Are You Feeling Me?

I’m on a rushed walk with a friend of mine, and we are both venting about various things when I realize I’ve asked her too many times, “Ya know what I mean?”  She always responds with, “Yes… sure!” or a gentle nod of the head, but she’s a super-agreeable pal.  I've been talking for a solid 5 or 30 minutes so I pause, going over the conversation in my mind and note how I've sounded like I’ve been asking for her approval the entire time I’ve been talking about my "no-brainer" decision to take a new job.

Over the past few years, I’ve become more aware of how often I ask friends and family if they’re GETTING me.

I once read, several years ago, people who frequently use the words “Ya know?” / “Do you know what I mean?” in conversation come across as timid or weak and longing for validation.  Especially as a woman, never, ever use these conversational fillers—you’ll give the person with whom you are speaking the upper hand.  I believe I read that message in a business journal of some sort while waiting in a dentist’s office because they didn’t have any new issues of People or US Weekly (the only place I can read about George Clooney and David Letterman's bromance).  The article really irked me because I knew I was the prime audience the author had in mind so it has stuck with me all these years.  (But obviously hasn't done much to reduce my inane conversational fillers)

For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt an intense [lil’ bit insane] desire to be understood.  It began with needing that nod from my parents and my dog (I’m sure if I had a sibling, he/she would have been subject to my interrogations on whether or not I was making my point clearly enough).  My dog ALWAYS got me, btw.

As I got older, however, I needed my best friends to really FEEL what I was going through… “He said he’d call as soon as he got back from his ski trip, but my phone hasn’t rung, and I KNOW he is back.  I saw his car in the driveway!  I wasn’t stalking his house though… I just drove by on my way to Baskin-Robbins to meet you.  I’m feeling like he just didn’t miss me as much as I’ve missed him.  Ya know?  I’m even re-thinking the Christmas gift I bought him because it might be over-the-top.  Do you think an ID bracelet is just too much for a couple who’s been together for only 4 months?  I kinda feel like it is now.  It's sterling silver.  Maybe I should have just stuck with the rugby shirt from Britches.  Ya know?  Do you know what I mean?”

UGH.

Okay, we already know all teenagers want to feel accepted and understood by their friends.  It’s why my 14-year-old listens to music he doesn’t even like, buys $18 “hair butter” and punches his buddies in the arm if they misquote him on hockey stats.  But now I’m a real, live grown up (mostly) and I still find myself wanting my closest friends to know exactly how I’m feeling about certain topics or know just what it means to live in my house or how it reeeeeally feels to be divorced when never-in-a-zillion-years you would have guessed you’d be a single mom raising two kids alone.

As it turns out, this desire to be heard and understood isn’t unique to women or timid folks or needy teens—it’s a universal trait of human beings.  Whew, right?!  

Oprah Winfrey talked about it a few years ago in a commencement speech at Harvard, saying the one thing all of her interviewees (over 35,000 people) had in common was the desire to have made themselves heard properly, meaningfully.  The first questions to her after an interview always being, “Did that sound okay? Did what I say mean something to more than just me?”

So now, as an adult, life has gotten even stickier and messier than teenaged life (if you can believe) and for those of you who have not hit the messier-than-teen-years point, I salute you (and I gently urge you to tighten your seatbelt, just in case).

The messy thing I find myself wanting my close-others to understand most about me and my family today is what it is like to have a chronic disease.  Specifically, what it is like for all three of us to have neurological Lyme.

In one of my Lyme Info Groups on Facebook, a young girl posted this question this morning:  

"I need advice.... One of my friends seems to be not understanding my circumstances with having lyme disease. My friend said "Shouldn't they have fixed it by now or have it cured, it's been over a year" or "you're walking in school right now aren't you?" She said that I shouldn't let this disease ruin my life and she said that when her mother had cancer, she still went to work and fought it. How do I explain to her? Everyone at my school thinks I'm skipping and the school itself doesn't understand. How do I explain myself?

I get bullied by my teachers. By my classmates. Everywhere. They see me as a faker and a pretender."

My heart breaks wide open when I read comments like these, and I give thanks my son's school just approved his half-day schedule as he undergoes a more rigorous Lyme treatment and sleeps for up to 15 hours a day.  I thank God my daughter's teachers, administrators, counselors, and teacher assistants handle her gently.  Many have actually read numerous articles on what chronic Lyme is like for children and what PANDAS can do to a child's brain.

I responded to this sweet girl who came to FB seeking understanding with the empathy of a mother/fellow Lymie/ mother of Lymies, and the protective FB community rallied around her with “You are not alone”s and beautiful scripture verses and song lyrics and terrific quotes and positive energy.  One of our online friends pointed her in the direction of a teen FB group for kids with Lyme disease.

She responded later:  

"It makes me feel happy knowing that I [am not] the only one going through this problem. I have hopes to raise awareness.  If you go on my Facebook page, there is a video that I made. Its public so you guys may watch it. It is of me standing up for myself."

Just a little validation from some internet pals gave this awesome teenager the strength to push through the pain of Lyme, of being bullied by TEACHERS for heaven's sake!  When we know someone understands what we are going through, the world is a much less frightening place to live, isn't it?

I talk to Jesus a LOT.  He really gets me.  And I'm also lucky enough to have a handful of friends who have stuck by me through these "hermit years."  These past 6 or 7 years when I've been sleeping, caring for sick kiddos, resting up for the next fall-out, working, researching online, and, basically, unavailable at all times.  They may not know the names of the co-infections we're battling or the exact definition of Lyme exhaustion (my son says it shouldn't be called chronic fatigue, but better described as all of your internal organs and bones turn to mush, but your brain is saying GET UP--YOU'RE MISSING LIFE but you can't move).  My parents have seen first-hand what Lyme can do to a family, and my kids and I thank our lucky stars for those two sticking around.  But those buddies who continue to show up through texts and phone calls, who invite us over for dinner even though they know we'll probably be going to bed by 8:30, who travel far distances to just TALK face-to-face... I consider myself truly fortunate to have that handful of true-blues who cannot really understand my weird life, but don't have to in order to love me.

However, I've lost a lot of potential friends because the saying is true:  To have a friend, you must BE a friend.  You must spend time together creating stories, making music and acting silly.  But when you are constantly immersed in ServeViving, you don't have much time or energy left over to be a great pal to many people.  Even to parents.  I wish I had more time to give my parents.  I wish I was still that talented friend who mailed the birthday card right on time.  Now I don't know what day it is, much less remember to buy the card.

Nevertheless, I am hopeful the day will soon come when my kiddos and I are healthy and Lyme is understood by the majority of the medical and general population.  Not many can relate to resting up for 12 hours to do laundry, teach Sunday School, fertilize the lawn or attend a party, but then paying dearly for it later.  Some will think you're lazy or an introvert or just plain weird, when all you're trying to do is survive with dignity and keep some fresh make-up on...

...but I'm beginning to realize as long as YOU know who you are, how hard you work, how deeply you love, and one or two special humans hold your hand and listen... you can start collecting tiny pebbles of joy in mason jars again, aware that being fully understood by someone is rare and precious and sometimes only happens a few times in one's life.

Not everyone needs to GET me.  I realize that now.  And I'm going to vow to be a better, more genuine listener than I am a desperate talker from here on out.  Starting NOW.

So talk to me.  (And you know what I mean!)

    

THE GOOD NEWS IS... Umm...Uhhhh...

Two things I sometimes DREAD, yet appreciate greatly.

Dentists and Facebook.

I just got home from a visit to a new, delightful dentist who believes he can help correct my TMJ and help me stop clenching my teeth while I sleep.  This will be the 8th highly recommended specialist I have seen in the last decade just for help with my teeth and migraines as a result of having chronic Lyme disease.  Good ol' lucky number 8, right?!

The funniest thing about my visit was when the dentist told me the following:  "You just really need to learn how to breeeeathe.  Inhale...  Exhale...  Have you ever tried yoga?"

So after I heard, for the first time in my life, I just need to learn how to properly get oxygen into my lungs and CO2 out of my lungs and CHILL THE HECK OUT then my pain will dissipate, I paid the man and skipped out of the office with rainbows and fairy dust billowing from my third eye.

[Geesh.  Sarcastic much?]

Sorry, I don't really want to write about my dental exam or the thousands of dollars it will cost to try the latest and greatest remedies for my "stressed out" jaw muscles.

[Whew... We don't really want to read about it either!]

Instead, I feel a great demand upon my soul to write about the receptionist I met in the dental office and what I read on Facebook when I got home.  Warning:  I'm not being urged to write about the following topics because they are funny.  I feel a responsibility to share with anyone who will listen because those who need to be heard are too sick to make themselves heard.  Now, pretty PLEASE read on...

Before I left the office, Grace, the receptionist (who, by the way, is one of the most gracious receptionists with whom I've ever had the pleasure of speaking) gently and thoroughly explained the reasonable treatment costs and with a bucketful of genuine empathy said, "I understand if you need to think it over at home, and I understand if you just want to get started yesterday."  I had talked with her on the phone before making my consultation, and Grace knew I'm feeling a little more than desperate to avoid dentures at 42 because my perfectly good teeth are being chomped out of their gums.

I laughingly told her it was part of my evil plan to visit every dentist in Northern Virginia to let them know one of the symptoms of chronic Lyme disease is uncontrollable clenching or grinding of teeth.  She politely giggled with me, then got very serious.

"You have Lyme disease?  Can you tell me how you found out?  I think my daughter who is in the hospital as we speak has Lyme, but no one will believe me.  Not the doctors and not my husband.  Well, my husband is just too busy to read everything I read so he doesn't understand the symptoms like I do.  What were your symptoms?"

The conversation that followed is similar to many (more than I can recount) I have had with friends, neighbors, strangers and on-line pals since 2009.  I list the symptoms I had and have, beginning when I was 15 years old, and as briefly as possible, tell about my medical journey (nightmare) beginning after my son was born through today.

Usually, when I list my top 5 worst symptoms, the person with whom I'm speaking starts nodding their head vigorously, or conversely, their mouths fall open.  Grace stood stunned as I listed every symptom her 23 year old daughter has suffered from since she was in high school.  Migraines, heart palpitations, joint pain, fatigue that doesn't get better with rest or exercise, TMJ, brain fog, short-term memory loss, anxiety, depression, feelings of hopelessness, pain that seems to 'jump' to every muscle and bone in the body, crying jags, inability to articulate thoughts clearly, ringing in the ears, hearing loss, blurry vision, stomach issues, nausea, vertigo, dizziness, low blood pressure, swollen glands, panic attacks, shortness of breath--aka air hunger...

"Oh my God.  ALL of those!  My daughter never completed high school.  She's been to the Mayo clinic!  They told her she had polycystic ovary syndrome.  Some doctors told us it's all in her head.  She's in the hospital now being 'treated' for POTS, but she gets worse everyday!  I KNOW she has Lyme disease.  How do I get her tested with the right tests?  Oh my God.  Is the Western Blot test all we've got?"

It was as if hearing all of her daughter's symptoms listed like that made it perfectly clear that she needed to trust her gut instincts.  She knew what was wrong with her daughter--all she needed was someone to encourage her to trust herself.  Doctors are amazing, dedicated, hardworking individuals who save lives everyday, but they are not all-knowing Gods.

This is when I try to share hope with anyone who will listen.  And not cry.  This is the part of the conversation where I say, "Not only am I recuperating, but I have dear friends who have recovered from this disease after having seizures, MS diagnoses, temporary paralysis and brain aneurysms.  Your daughter can and will get better... she just needs the NEXT BEST STEPS, lots of support, and a doctor who knows WHAT THE HELL LYME IS.  (I use CAPS here, because I'm so upset, but I promise I never scream at these precious folks)

I told Grace the Western Blot is terrific if you get a positive result... that means you have Lyme and some doctors can actually read the test results properly.  Whoopie!  However, if you get a negative result, you have no idea based on the test alone because the test has a 70% false negative.

I shared the name of the only lab I know of that has been reliable and asked Grace to please, please email me for more details on the handful of Lyme Literate doctors in our area who are good, moral people not wanting to make a fortune off of the most desperate sufferers.

We hugged.  Then I drove home.

I logged onto the computer and wished a few friends Happy Birthday on Facebook, and then I checked in with my Lyme groups since my heart was heavy and needed some inspiration.  I belong to two Christian support groups for Lyme sufferers.  We pray for each other and remind each other how it's our greatest freedom to choose God in the midst of our suffering and to rely on Jesus to work through us, even in our diminished state.  A total of 3,303 people make up the membership of these two precious groups.  Occasionally, the need to pray for each other is greater than I can fathom, and I become overwhelmed and angry because of all the silent suffering.

The following posts are all from this week.  I asked my fellow FB prayer warriors if I could share their words here.  More than just a smattering of the Lyme community needs to hear the desperation of these voices:

“Tired of feeling like a burden. I know that people have offered me their numbers. But I've always been shy about calling people, especially just to cry or complain. So I sit here, crying, feeling like my end is near,... I hate that my life came to this point. I'm such at a loss for words. If it weren't for my kids, I'd end it all right now. I'm sick of fighting and explaining myself to others. Being misunderstood. No value to society.” --Sarah 

“Say a prayer for me, I've ran out of money for any and all medical treatment. No job, all I can do is hope and pray for my disability to be approved. Honestly, I'd rather God just let me die than continue to keep me here suffering and being a burden to my family.” –Crystal

“If any of you feel led to pray for me I would be very grateful I am really struggling with my illness as well as issues with family abandonment and grieving the loss of my pet 10 days ago I truly feel so very alone thank you all for your thoughtfulness and your kindness God bless you♡” --Rachael

“Ever feel like it's too late? Like, yeah I may have the answers now as to why I've been suffering all my life. Why I've been so misunderstood... Yeah I have metal toxicity and Lyme and coinfections. But, without the strength or family and friends support, I don't have strength to fight anymore. My heart aches for my kids, my family, and everyone I've let down, due to my illness my whole life. I feel like I'm dying now from this respiratory illness i have. I'm very weak. The only person that even helped was my abusive EX, ! Imagine that. He bought my heart med for me and brought me fluids. Nobody else in my local area so much as offered to help. I feel like an outcast and a burden. I don't enjoy anything anymore. When I think of my beloved kids, I smile, then break down crying. I can't explain. I'm not as strong as some people are. If life is survival of the fittest, I'm a goner. I have nothing to look [forward] to except uncertainty. I've been sick and misdiagnosed and misled and misunderstood my whole life. I can't take it anymore. Not strong enough... I'm too scared to die. Too scared to live like this either....”  --Mary

“I'm sure if you all are like me, my memory comes and goes. One of the saddest things I'm losing are all the Scriptures I once knew. I find myself trying to talk to me kids about verses I once knew but can't find the right words or remember where it's found.....”  --Cindy

“Y'all please pray for my family. This disease has been throwing things at us for almost three years and my bucket is getting full. Trying so hard to stay positive but every corner we turn exposes another problem. Not sure where I am with this anymore, three years and things have barely changed. The part of me that I could depend on has been chipped away at for so long that what's remaining is just a skeleton of what I was. Three of us have lyme and I have given my problems over to the Lord but it does not make excepting this any easier. Confusion, anger, frustration, sadness, etc seems to be taking over. Thanks for listening.”--Rob

“I'm at my witts end. I've got Lyme, not sure on co-infections right off hand, hypothyroidism, low DHEA/adrenal fatigue, and who knows what else. My energy is zapped. I need to have surgery on my foot again. I try to help around the house, but I've got two under two and have no energy to take care of myself let alone my girls. My husband is the only one who works....I just told him to leave for a while since he was swearing in front of our girls and our oldest is 17 1/2 months old. 
He is all pissy cause I don't do all of the cleaning and he is saying that I'm now using the evening sick as an excuse.
I told him at I don't want to be sick and he blames me for being sick.
He is also [threatening] divorce.
I just don't know what to do any more.”

What are we, as a nation, going to do about this?  Do you think people who suffer from Lyme should have to pay out-of-pocket for even the simplest treatments?  Lose their homes, their dreams of college, lose the ability to even leave their homes?  Do you think it's a travesty our DOGS can be protected and treated for Lyme, but humans cannot?  Are you curious to know why so many chronic Lyme sufferers who are told they "just have a mental illness" commit suicide?  Do you want to help this community of fighters?  Email me if you'd like to know how.

Thank you so much for reading.

Love,
Ginny

Losing It

Part One of

What It’s Like Having a Disease Some Folks ‘Don’t Believe In’

I think it will be easiest for me to write about Lyme Disease and how it has changed my life if I begin with where I am now and go backwards.  Some stories are harder to tell from beginning to end, and I think if you have late-stage Lyme disease you tend to think and talk in circles anyway.  So perhaps this story will be cyclical… spiraling like a spirochete. (ha.  just a little funny for my fellow Lymies)  It’s my hope that my words can offer a bit of comfort to sufferers who are afraid they will always be stuck in bed or unable to put a full sentence together again.  I am just one example of millions of Lyme survivors, and you can be too.  Please, please believe.

The first discussion topic that comes to mind is how much I forget because of neurological Lyme.  (ha. see what I did there?)  I think if I had once been a major athlete I would most miss the ability to rollerblade without my knees swelling up or swim the Dwight Crum Pier-to-Pier Race in Manhattan Beach, CA.  But what I miss most is my mind.

I forget a lot.

Not just where I put my car keys or the milk carton in the trunk, but I forget A LOT.

I forget important appointments with doctors and the Verizon guy, friends’ birthdays, what day of the week it is, the names of people I have known for a decade.  I forget to get my car inspected and drive around with an expired county sticker mocking me on my windshield for a year.  I forget to give my child supplements she’s been taking daily for more than 36 months.  I forget what time I need to take my son to hockey practice, even though it’s been the same time and same night of the week, every week for heaven knows how long.   Friends can tell you, I often forget stories they’ve told me even though I was listening intently and feeling all the feelings their stories evoked.  My common saying now-a-days is, “Please tell it again, it’s new to me!”

I’ll even forget words.  Common, kindergarten words to impressive “collegiate” words I might have known once upon a time.  This problem could possibly be the most frustrating for me at present--and that makes me one of the most fortunate Lymies.  I DO recall being an English major who used to complete beautifully worded written exams under pressure of the clock, and a woman who could speak somewhat eloquently, choosing her words so quickly and carefully that friends would ask her to argue with their boyfriends or husbands on their behalf because I could say ‘exactly what they wanted to say, but couldn’t.’  That was kinda fun.

Another issue we late-stage Lymies deal with is word-recall and improper usage of words.  When my daughter insisted on sleeping in my bedroom with me because she was so afraid to be on her own, I indulged her because I knew the fear stemmed from her OCD, and honestly, I’m just too tired.  However, if you have ever tried to share a bed with your child, you know they aren’t peacefully sleeping until their foot is wedged between your ribcage and your liver or their precious little open mouths are breathing heavily into your face on your pillow.

One night I’d had enough, and in a heated argument about how sleeping beside my bed was exactly the same as sleeping in my bed (except Mommy may be sane in the morning) I loudly instructed a whimpering Izzy to “GET IN THE SUITCASE AND GO TO SLEEP!”

Forever and ever our family will refer to sleeping bags as suitcases. 

We can now giggle over the fact that I’ll ask the kids if they want milk with their coffee instead of milk with their pancakes.  We’ll even grin when I’m in the middle of a tirade about how I need some help around this house!  Someone other than me needs to pick up after themselves!  People!  See this sock??  It goes in the clothes THINGY and your stupid toothbrush shouldn’t be on the THING with the gross STUFF!  And who left the dog ROPES lying on the floor in the kitchen [they’re called leashes, Mom] I don’t care what they’re called, just put them back on the hook in the carport where they belong!! [what the heck is a carport, Mom?]  GARAGE!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, so mostly the kids just laugh at that—I sometimes go into the toilet and cry a little bit.

I’ve had many kind folks try to tell me my short-term memory loss is just a normal part of aging and they, too, suffer from walking purposefully into a room and forgetting why they did.  However, this kind of memory loss is different and is something long-time Lyme sufferers deal with on a daily, sometimes minute-to-minute basis.  There are herbs and acupuncture and juicing and exercise that can help lift the brain fog considerably, but I’ve learned it is a part of living with Lyme disease that is often quite difficult for sufferers to make peace with.  (With the speed Lyme disease is spreading throughout the world and being ignored by many Infectious Disease doctors, buy stock in Post-Its now, friends--trust me) 

We don’t want to be considered less intelligent than we are or once were, but stumbling over words certainly gives that impression.  We don’t want to feel marginalized because we can’t always express ourselves when and how we need.  I believe our shared fear is that we will become regarded as less significant thinkers and feelers. 

My prayer for all of those who have been suffering from this hideous disease, especially those of you who cannot even get out of bed and for whom the body pain will not cease, is that one day soon our very real challenges and heartaches will be recognized by the CDC, the medical community and all of those loved-ones who have abandoned you, and you will be shown empathy instead of disdain.  No one will try to tell us it’s all in our heads, as if we really want to claim the title of MOST LYMEY or GREAT LYME MARTYR WHO LOVES GOING TO THE DOCTOR MORE THAN VACATIONING.  I’m also constantly praying for the precious souls who reach out almost daily in our Facebook support groups saying they cannot go on living with this disease.  I hope you will find the strength to persevere knowing our gracious and loving Heavenly Father feels your pain and is by your side even when you feel isolated and alone.  Friends, I believe we are so close to finding a cure.  Please choose to believe this with me.  Choose HOPE.  Pray, and then pray some more.  I’ll be praying with you; I promise.

Forgetfulness

by Billy Collins

 The name of the author is the first to go

followed obediently by the title, the plot,

the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel

which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor

decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,

to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye

and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,

and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,

the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,

it is not poised on the tip of your tongue

or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river

whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall.

well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those

who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night

to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.

No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted   

out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

All Before 9 a.m. on a Snow Day

You really can't make this stuff up.

I'm currently working on writing a long account of my "medical journey" with Lyme and Cervical Cancer because friends from FB groups of both diseases have been asking for me to share my personal story for too many years now.  I know I need to write about it for myself, and I know it may help others who are currently going through the terrifying reality that they have a scary disease few people discuss.

However, if I don't take a break to write about what's happened this morning, I'll burst.  It's always good to balance the solemn with the insanely ridiculous, right?

So, I woke up at 5:30 with a migraine pulsating through my eyes, brain and jaw like a small muppet playing the maracas against my skull.  I applied the usual peppermint oil all over my head & neck, took 3 Excedrin and balanced a baggie of ice on my forehead.  I managed to fall back to sleep after the phone call from the school system announcing the closure of schools due to ice on the roads.  [oh, yay]

Then my 9-year-old daughter woke me at 7:45 with the following news:
"Mama!  You've gotta come quick!  There's poop and trash everywhere and the dogs are running around the house like CRAZY!"

I asked her to give me a minute to process this information while my migraine reminded me it was still stronger than any stupid oil, ice or aspirin, and my stomach reminded me Excedrin is poor breakfast food.

Izzy:  Seriously, Mom!!!  Get UP!  I just went out to the garage to get a bottle of juice from the fridge and I guess the dogs followed me out there, but I didn't notice so they stayed in the garage a while and got into the trash.  They are REALLY BAD DOGS, MAMA!

Me:  Please tell me you're exaggerating a little, honey.  Pleeeeeeeease tell me there really isn't poop and trash all over the house? [gag, swoon, put ice on back of neck]

Izzy:  Okay, well, I guess I FEEL like there is poop everywhere because of the disgusting SMELL--can't you smell it from up here?--and because Hershey must've rolled in it because she reeks and the dogs won't stop running away from me.
They think it's FUNNY!
HURRY!

Me:  [tearing up]  I'm coming.

Izzy:  HURRY, MAMA!

Thankfully, Izzy does exaggerate and she didn't disappoint this time.  While there wasn't trash or poop all over the house, it did, indeed, smell like death throughout.  The dogs were sitting in their beds like perfectly behaved obedience school grads, but were both panting with great big smiles, and one pup was wet.

Num nummy!  A little surprise packet o' fun inside my roaster.

I opened the kitchen door to our garage to find they had torn open a trash bag that hadn't made its way into the actual garbage can (thank you, teenaged son) that hadn't made its way outside to the curb because the snowfall caused the trash collectors to skip collection yesterday (thank you snow and ice and wimpy trash trucks).  What Izzy thought was dog poo was actually the carcass of a roaster chicken from last week... and you know the gross bag of gizzards and such that comes inside of the chicken?  (Why does that come inside of the chicken??  Who uses that stuff??  I really want to know because if I had cooked it last week, this morning would have been a little less disgusting.)  That bag was torn to a zillion pieces and gizzard juice was spread all over the garage.

At this time, I received a text from my Ex... "I'm getting an $8 monthly charge for something I can't and don't use... please change the credit card on the Netflix account.  I also got a charge for Amazon Prime that I'm assuming is yours.  Take a moment to switch that payment info as well."

Yep.  Sure thing!  Right after I tend to the two dogs you left me with (they remember your promise of going running with them everyday, too)!  Count to ten... don't comment... child is present.

I bathed Bad Dog Number One with 2-in-1 tearless Strawberry Smoothie Shampoo while Bad Dog Number Two hid under the art table with her entire rump hanging out.  (Can still see you, Stinker!!!)  Then bathed Number Two while Number One sat outside the bathroom door whimpering for her sister who was being tortured with the wet strawberry water.  At least they have empathy for each other.

Poor Izzy, who has an OCD fear of vomiting, was very worried I would throw up while cleaning up the garage because I said, "I'm going to throw up while cleaning up the garage."  So she decided to pick up her toys from the family room and kitchen without being asked.  And she was so relieved when I told her the t-shirt tied around my face was covered in cinnamon oil so I wouldn't smell the rotten chicken as I picked up the pieces with leftover surgical gloves Izzy's nurse left last month.

The beloved BAD dogs who, as you can tell, are feeling a little queasy
 after their bath and breakfast of champions

After spraying a blend of wholesome essential oils and Clorox bleach all over the garage, I took a nice, hot shower.  The oil diffuser is in the kitchen pumping out some good smelling mixture of citrus and mint.  The dogs are drying in front of the fire.  Izzy is out in the snow sledding with a pal, and it sounds like 42 of Max's closest friends are in the basement watching a movie and trying to act cool seeing who can get the most texts in 60 seconds.

My migraine is gone (thank God for all miracles--big and small) and I think I will make myself some brunch.  Maybe peanut butter toast with banana and honey.  Definitely not the chicken sandwich I had planned on eating today.

Lessons learned... put all trash bags in air-tight receptacles, learn how to enjoy preparing giblets, gizzards and such (just in case), and never answer texts during stressful moments or your sarcasm may not be well-received.  

Happy Hump Day, Everyone!  :)