Julian, bless his heart, is currently scouring Richmond for a Pay Power card for me. And so far, he ain’t finding any.
More distressing is that places he goes are telling him that they don’t stock them any more. And that is making me wonder if the whole damn company imploded and nobody told the people who run the app.
Admittedly, that’s not the most likely theory. It’s just the way my highly neurotic mind works. I leap to the worst conclusions with astounding agility.
Maybe it started as a rational attempt to ask what is the worst thing that could happen in order to put a hard limit on how much I freak out about something.
But like everything else in this big brain of mine, it got corrupted by the Evil Empire that is the diseased part of my mind.
I wish I could just excise that shit. Go in there with a laser and cauterize all the bad and broken brain cells and free my mind to actually work like it’s supposed to do.
Anyhow, back to my credit card issues.
If there are simply no PayPower cards to be had, I will have to consider one of these “Joker” cards a try.
It appears to be more or less the exact same thing, apart from the damn name, and I am becoming very upset about this whole deal and want it to be over.
I may also investigate other ways to accomplish the same thing. Like one of these virtual VISA cards that could take my direct deposit every month.
That would be so convenient it’s almost obscene.
Had a personal power failure this morning.
I was coughing and wheezing and worst of all, when I breathed, I got this awful bubbling feeling like there was a bong in there.
Which I guess would be mighty convenient for some.
I also had a runny nose and felt quite weak. Ergo, I called up the Community Care Clinic and canceled my Wound Care appointment.
Or I thought I did. I left a message on Megan’s voicemail but apparently it did not get through to the nurse who was to be handling my wounds.
That sounds wrong.
So I got a call from the nurse asking where I was. That was awkward.
But like I said to her, at that point, I was worried enough about the possibility that I had PNEUMONIA that it’s like I was mentally halfway to Urgent Care already.
Luckily, things have clear up some day and the symptoms have disappeared.
Except the weakness.
It’s hard to be sure, but I think my condition has gotten worse lately. I feel heavier and weaker and more tired.
Maybe I just need to catch up on sleep. I definitely feel like I am behind on my sleep debt. Perhaps with some normal sleep, I will feel better.
But the feeling that my body is held together by old rubber bands and used bubblegum just keeps getting worse.
I don’t want to die.
More after the break.
Death warmed over
On the one hand, I’m, not in pain. Gabapentin plus my recently acquired Aleve(yay naproxen) are taking care of my aches and pains, my headache from earlier is gone, and getting some sleep has reduced my background stress level.
But the tiredness and weakness has only gotten worse.
When I stand up now, I feel like I have a very heavy backpack on. This makes my gait even more unsteady than usual.
I have had several near-disasters where I almost took a nasty spill already today.
Even as I sit and type to you wonderful people, I feel heavy. Also a tiny bit lightheaded or “floaty” as if I was a little bit drunk and having trouble with my equilibrium.
No wonder I keep nearly braining myself in a fall.
I am hoping that I just have some kind of bug draining my energy, and that when I finally shrug it off, I will feel fine again.
But I wouldn’t be me without thinking about the worst case scenario : that my condition is getting worse and from here on, it’s just a steady downhill slide into being bedridden and highly dependent on others for the rest of my life.
I’d hate that.
I mean, I am not exactly super functional now, but at least I can still get my own food from the kitchen and make it to the living room and the bathroom on my own.
And I can still get to Denny’s and (most of the time) Wound Care without the use ofr an industrial hoist and a team of huskies.
The bathroom thing in particular haunts me. Needing help in that department would be so unfathomably humiliating. Like I am suddenly a helpless infant again.
I guess I would get used to it eventually. But I really don’t want there to be someone else in the room when I am doing bathroom things. Let alone someone whose job it is t take care of big ol baby me and who has to hold intimate parts of my anatomy for me in order for the operation to go smoothly and cleanly.
If I had my druthers, I would, obviously, be healthy again. I would be able to walk like everyone else and I would not be stuck watching my body rot out from under me while the medical establishment is trying to puzzle out what is wrong with me (medically, anyway) at a majestically glacial speed.
No hurry. It’s not like it’s a matter of life or death. Oh wait…. yeah, it is.
A slow, tortuous death at the hands of a mysterious disease that attacks my neuromuscular system and is slowly but inexorably destroying me.
It’s not just a matter of whether I can walk or not. If muscular degeneration progresses far enough, it attacks the muscles you use to breathe, not to mention that rather important muscular pump known as the heart.
I have doctors. They are working on it. But nevertheless I feel doomed.
But other than that, I guess I am doing okay.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.