9/5/16. The post where I celebrate an anniversary of sorts.

Today is a special day. No, I don't mean Labor Day, although that is pretty cool, too. It is my anniversary.  Not my wedding anniversary.  My patient, long-suffering husband and I celebrated that back in June along with around 75% of the other couples in this country.  

I became bionic two years ago today.  Approximately two weeks after my patient, long-suffering husband had back surgery, I had HAL (my trusty spinal cord stimulator) implanted.  In some ways, I am surprised that it has been two years, but in other ways, it seems much longer ago than that.  I re-read my blog from that day and it is amazing how far we have both come since then.  My patient, long-suffering husband has very few back issues these days, although he won't be joining the Olympic gymnastics team any time soon.  As for me, the 5-6 pain level that "didn't feel too bad" the day of the surgery is now fairly rare, thanks to HAL. While I would say the last month or so has been unusually painful for my foot, it's probably a good idea to go back and read about my pre-implant days every now and then so I have a better frame of reference.  Suddenly the last month seems downright pleasant, at least in comparison.  

Before I opted out of most of my online RSD/CRPS support groups, one of the things that caused me the most consternation was the number of people who were suffering through symptoms worse than mine because they were terrified of having surgery. As many of you know, I have had plenty of surgeries in the last ten years, and the stimulator implant was one of the easiest.  While I know not all surgeries go as well as mine and not everyone gets the degree of relief I have gotten from my stimulator, I would have the surgery ten times if it meant feeling like I do now compared to how I felt two years ago.  

And it's a good thing I feel that way, because I may have to have the surgery ten times. The battery life on HAL is estimated at 3-5 years. I use HAL at a relatively low level, but I use it 24/7, unlike many other people with stimulators.  I hope the technology will continue to improve with time, but I can live with an implant surgery every 3-5 years if necessary.  So, while friends are having us over for dinner today to celebrate Labor Day, I will also be celebrating my anniversary.  I hope HAL is getting me something nice.

8/26/16. The post where perhaps I made a bad decision (or two...or more).

8/26/16: the last two weeks have been a little tough. Between the nearly constant rain and a couple of very stressful situations, I've had to push HAL to its limits. But today the sun was out and things seemed to be looking up.

My patient, long-suffering husband is away on business for a couple of days and, as I always do when he is gone, I tried to make the time pass quickly by planning a lot of activities. I am way behind on chores, so today I made a mental list of all the things I would accomplish this evening after work.  I got home and checked the first thing off my list.  Then I carefully considered what chore to do next...and decided to have a glass of wine and watch some baseball instead.

Soon, it was dinner time. I've been back on my healthy eating regime for most of the week and had planned to make something sensible for dinner.  So I can't explain why I decided to spend the evening snacking on leftovers.  Most of which may or may not have been past their expiration dates.  In my defense, one of the chores on my list was "clean out the refrigerator."  Mission accomplished.

As I mentioned earlier, HAL has been overworked the last couple of weeks. To the point that I have started getting some pretty serious cramps in my calf, which is a new and rather unpleasant sensation.  It struck me that I had no obligations tomorrow and I was feeling brave, so I decided to give HAL a break and turn it off completely. Which was a great idea.  For about five minutes.  After an hour, I gave up on the experiment and turned it back on at about half the amplitude. While it is helpful to turn it off periodically so I can check my progress, in retrospect I think I should have stuck with the calf cramping.

I have a four year old nephew whose amazing parents have taught him to communicate on a very high level.  When things go awry for him, as they inevitably do when you are four years old, his go-to response is that "perhaps he made a bad decision."  As I contemplate my Saturday, which is likely to be filled with foot pain that could have been avoided, undone chores, and food poisoning, all I can think is...at least he comes by his decision-making skills honestly.

8/15/16. The post where I run out of spoons.

8/15/16: things have been normal lately.  Which means crazy.  A lot of work and a lot of play, in very hot and humid weather.  And for the most part, my foot has cooperated, thanks mostly to HAL.  In fact, it's been a long time since I've had a really extended flare up and my spoon drawer has stayed full. 

Some of you have probably heard me talk about spoon theory before, but if you've never heard of it, here's the origin.  http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/ It's a common theme with people who have chronic pain illnesses.  But over the last few months, for the most part (if you don't count that tiny ligament tear), I have felt so good that I haven't even thought about spoons. Which is why I didn't think twice about the aggressive weekend schedule I planned or the storms coming in.

Then I woke up this morning and checked my body's utensil drawer...and discovered I was completely out of spoons.  I looked everywhere.  I would have been satisfied with a ladle, or even a couple of measuring spoons. I spent about 15 minutes trying to talk myself into believing I had a couple of spoons before I gave up and went back to bed.  Fortunately, my work calendar was pretty light and I was able to stay home without too much guilt.  Tomorrow is a different story, so I have to get it together, and I feel like I can.  While I can't say my foot feels any better, a rest day is just what the doctor ordered. As is the delicious, rainy weather soup my patient, long-suffering husband made for dinner. 

Remember that old Alanis Morrisette song "Ironic"?  One of the lines in the song is, "It's like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife."  Having 10,000 spoons doesn't sound ironic to me. It sounds awesome.  

8/8/16. The post where I reward your patience.

8/8/16: this post has nothing to do with RSD. You've stuck with me for awhile. I subjected you to a picture of my foot.  You deserve a break. So I am going to tell you a silly story instead.  After which you may wish I had posted another picture of my foot instead.

Flashback to two years ago.  I would have sworn I told you this story, but I can find no recorded evidence of it.  While we were vacationing in Cinque Terre, I bought a beautiful handmade wrap skirt in a local shop.  In a combination of English, Italian, and Charades, the shopkeeper showed me how to wear it and it made sense. Until I got home and tried to wear it for the first time.  Few things will make you feel less intelligent than not being able to figure out how to wear a skirt.  I had several false starts and then I put it away.  On one of Mom's visits, she and I pulled it out and cracked the code, at least in theory, over a bottle of wine. But I was never brave enough to try it in the heat of battle.  

Back to the present.  Our house is on the market and I am contemplating the requisite downsizing that accompanies any move.  The first step in cleaning out my closet is an evaluation of my clothing.  I am trying to wear things that are not in my normal rotation, and at the end of each wearing I decide to either discard it or add it to the rotation.  Eventually, I made it to the wrap skirt.  Sunday morning I had plenty of time to get ready in a calm, collected fashion, so I decided to give it a try. It felt a little like this: https://youtu.be/-yqfUhc4FQY

And I did it. Basically.  I think it looked as good as you could expect for a three-yard long piece of fabric with random slots and sashes that was handmade in a small fishing village in Italy.  I can now say I am as smart as a wrap skirt.  And it stays in the rotation.

Unlike today's dress.  I spent all day wishing I hadn't worn it, and when I got home, I announced to my patient, long-suffering husband that I was discarding it.  He was supportive, as always.  A little too supportive.  So I asked his opinion.  His response? "Well, it makes you look like you are 50."  (Editor's note: while my patient, long-suffering husband is north of 50, I still have a decent amount of breathing room before I get there.)  He tried to soften the blow by suggesting that I shouldn't try to dress too young, either.  "I'm not saying you should wear jellies and a mini-skirt."  Jellies? And a mini-skirt? Is that what the kids are wearing these days?  I didn't think so.  Bottom line - the dress goes away.  But I am not replacing it with jellies and a mini-skirt.  And now I am seriously questioning my patient, long-suffering husband's sense of fashion.

8/6/16. The post where I have an accidental muse.

8/6/16: I think I can officially say my ankle is healed.  I am wearing normal shoes again and I have been back on my walking schedule for a week.  My foot was not especially happy about that development, but we had a talk and I made it clear it was non-negotiable.  It appears I have dodged a bullet and the RSD is not going to spread to my ankle.  I feel relieved and I am trying to be more careful these days, because I am not good with suspense.  

Which doesn't mean everything has been perfect.  It has been really hot the last few weeks. And while hot weather is better on my foot than cold weather, it has also been humid.  Like, I-Love-Lucy-in-the-steam-cabinet humid. And my foot hates hot, humid weather.  Know what else it hates? Grocery stores. I have no idea why, but walking in the grocery store will trigger a flare up in a heart beat. And Friday afternoon was a perfect storm.

After work, I got into my steam cabinet...I mean, car and drove to the grocery store.  Even though I qualified for the "10 items or less" line, it was enough to send my foot into a small tantrum. While I waited in line, I decided to take a photo for scientific/medical purposes. 

Note to self - don't take photos of your feet in the grocery store. Unbeknownst to me, the man in front of me noticed what I was doing and suddenly he was examining my foot. "Wow, that looks bad. Are you okay?"  I was mortified and it took me a second to think up a response.  Which consisted of a sheepish grin and a "Yes, sorry, I just have a medical issue and I have to take photos to update my doctor."  To which he responded, "No worries. These days people do all kinds of things - you could have a website or something and just be showing off your feet to your fans."  And I immediately thought, "Well that wasn't my plan, but now that you mention it, this would make a good post."  But I decided that was more information than he wanted to know, and he'd already had to look closely at my feet in a place where you purchase food. Instead, we exchanged a few pleasantries and went our separate ways.  

So, thanks to my accidental muse, you now have to look at a picture of my foot.  If you don't like it, you can thank the random grocery store guy.

7/22/16. The post where I am cautioumistic.

7/22/16: I have gone a week without wearing the air cast.  I was a little wobbly for the first few days.  I think I looked a little like this:  https://youtu.be/s3womp1b1I4  But by Thursday, I was getting around well enough to take a short walk before work.  It didn't feel great, but it didn't feel terrible, so I did it again today.  I am also finished with physical therapy.  Okay, technically, I wasn't released from physical therapy.  I just snuck out of the office on Tuesday without making another appointment.  I think I've gotten all I can out of the appointments and I feel confident in my ability to keep up with the exercises on my own.  I've had a couple of RSD flare ups over the course of the week, but nothing I can't handle.

The rest of my week has gone in a similar fashion.  Yes, some scary things have happened in the world. But I also had some fun times with my patient, long-suffering husband and some great friends. I found out today that Fabian Cancellara, the cyclist I've been rooting for the last two weeks, withdrew from the Tour de France.  But it is not because of an injury - he just figured out he can't win and needs to rest up so he can participate in the Olympics, which are only two weeks away.  So I have another chance to root for him.  My mom, who continues her own medical journey, had an uncomfortable procedure this week, but one that we hope will give her some relief from the even more uncomfortable situation she's been in for the last few months.

An awesome woman who has been my hair stylist and friend for more than fifteen years taught me a word that describes how I feel right now.  She calls it "cautioumistic" - an abbreviation of cautiously optimistic.  I'm not sure if that's the right way to spell it, but that is the beauty of a made-up word.  I am cautioumistic for me, for my mom, for Fabian Cancellara, and for the world. And I hope you all will be, too.

7/15/16. The post where I am reminded to keep pedaling.

7/15/16: my ankle has been improving over the last week.  My physical therapist is fascinated by RSD and continues to ask a lot of questions, which I am more than happy to answer.  I am going to try to jettison the air cast this weekend - while four weeks of flip-flops has been fun, I am ready to move on to more interesting footwear. Those summer shoes aren't going to wear themselves.  

My attitude, however, did not improve as much as my ankle.  I was able to get through much of the last week by imagining that my patient, long-suffering husband and I could sell all our things and move to one of our favorite spots in the world, Villefranche-sur-Mer.  It is a small village in the South of France on the Mediterranean Sea where we spent one of the happiest weeks of our life together. (And when you can call a week in which your patient, long-suffering husband walked through a plate glass window one of the happiest of your life, that is saying something.)  We have long dreamed of retiring there and last week, moving up our plans seemed like a great idea.  It is the best of all worlds - small enough to get away from it all, but conveniently located eight kilometers from Nice for those times you need the big city.  

We were reminded again last night that you can't escape the world.  We found out about the tragedy in Nice as we were leaving to celebrate Bastille Day with friends.  The celebration was a little more subdued, but also much more meaningful.  Since we are all cycling enthusiasts, we watched yesterday's Tour de France stage, where I learned another life lesson.  To set the stage, the finish line had to be moved at the last minute because of high winds, which resulted in more spectators crammed into a smaller area that was not sufficiently barricaded.  Chris Froome, the cyclist who was currently in first place (the yellow jersey, or "maillot jaune"), was with a group of riders near the front of the pack and was poised to retain his lead.  With less than one kilometer to go (for those of you who are metrically challenged, it was approximately half a mile) to the new finish line, the throng of spectators was so large it blocked the route and the motorcycle cameraman in front of the riders had to come to a sudden stop.  And then all hell broke loose.  

https://www.theguardian.com/sport/video/2016/jul/14/chris-froome-forced-run-up-mountain-stage-12-tour-de-france-video

A rider crashed into the motorcycle, causing a much larger crash. Froome's bicycle was not functional and the team cars carrying extra bikes were behind the crash.  Froome began running toward the finish line while the team cars caught up. (Editor's note: no, you can't win the race by finishing on foot.) When the cars caught up, the first bike he grabbed did not have pedals that matched the cleats on his shoes, which meant he could not clip into the pedals. He threw the first bike to the side of the road, grabbed a second bike and pedaled like his life depended on it.  He crossed the finish line, but lost most of his lead.  (Never fear.  The Tour has a long history of fairness to its participants and they froze the stage results at the time of the crash, so he did not lose the yellow jersey.)

The lesson I learned was not that fans can be real jerks sometimes. (That is a post for another day.)  No, the lesson was that you may not be able to escape trouble, but you have to keep pedaling. Or running.  So I guess I will postpone my retirement plans and put on my big girl bicycle shorts.  And hope the cleats match the pedals.

7/8/16. The post where I get a little emotional.

7/8/16: started physical therapy yesterday.  Since it was the first visit, there was a lot of measuring, testing, and touching of my foot.  Not my favorite thing. My physical therapist has at least a passing familiarity with RSD and is interested in learning more, so he asked approximately a thousand questions, most of which are unrelated to my current injury.  He gave me a few easy stretches and exercises to do until my next appointment and stressed that I should only do them to the extent it doesn't cause a flare up. 

Well, too late.  Between the first PT appointment, the oppressive humidity this week, and stress, I've got a pretty good flare-up going.  If you've been reading my blog since the beginning, you know that I am very careful about my privacy and that of my friends and family, so I share few details about my profession, my home, or my personal life.  I also rarely discuss current events.  But I will tell you that the events of this week have had particular meaning for me and I am physically, mentally, and emotionally drained.  So this evening, there was no TV or Internet (unless you count the Tour de France and my blog app).  But there was comfort food.  When you have the good fortune to be loved by a chef who can't stand to see you sad and in pain, you get cacio e pepe for dinner instead of the diet salad you were planning to eat.  For those of you unfamiliar with cacio e pepe, imagine grownup, Italian macaroni and cheese. Just what the doctor ordered and a good reminder that I am a lucky girl.

As long as I am talking about emotional things, I will also tell you about a film that was released today.  It is called "Trial by Fire" and it is a documentary about CRPS/RSD.  http://www.trialbyfiremovie.com/    I am very glad it exists, because I think education is one of the keys to a cure.  I have no idea whether it is a good film.  Because I'm not sure I can watch it.  And I definitely cannot watch it right now.  Rash optimism has been one of my best defenses so far, which has meant staying away from support groups or too much discussion about it.  I'm afraid that makes me a poor ambassador, but to quote one of my favorite movies ("Love Actually"), it's a self-preservation thing.  https://youtu.be/UB-r_yJtC5Q. Now that's a movie I can watch, over and over.  And sort of appropriate for this week, now that I think about it.  

Sorry this hasn't been a very fun post - I promise to do better next time.  My best recommendation for getting through the weekend?  Make some cacio e pepe.  Turn off the news and Internet for awhile.  And be good to each other.

7/6/16. The post where I tell you about an interesting coincidence.

7/6/16: went to the orthopedist today. After two and a half weeks, my ankle hadn't healed as much as I had hoped it would and my patient, long-suffering husband gently encouraged me to make an appointment.  And by "gently encouraged", I mean "incessantly nagged until he wore down my resistance."  The good news? The orthopedist was not too concerned.  Since an MRI was not an option, he poked and prodded my ankle and determined based on my reactions (which I am proud to say did not include cursing or slapping him, although I wanted to) that the sprain was most likely to my ATFL. Which is the anterior talofibular ligament. Obviously.  He was also very familiar with RSD and felt like the best strategy was to strengthen my ankle in hopes of avoiding additional injuries in the future. So, off I go to physical therapy tomorrow to learn some strengthening exercises.  The bad news? He told me it could take up to four more weeks to heal.  Guess I should get used to wearing the air cast and flip-flops for the near future.

The Tour de France started a few days ago, and since I am a glutton for punishment, I am watching it wistfully, remembering my cycling days.  Apparently I have not been watching it closely enough, though, because only today (stage 5) did I realize Fabian Cancellera is in the race. Why is that important, you ask? Because he was supposed to retire last year.  Until he had a terrible accident in the Tour de France and withdrew from the race with two broken vertebrae. (I chronicled the sad story last year in my 7/7/15 blog.)  After his recovery, he decided to hang around for one more year and he is the captain of his team for the 2016 tour.  

As I read last year's blog, I was amazed by the coincidence.  Last year at this time I was recovering from a strained trapezoid muscle, watching the Tour de France, and being inspired by Fabian Cancellera.  This year, I am recovering from a sprained ATF ligament, watching the Tour de France, and being inspired by Fabian Cancellera.  I hope the coincidence ends there.  He may not win, but I hope he finishes the race.  I won't know for another 18 days. At least the suspense will keep me occupied while I heal.

With any luck, this time next year he will be happily retired after a successful final race season and I will not be recovering from anything.  Stay tuned...

6/23/16. The post where this is not a drill.

6/23/16:  as you know by now, if you haven't heard from me in awhile, it means either things are going well or I haven't had a spare moment to post.  Recently, it's been both.  I went on a two-week road trip with my patient, long-suffering husband and my foot enjoyed the hot, dry weather.  (The rest of me was not impressed with the hot, dry weather.)  HAL has been working like a charm.  Which means it's time to worry about what might happen.

Having RSD means worrying constantly about injuries. At least that's what it means if you are me.  Most importantly, there are protocols to be followed after an injury to guard against a spread of the disease.  Like mega doses of vitamin C.  No ice to combat swelling.  And thanks to HAL, no MRIs for diagnostic purposes. (Seems like a small price to pay for pain relief.)  It's a lot to remember, especially after an injury.  There are also random questions - will HAL affect my judgment on how much an injury hurts? Has my pain tolerance changed after a couple of years of flare-ups?  I have spent way too much mental energy wondering about these things.

The good news?  I don't have to wonder anymore.  I'd like to say I injured myself rescuing children from a burning building.  Or sprinting in the Olympic trials.  But the truth is that I zigged when I should have zagged and wound up sitting on the ground in a parking lot with a sprained ankle and wounded pride. (Of course, it is my affected right foot.  Are you surprised?)  Nothing broken - fortunately I can still have x-rays.  My doctor was not in the office, but they assigned me a doctor who had at least a passing acquaintance with RSD and enough intellectual curiosity to do some research.  I am currently sporting an air cast and I've been reunited with my trusty, battle-worn crutches.  

And some of my burning questions are being answered.  I remembered the vitamin C rule and my intrepid doctor learned enough through his research to avoid ice and MRIs.  I think HAL has made a difference, because my pain level is not commensurate with my swelling and bruising.  Which is not to say it doesn't hurt.  Because it does.  But I can deal with it, at least for the short term.  I feel like I am in a race to heal before the RSD spreads. And it's hard to run a race with a sprained ankle.  

5/2/16. The post where I add a p.s. to yesterday's post.

5/2/16: p.s. within two hours after my post yesterday, an unexpected rainstorm hit and the temperature dropped 20 degrees.  So my flare up made sense after all. I guess RSD is predictable (at least sometimes), but only in hindsight.  While it doesn't make my feet feel any better, it's somehow comforting to know.

5/1/16. The post where I tell you a funny story.

5/1/16: since the last few weeks have been filled with rain and illness, I've had HAL going at full strength as a precaution.  And my plan worked pretty well. But as I've mentioned before, I can only take HAL at full strength for so long, and yesterday it officially started driving me to distraction.  So I turned it down last night when I went to bed and I paid the price today.  And it wasn't just my right foot - both feet are flaring up today, with no good explanation. The weather is lovely, I've had a wonderful, stress-free weekend with my patient, long-suffering husband, and I've been wearing comfy sandals.  The unpredictability is what is so insidious about RSD.  But I don't want to talk about that.  I'd rather tell you a funny (and maybe slightly inappropriate) story.  So humor me, please.

As I mentioned in my last post, I made a trip to the emergency room while I was sick.  Not of my own volition.  While I was at my doctor's office trying to get a handle on my respiratory virus, I inadvertently answered "yes" to too many of their sneaky "maybe you are having a heart attack" questions. And once I hit the magic number, there was nothing I could say or do to keep them from sending me to the emergency room.  I knew without a doubt I was not having a heart attack...unfortunately, I couldn't convince anyone in my doctor's office (or the emergency room) to agree that the idea was ridiculous.  So I spent several hours in the ER being poked, prodded, and tested.  (Don't worry, this is not the funny part.)

Once it finally became fairly obvious to the ER doctor that I was not, in fact, having a heart attack, she turned her attention to my respiratory virus and ordered a chest x-ray.  They brought a portable x-ray machine into my room and took an image.  Hey, I'm an actress. I'm always happy to pose for a camera, so I gave them my best Norma Desmond look.  A few minutes later, the radiology technician came back in and sheepishly explained that they needed another image.  (Spoiler alert: if you are uncomfortable talking about ladies' undergarments, this might be a good time to quit reading.) It wasn't because the lighting wasn't right or my makeup was smudged.  It was because I was wearing an underwire bra.  So sue me - I did not wake up that morning expecting to be in the emergency room having x-rays.  He said he would leave the room and asked me to call out for him when I had removed my bra.

No problem.  The ladies who are reading are nodding in agreement.  For you gentlemen who are brave enough to be reading still, here's how it works.  Both arms go inside your shirt, you unhook the bra, pull the straps down over your arms, put your arms back through your shirt sleeves, pull the bra out from under your shirt, and voilà!  Ready for x-rays.  At least in theory, that's how it works.  However, I failed to take a few things into account - EKG wires, a blood pressure cuff, and a recent dose of hydrocodone.  Unfortunately, I was half-way through my maneuver before I made this discovery, which resulted in a tangled mess of wires and bra parts.  And did I mention my blood pressure cuff arm was caught halfway inside my shirt? I spent a few minutes trying to resolve it on my own, which only made matters worse, then another few minutes laughing at my predicament.  When I finally called the radiology technician in, he was surprised to find out it wasn't because I was ready for my close-up. It was because I needed his help untangling myself from the mess I had made and couldn't stop laughing hysterically. (Which then caused me to cough uncontrollably - I was in the ER for a reason, after all.)  He was very helpful and acted like it was no big deal, although I fear I was the star of his social media post later that day. He finally got a good image and I got a diagnosis.  

So, to recap...I had a two-week period where a major wardrobe malfunction was the best (and funniest) thing that happened to me.  Maybe you had to be there, but in my weakened state, it seemed hysterical.  And I eventually got my close-up.  https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=NxG1x0Yq8sU

4/18/16. The post where I make a fascinating discovery.

4/18/16: wow, I didn't realize how long it's been since I've posted. I guess time flies when you are having fun.  And I have been having fun.  Except for the last two weeks, which have been decidedly not fun.

I've been sick. I mean really sick - eight prescriptions, no work, emergency room kind of sick.  The "official" diagnosis? Some kind of insidious respiratory virus resulting in "haze" on one of my lungs. Not pneumonia, not bronchitis.  (Also not a heart attack. How I know that is a story for another blog...)  Just lots of coughing, sore throat, chest pain, and fatigue. With the help of friends, family, and my patient, long-suffering husband, I've been able to rest and am finally starting to feel better.  

It has also rained quite a bit, and my foot has tried to fight for attention. But it's been fighting a losing battle for the most part.  With the exception of one fascinating discovery I've made.

As part of his nursing duties, my patient, long-suffering husband has been making me soup.  In most homes, when you are sick, you get chicken noodle soup.  But as you know, my home is different, and in my home when you are sick, you get Thai hot and sour shrimp soup. It is spicy, delicious, and great for opening your sinuses.  Guess what else it does?  Causes an RSD flare up.  Seriously.

I've had the soup three times in the last two weeks and had a flare up each time.  The first time, I attributed it to standing up for too long helping prepare dinner.  The second time, I attributed it to the incoming storms.  Tonight, I had to admit it was the soup.  I don't know if it is a specific ingredient in the soup, or the general heat of the soup, but my foot immediately turned red, shiny, and swollen, and the pain level ratcheted up multiple levels. The good news? It didn't last long.  Within an hour, it had calmed down quite a bit.

I've read quite a few articles about how diet affects RSD and it usually boils down to eating an anti-inflammatory diet.  I'm not aware of any inflammatory ingredient in the soup - in fact, it should be just what the doctor ordered.  But experience tells me otherwise.  This doesn't mean I will stop eating it.  I guess I am just stubborn that way.  It is delicious and the flare up never lasts long. And did I mention it is helping with my virus?  The flare up is a small price to pay.

2/22/16. The post where I talk about the new normal. And purses.

2/22/16: a little backstory about myself.  While my love of shoes is well known throughout the kingdom, that love does not extend to purses.  I see purses as a necessary evil - a way to drag my stuff from point A to point B. (And as you may recall from previous posts, I drag a lot of stuff from point A to point B.)  It pains me to spend money on them, so generally you will see me carrying whatever pleather or vinyl bag came as a free reward with my shoe purchase or was on the best sale at the local outlet mall.  

My Christmas gift from my parents-by-love changed all that. For the first time in my life, I am carrying a real, grownup purse.  One I actually fear might get stolen. Not for what is in it, but for the purse itself.  Fortunately for me, it is monogrammed, so only someone with my initials would steal it.  Why am I telling you this, you ask? Well, keep reading...it will make sense at some point.  I hope.

Now, back to my foot.  I feel like I have settled into my new normal over the last few months.  In terms of pain scale numbers, I'd say I spend about 85% of my time at a 2-3, 10% at a 4-6, and 5% at something greater than a 6.  If you had told me two years ago I would be feeling this great, I would not have believed you.  (Of course, if you had told me five years ago I would consider this "great", I also would not have believed you.)  The only real issue recently has been the alarming frequency with which HAL seems to turn itself off these days. After a few days in a row of mysterious shutdowns, I decided to do something about it.  

I contacted my assigned technician and she was stumped, so she referred me to the people who handle "tech support" for my device.  (Yes, I officially have "tech support" people.) The person on the phone listened to my story, did a little research while I was on hold, and then started troubleshooting.  Do I have a mechanical bed? Nope.  Have I bought any new appliances or electronics recently that might be interfering? Nope.  Have I been carrying around the magnet that was provided to turn off the device when the programmer isn't working or available?  Nope.  Have I started spending a lot of time in a new location that might have a magnetic security system?  Nope.  He was just about out of ideas, and we were starting to discuss the possibility that too much scar tissue had built up on the lead wires and was shorting out the device. (Sort of the equivalent of corroded battery cables, except that a surgical procedure would be required in this case. Not something that is covered by AAA.)  Then he thought of one more possibility. Do I have a purse with a magnetic closure? Nope...I mean, yes. My fancy new purse does in fact have a magnetic closure. A pretty heavy-duty one, now that I think about it. I got off the phone and did a little experiment. And yes, I can turn HAL on and off using the magnet on my purse.  Mystery solved.  In the interest of full disclosure, it happened a few times before I got the purse, but it has certainly been much more frequent since I started carrying it.

So I've learned a few lessons.  I need to be a lot more careful around magnets.  I need to always carry my new purse on my left side. And in the future, no purses with magnets.  Maybe those free pleather bags weren't so bad after all...

2/14/16. The post where I talk about smells.

2/14/16: wow, it's been awhile since I've posted.  It's not that I haven't had anything to say, it's that I haven't had any time to say it.  Work, family, and friends have kept me hopping recently, and for that, I am grateful.  Sometimes I think back to the advice my PT used to give me about "consistently moderate" activity.  I am a pro at the "consistent" part.  It's the "moderate" part I need to work on.  My right foot has largely behaved this winter, although HAL has been turning itself off with increasing regularity in the last month.  Magnets can turn the stimulator on and off, and with all the magnetic doors, security systems, and other devices out in public these days, it looks like I will have to monitor it more carefully. The nerve blocks I had last May for my left foot have lasted quite awhile. I am starting to notice an increase in the frequency of the nerve pain in my left foot, but the duration is still very short when it happens.  I have convinced myself I am two bad days away from scheduling another round.  Here's hoping that won't be any time in the near future.

Right now I am more concerned with allergies and upper respiratory infections. I'm working on the second infection in about two and a half months.  The weather has been beautiful recently, but where I live, "beautiful" usually translates to "allergen-filled."  And I can't help myself. I love to eat outdoors and drive around with the convertible top down in this weather, even though I know the consequences.    

It could be worse, though.  Until about six years ago, I spent every winter in a fog of sinus infections, bronchitis, and pleurisy.  Yes, people still get pleurisy.  At least, this person does.  Then I had surgery to repair a deviated septum and several other related nasal issues. Probably the result of too many foul-tips to the face from my days as a catcher.  From the moment the splints were removed from my nose (and trust me, you don't want any additional details about that), I have had a superhuman sense of smell.  Which, as it turns out, is not always a desirable superpower.

For instance, on my morning walks. I live on the edge of a neighborhood and a commercial district, so my morning walk is always an interesting mix of sights.  And smells.  On my last walk, I encountered the following smells:

- dryer sheets from a home on my route that was already doing laundry at 6am.  Not sure exactly what the scent was called, but probably something like "spring lavender mist with a hint of citrus".

- a clean-cut college student with a book bag waiting at the bus stop who smelled of...no, "reeked" of is the proper term...pot. Mary Jane. Weed. Maui Wowie. He wasn't smoking anything when I saw him, but based on the smell I'm guessing he had been smoking within five minutes of our encounter.  Have I mentioned that it was 6am? 

- fresh baked doughnuts from the grocery store down the street.  You'd think that would have been the highlight of the morning, but it was more a combination of doughnuts and the grease in which they were fried.  Enough to make me swear off doughnuts for awhile.  And last, but not least,

- gasoline, from the tanker that was refilling the pumps at the gas station on the corner.  Good thing the pot-smoking college kid wasn't nearby, or there might have been an explosion. 

On second thought, I may not have an upper respiratory infection at all. My nose may just be rebelling against the olfactory assault it endured on my last walk. I don't blame it at all. Frankly, I'm a little relieved not to smell anything for a few days.