to the latest at the top for continuity.] It has been a lifesaver for myself and my family.
I decided to do it after a very long depression did not improve. In fact, it got much worse and cycled up more panic attacks as well. I did a lot of research, chose to do the ECT, did it and was amazed that nobody ever mentioned it to me before. I felt wonderful and everyone kept telling how normal I was, which may have been a retroactive insult; I'm not sure...
The second round came after a steady two month decline back into the hole and I decided not to let it get nearly as bad as it had been the last time. I did it again and was glad, again.
Within weeks of the second round, I started one of the worst years (situationally) of my adult life. An old friend abruptly died; my best friend lost her father to cancer; I lost my grandfather (the man who was my father figure growing up) quite unexpectedly to multiple cancers that apparently had been eating him alive for some time; I put my dog to sleep after raising him from an eight-week-old rescue mutt to a 15-year-old family member alongside my sons while I was a stay-at-home mother; I was laid off from the study for which I had been working; I had flairs galore of my autoimmune illness; I've seen my children through some tough times this year; I had some female plumbing issues which I thought would leave me sterile; and I'm sure I'm missing some other things...
But you know what? I was able to survive it and come out with hope in my eyes because I started out from a point of virtual mental health. So ECT has saved my life twice, now. So I talk about it. A lot. It makes people uncomfortable, sometimes, but I think that's okay, because we need to chip away at all of the stigmas of mental illness and it's treatments.
I got this tattoo:to commemorate the ECT the first time. And when people ask me what it means, I tell them--even strangers--all about it.

Poindexter and Vajayjay

Today I was wearing my long, puffy black coat with the fur hood, my black knit UGGs and a hand crocheted slouchy tam. I thought it was very hipster-douchebag of me, but I was comfy. But then I looked in the mirror and realized that I'm not even cool enough to be a hipster-douchebag anymore. And that my head is pointy. Literally pointy. I've always know that my head is not one that will ever look good bald, but I guess it never occurred to me that it's because my head. Is. Pointy. I thought it was the hat and tried to smooth it down, readjust it, whatever. Nothing worked. Because my head is pointy.
In other news:
My troubled female plumbing led me to have the laparoscopy which led to a removal of a hideous adhesion. The day of the procedure I stood in front of a mirror and sucked in my considerable gut to see how much swelling there was at the site. Pleasingly, I noticed that I was able to suck in my gut farther than I had been. Sweet! I didn't lose any noticeable amount of weight, but I guess the muscles are where they're supposed to be now or something. I don't know what the explanation is and I don't care. Then, today, I put on a pair of jeans for the first time in a week. (The waist is well below my bellybutton but the rubbing of the waistband when I slouch or bend is annoying.) And the freshly washed jeans yielded an extra ½" to ¾" inches of space around my waist than normal. SWEET²!
Lastly:
(One more female plumbing trouble story, bear with me, please.) One of the post-operative care instructions the nurse gave me before she sent me home was not to insert anything into my vagina for two weeks. She started this instruction by leaning in towards me and half-whispering, "Don't have relations with your husband for two weeks." This was in front of my husband. I got a few things out of this exchange. First, she didn't want to embarrass me by implying that I might actually have sex with my husband. Second, until the next part of the instruction ("Nothing at all in your vagina.") I wasn't positive that relations just meant sex. The way she said it almost seemed to imply any relations at all. No talking, even. The whole thing was just bizarre coming from a nurse. Oh. I just realized that without the second part, she may have been whispering because she was implying sex with men other than my husband was okay. Maybe she was freaky-deaky. Hmmmmmm...

My Kingdom for a Gloppy Glue Stump

From my laparoscopy, I have a cute little scar on my lower left abdomen which looks more like a scratch than something from a surgery. It hasn't bothered me in any way at all. I think this is partly because it is on part of my belly which never fully regained feeling after one or both of my c-sections. So: no itch, no pain, probably won't even leave a mark.
The hole they cut into my bellybutton is not really much bigger, and it is vertical (rather than horizontal like the other one) so it blends in with the "crease" parts of of the bellybutton.
Both of the incisions were sealed with that surgical glue stuff that they use. When they sent me home the glue in my bellybutton was a little "gloppy" looking, like maybe they were trying to make a cast of it with the glue. And the glue had mixed a bit with a bit of blood and a bit of "discharge" (which is their word for "liquid leaking from your body because we cut you open" and is supposedly normal) so within a few hours my bellybutton was disgusting to me. I know that it was normal. There was no [gag!] pus; it wasn't red or hot; there was no "foul odor" as I was warned of in the "If This Happens Get the Fuck to a Hospital" section of the instruction sheet they gave to me. But it looked disgusting. So I, of course, couldn't stop looking at it.
All of the attention paid to my bellybutton made me think of a very weird belief of my husband's. He's quite sure if someone pokes you in the bellybutton that it can just "come undone" and you can get infected and die or bleed to death. I always make fun of this and poke him repeatedly until he (half-jokingly) freaks out.
With this ridiculous story in mind, I watched in horror when, three days after my laparoscopy, the "gloppy" glue stump fell out of my bellybutton. I was quite sure my entrails--yes, this was the word in my fear: entrails--would come out of the half-inch scar, like scarves from a magician's sleeve, until I died, eviscerated for a lack of a gloppy glue stump.


PS If I repeatedly misspell laparoscopy, it is because Firefox thinks the correct spelling is spectroscopy and Blogger thinks it is spelled periscope. So fuck all if I know how to spell it.

Not Happy About Today's Horoscope

I kind of believe and kind of don't believe in horoscopes. But the Yahoo horoscopes seem to consistently relate to whatever my current situation seems to be. Here is today's:

Daily Extended for January 7, 2011 (Today)

Capricorn

12/22 – 1/19

Overview

There's one simple way to make the next few weeks of your life easier: Let go of all the things you can't control. Yes, this is easier said than done, but once you start to make the effort, you will immediately get a taste of the freedom it brings. Sometimes, guilt can keep you from moving away from old setbacks, bad relationships or other unpleasant dramas. If you're feeling guilty, ask yourself why. There's no way to go back in time. The only option is to keep going forward!

I don't like. Where's the "don't like" button?

My Panties

I know that caught your attention, but this is really just a TMI, girl talk post. Feel free to click away if the words "tampon" or "uterus" make your squeamish or blush. In fact, go look at this to clear those words from your mind.
My laproscopic surgery is next Wednesday the 12th. In preparing for the possibilities of anything from them finding nothing to the horribly unexpected "total hysterectomy with bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy" (removal of uterus with cervix, tubes and ovaries) I have been reading some sites' lists of stuff I might want for recovery. I figured I'd prepare for the worst and then it won't happen. (That's always been my theory and it's always worked for me.)
Two of the things I had to buy gall me. Menstrual pads and granny panties.
I find pads gross for many reasons I won't enumerate, but if I have bleeding after the surgery I will not be able to use tampons, so I bought a pack of the hated items and hope I do not have to use them. I didn't even buy the cloth kind or the eco-friendly disposables, because I reallyreally don't even like the bad, plastic-y kind, but at least they lock "stuff" into their chemical goop. (By the way, I highly recommend Natracare tampons. They're just like old school Tampax or o.b.--depending on whether you get the applicator or not--but no dioxins, plastic or rayon. And they're an ethical business.)
And granny panties? Nuh-uh. I have never worn them, so buying a "7 pairs for the price of 6 100% cotton Hanes Briefs" pack at Target was somewhat shaming for me as someone who takes great pride in not haven "given up" on my looks and clothes. Even worse? They apparently only make such things in little girl patterns and colors. There was not a pack of all white briefs and there were no black briefs at all. So now I own seven pairs of 100% cotton granny panties which make me look like a very over-sized toddler. The worst? I bought them a size too big so they will be super comfy. Lets hope this doesn't lead to something awful, like a fondness for the damn things. Right up there with a taste for human brains in my book. Scratch that. At least zombies are cool, for crap's sake.

Eating Fat by the Spoonful

I've made a few new changes to my daily routine which are dietary related and I thought I'd share. Feel free to critique if needed, lol.

• A few years back Nate bought me a copper cup which in Ayurvedic medicine is used by filling it the night before with water and drinking it in the morning for the mineral infused water. I've used this off and on, but have started using it every morning to take my morning pills. I keep a 1.5 liter reusable bottle of water on my bedside stand so I don't have to go to the kitchen tap filter every night.
  
• I bought an almond and cashew nut milk "cream" too use in my coffee. The nutty flavor will cut back on the flavor syrup I add (less refined sugar: YAY!) and cut down my dairy consumption.
• I've started drinking kefir again. The stores around here stopped carrying Lifeway for a while and I'm not a fan of the Helios brand, but yesterday I found out the Healthy Grocer started carrying those little individual serving bottles of Lifeway (think Dannon Drinkables) now. So I got those. Helps with portion control, too, but I don't like the wasteful packaging...
• I've started eating a spoonful of extra virgin unrefined coconut oil every day. It's weird to eat a spoonful of fat, but it actually tastes quite lovely.
• I've been drinking a two ounce shot of pure beetroot juice a day. The first day I bought it, I drank the shot right off the shelf, so it was room temperature. I do not recommend that. Cold seems to round out the flavor making it very good if you like beets. Warmth (room temperature) seems to bring out the earthiness and quench the sweetness.
• Lastly: Panther Piss. Some people call this different things, but most alternative medicine routes include some version of it. Two teaspoons of apple cider vinegar (with the mother, so Bragg's is a good one), eight ounces of filtered water and raw honey to taste. Again, tastes quite nice, surprisingly enough.

I'm hoping these changes help me with digestive and metabolism issues I have and just add to my general allover health.
Suggestions? Comments? Recommendations?

I've also started using the lightbox again after forgetting for about a week. My depression is creeping in as the days shorten and I have no life outside of the house nor a job, so every little bit seems to help to stave it off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
UPDATE:
I forgot to include a cup of white miso every day.

I can't fool me!

I have two alarms set on my phone.
One wakes me an hour before I need to get up so I can take my "empty stomach" morning pills. Then I go back to sleep.
The second alarm is so I get up even if I have nothing scheduled. This is so that I maintain a routine even though I am not working outside of the home right now.
Apparently, "sick me" realizes I need to take these pills every morning and they need to be on an empty stomach, but "irresponsible me" says, "Fuck it! I have nothing scheduled today and I want to sleep!" And turns off the alarm without ever waking up.

(And no, the morning pills are not sedating at all; if anything they should help me wake up.)

A Tad Fragile

I guess the elections have me feeling a tad emotionally fragile.

I just got weepy--yes, actual tears--at a CTIA commercial. Yep, a lobbyist's commercial made me cry.

Here it is:

I did a bad, bad thing.

Today I have been chilly. Unusually chilly even for my cold-blooded self. The dampness on top of it was doing my joints no good, either. So I checked the temperature of our house and the thermostat said 62°! That is low by most people's standards I would think.

So that's when I did a bad, bad thing. I turned the heat on on October 3rd.

Don't tell Nate. I'll just let him think the hissing of the radiator is my nose since my allergies are acting up.