9/28/15. The post where my stimulator gets a nickname.

9/28/15: last week was a blur.  I had two out-of-town work obligations, approximately 400 miles apart from each other and from home, which meant I logged more than 800 miles in the driver's seat in a week. Why didn't I fly, you ask?  There was not a flight schedule that could accommodate the timing of the two events. And as you know, flying (not to mention getting through security to get on a flight) poses its own set of pain issues for me, so driving wasn't so bad.  I also logged more than 10,000 steps nearly every day, according to my trusty health monitor watch.  Not too bad for a girl who was still recovering from stimulator implant surgery this time last year.

Friday signaled the end of the work week, but not the end of the work.  The first concert of the music series season was Friday night, and I made it home just in time to make the last frenzied preparations.  My patient, long-suffering husband was playing in the concert, as well as housing, chauffeuring, and feeding one of the musicians, which meant that his week was a blur, too.  With the help of friends and family, everything went off without a hitch.  The concert was beautiful and we hosted a reception afterward.  Then we collapsed into bed, relieved at the thought of a relaxing weekend.

Saturday did not disappoint.  I never left the house, nor did I put on a pair of shoes.  We spent the morning visiting with my parents, who had come into town for the concert. For the rest of the day, we cheered on our favorite baseball and college football teams.  We were too tired to leave the house for dinner, or even to order out, so we decided to scrounge up something to eat from the meager supplies in our pantry and fridge.  Of course, the word "scrounge" takes on a different meaning when you are married to a retired chef.  Saturday night, it meant homemade pizza.  I love nights when we scrounge up dinner.

While I expected to feel the effects of the week on Saturday, I was surprised by how bad my foot felt.  As the day progressed, it was obvious that something wasn't right, but it took awhile to figure it out.  Finally, it hit me that I couldn't feel the stimulator. I know, that sounds ridiculous.  But as you know, the vibration is positional, which means the intensity changes (sometimes drastically) as I move and shift.  In addition, sometimes I still have "phantom" vibrations for quite awhile after I turn off the stimulator.  But here's the weird thing...I never turned off the stimulator.  As you know, there have been times I've turned it off and forgotten to turn it back on.  But not this time.  I am 100% certain I did not turn it off.  And I know I could feel it Friday night.  But I got out the remote control to check it, and it was definitely off.  I turned it back on and started feeling better within minutes.  

I have no idea what happened.  It has worked as expected since then.  All I know is that my stimulator finally has a name...HAL.  http://youtu.be/7qnd-hdmgfk

9/20/15. The post where I talk about gate control theory.

9/20/15: not many changes since the last time I posted.  I continue to stay busy and my flare up continues, although it hasn't gotten worse.  One thing that has changed? I have retired from playing handbells. (In case you are wondering, the pension for retired bell players is not great.)  I've had increasing physical difficulty playing over the last few seasons and we finally rounded up enough new players for me to make a graceful exit.  While I will miss my fellow players, I'm not sorry to have gained a free evening every week. Which I have currently filled again with rehearsals for the musical, but that will only last another month. After that, who knows what I'll do with my free time? Probably something crazy and decadent. Like laundry.

I know what some of you are thinking. Maybe I could stand to do a little less and rest a little more.  So, let's talk about "gate control theory."  I will save you the trouble of looking it up. I tried to find a link to a simple explanation, but everything out there about it on the interwebs is too nerdy, even for me, so here's my version.  Gate control theory is a pain theory stating that there are "gates" controlling pain signals to your brain, and you can close the gates (temporarily) by sending conflicting signals.  My spinal cord stimulator works on this theory.  By flooding my brain with motion/vibration signals, it keeps some of the pain signals from going through.  (As you know from previous posts, the trade off is feeling like my foot is stuck in an electrical socket.  Frankly, it's a pretty good trade off.)

I think my lifestyle takes gate control theory to its logical (some would say absurd) conclusion.  Staying physically and mentally occupied helps me block out pain signals.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  Sure, there are times where my pain level gets high enough that it doesn't work.  But right now is not one of those times, so I am taking advantage of it.  

For instance, last night my patient, long-suffering husband and I went to a concert. As spectators, not participants.  A modern concert in a huge hall, complete with flashing lights and pounding bass, where we stood on a concrete floor with 2,000 other people for three hours.  If only it had been outside in an ice storm, it would have included every possible trigger for a flare up. Most people would agree that it wasn't a wise choice for me.  Fortunately, I am not most people.  Because we had a great time.  Did it hurt? Yes. But not any worse than it would have hurt if I'd spent the night sitting on the couch instead. So, maybe there is something to this gate control theory, after all.

9/12/15. The post where I insist on having a good day.

9/12/15: the long-awaited "cool front" finally came in last night.  The temperature only dropped ten degrees, but more importantly, the humidity is gone, which made me do my happy dance. While the front was strong enough to make the humidity disappear, it was not strong enough to make my flare up disappear.  At least not with the same speed.

Both feet were in a bad way this morning, it was a rare Saturday with almost nothing on the calendar, and all I wanted to do was stay in bed all day and whine.  But I didn't.  I know from experience that doesn't really do any good.  So I got up and fixed myself a decadent breakfast.  Then I resolved to stay busy and enjoy the beautiful day.  I walked two miles.  (Which, I assure you, felt miserable physically but great emotionally.)  I ran errands in the convertible with the top down. I did a bunch of household chores. Then, when I'd had enough, I sat on the patio with a glass of wine and looked out at the city, reminding myself how lucky I am.

My day isn't over. My patient, long-suffering husband has a gig tonight, so I am going to a concert.  Afterward, we and our musician guest have a date with college football.  Thank goodness for DVR.  This is the worst I've felt in awhile, but it's also the nicest day I've had in awhile.  What a difference ten degrees make.

9/11/15. The post where I wish it would rain...until it does.

9/11/15: I've spent the last few weeks ramping back up to whirling dervish mode.  In addition to work, the music series, rehearsals, and other commitments, it's time for the annual charity musical.  Which I agreed to do, of course, because I don't always exercise good judgment when it comes to my calendar. On Tuesday, I ate all three meals at my desk at work.  I am going to try not to make that a habit.

The skies have been threatening rain for almost two weeks, which has resulted in a mini-flare up.  While it has been manageable, I've been wishing for the rain to hurry up, in hopes of getting rid of the humidity.  Every day I have checked the forecast, only to be disappointed.  Finally, it rained a little on Wednesday evening.  Which just made the humidity worse.  So much for my little theory.

Thursday was a busy day.  I was having a few friends over after work, and then we had a musician staying with us for an upcoming concert. This isn't my first rodeo, so I knew exactly how much time I needed to prepare.  I just needed to leave work 30 minutes early for a quick run to the grocery store and I could have everything ready before anyone arrived.  I was able to make my getaway on time and I knew exactly what I needed at the store. So far, so good.

As I stood in line at the checkout, I heard a thunderclap.  Uh, oh.  Then another.  Then the heavens burst open.  By the time I checked out and pushed my cart to the store entrance, it was jammed full of people watching the storm. People who weren't expecting guests at their house in 20 minutes.  After a few minutes of hesitation, I hiked my grocery bags onto my shoulders and prepared to brave the deluge.  At least I had an umbrella in my purse.

Or should I say, half an umbrella.  It has been so long since it last rained, I forgot that my umbrella had suffered a disfiguring accident.  Several of the ribs were bent and the fabric was torn on one side.  Oh well, it would have to do.  As I stood just under the awning, in my work clothes and heels, with grocery bags on both shoulders and a mangled umbrella over my head, I asked the crowd to wish me luck.  As most people laughed or wished me luck, someone helpfully said, "Don't try to run!"  Excellent advice, actually. I stepped out and slogged through water higher than my shoes across the parking lot to my car.  By the time I loaded my bags and got into the car, I was soaked, the inside of my car was soaked, and most of my groceries were soaked.  But I made it.  As I left the parking lot, I flashed my onlookers the V for Victory sign.  In my mind, they were all cheering me on. But more than likely, they were shaking their heads and posting pictures of me on their social media. #lunatic

I made it home, dried off myself and my groceries, and still had things ready(ish) by the time everyone got there.  The storm only lasted long enough for me to drive home, so my guests were dry when they arrived.  A fine time was had by all.  And guess what? It is still humid today, and my flare up has not abated.  I'm done wishing for rain.