Catching Up

I'm feeling a little whoozey right now. I was having a lot of pain in my tailbone, so I laid down to watch my soap. I fell asleep instead and when I woke up, my tailbone was on fire. I took a Darvocet right away and put an ice pack on it. The medicine wasn't working fast enough for me, so I took another one. It's helping, but I don't like that way I feel.

I think I may have to call my pain specialist to have refills called in before I have my appointment. I talked him into seeing him every 12 weeks rather than 8 weeks. I am also going to change to the Cedartown office. It will be closer than driving 100 miles round-trip to Canton. I'm hoping he will write 90 day prescriptions for the 2 drugs he is insisting I have refilled every month. I understand that they are controlled substances, but it would save me a little money.

Most of my pain this week is due to leaning over the playpen to get Raina or the puppies or clean out the bedding. It's a Catch-22. If I lean over, my tailbone and right leg flare up. I can't squat because of my arthritis. Too bad I didn't get a used baby crib instead of the playpen. I could have put the puppies up higher. I think I need to check the space between the spindles on a crib. If it's too big, maybe I can put some sort of netting around it. Sounds like I need to do some shopping at the thrift store before it's time for Raina to have another litter.

Tomorrow my daughter-in-law is running a fund-raiser for a dog park. She has drafted my son and recruited her mother and several friends to help. There will be 2 agility demonstrations, an area for dogs to be off-leash, wading pools for the dogs and a dog treat bake sale. The kitchen has looked like a bomb went off a couple of times. It smells so good when my DIL is working on the treats, I have been tempted to taste them. I just hope the weather is good to them. There is a fifty-fifty chance of rain. My contribution has been to wrap and package dog treats and print the transfers for the t-shirts and iron them on.

Dogs, family and websites

I haven’t been here to post for a while. It seems that the dogs and my family genealogy website have been taking all of my time. My son and DIL went on vacation in early June which left me with 9 dogs (yeah that is 9) and the rest. By Wednesday of that week, I was ready to release my finches into the wild, turn the cats free in the front yard and start adopting out the dogs. Luckily one of my son’s friends was able to come over to stay with me. He took over the difficult dog duties and it was such a relief.

My Yorkie is pregnant. That’s why we had 9 dogs instead of 8. When breeding time came, the stud I had arranged was unavailable. His owner was due to deliver a baby herself any day. In desperation my DIL and I searched for an alternate stud. The only thing we could find was a male Yorkie for sale. He turned out to be a proven stud and a very sweet dog. So dog #9 came home. He was very enthusiastic about his duties as a stud. As a result, I have a female who looks like a hairy football. Her first due date is July 21. The male was starved for affection and needed more attention than we could give him. So we put him on Craig’s List and the calls started within 15 minutes. He has gone to a wonderful home where a very lovely teenage girl will give him the love he needs and 2 Pugs to play with.

Hopefully the Boston Terrier and the Cocker Spaniel are pregnant. We had to pay a stud fee for the Boston, but the owner of the Cocker stud wants first pick of the litter. I need to measure their bellies again today to see if there is any change. The Boston has gotten heavier, so she must be pregnant. I hope the Cocker is pregnant. Her stud was very beautiful. He is black and white with a shock of white hair in the middle of his black-colored head. Her litter should have buff and white and black and white puppies.

Through all of this my pain continues. I am having trouble picking the Boston up because of my back. I have finally been to the rheumatologist and fortunately I do not have rheumatoid or psoriatic arthritis. I have good old osteoarthritis, but it is particularly bad in my knees and hands. The doctor recommends injections of an artificial lubricant into my knees. I am all for it, but must pay $160 out of my pocket per visit for 5 visits. I just don’t have it now. When I sell the first of the Yorkie puppies, I will be able to afford the injections. The second puppy is going to purchase a 1988 pickup truck so that I will have a vehicle again.

I have been mentally and emotionally stressed out too. I have finally admitted that my finances are out of control. I sought help with a consumer counseling service only to have them recommend that I file bankruptcy. At this point I have to just try to dodge creditor calls. I can’t even contact an attorney until I have a certificate from the consumer counseling service. It’s part of the new bankruptcy rules. I hate it, but it may be my best opportunity to get things under control. I should not have credit cards; I just treat them like a license to spend.

There have been pleasant things happening too. I found my Dad’s favorite song and made him a CD for Father’s Day. For his birthday I made him a slide show of his early life, my mother’s early life, their wedding and an assortment of family photographs. Choosing the background music was challenging, I didn’t want to make people cry and also didn’t want to be flippant. For my mother’s segment, I used Steely Dan’s “Peg”. It’s one of my favorite songs and of course it was her name. Dad was in Texas with my sister’s family over his birthday. They had a party for him and waited until everyone left to present him with my gift. He loved it. I guess the rest of the family loved it too. My sister had previewed it and decided then that it needed to wait until only the family was there to watch it. I sent extra copies for my sister’s family. I also sent copies to mom’s brother and sister. I had fun putting it together, but had to leave out many pictures to keep the running time down to 15 minutes. I think I am going to make some more slide shows. I have loads of pictures in albums, but never really look at them. If they are put together on a DVD, I may look at them more often. I also have the ability to transfer video tape to my computer. I have super 8mm movies from the 1970’s I want to share. I also have my son’s first year. Some of that is dark and I hope I have software I can use to play around with it and lighten it up.

My genealogy website was hacked and used to send out millions of phony bank emails. As a result, I am moving it to a new hosting company. I have everything back up except the database. That was the point of weakness that allowed the hacker in. I had not been keeping up with the updates, so it is partly my fault. I have been able to get it back up with the version I was using when it was hacked, but I am having trouble updating to the latest version which is more secure. I just keep plugging away until I get it right.

A Day at the Dog Park

Boy, I am pooped! I woke up in pain this morning and barely made it up the stairs to the bathroom. I spent most of the morning reading and taking it easy. Later my daughter-in-law suggested taking some of the dogs to the dog park in Atlanta. I’ve never been there so I decided I would go along. My dog, Raina, has never been to the dog park, so I packed her 20-ft leash so I could keep her under control. The walk from the parking lot to the pet enclosure is pretty long so I got some exercise. Raina did OK until we got inside. I kept her on the long leash, but changed back to the 6-ft leash when she got very aggressive with a Doberman. When we got our dogs alone, they were doing fine. But as soon as another dog came around, Raina went nuts. Hamburger and Penny had a great time. Penny found a Jack Russell terrier to play with. Hamburger liked one dog so well that she almost left with its owners. I had taken my camera along, but forgot to take any pictures.

We stopped for a little shopping at a Petsmart in Atlanta and then grabbed lunch at the Varsity. When we got home, it was time for pain meds and a short rest. Then we went out for flea medication, new coats for three of the dogs and some groceries. We ran short of Frontline and all of the dogs have fleas. That’s not too good when some of them sleep in our beds. Four of the dogs have vet appointments tomorrow, so we wanted to treat them for the fleas tonight.

I felt badly that I had forgotten to feed and water my finches before we left for the dog park. The poor things had no food by the time I got to them and the Society finches were completely out of water. They started screeching in unison when I walked in the door. All is quiet now.

I am such a chump. My niece called the other day and I let it go to voice mail. She changed locations and called again. My son picked up and then buzzed me on the intercom. I spoke to her reluctantly. She wanted me to prepare her tax return. I tried to convince her it was easy to do by touch-tone phone, but she has never done a tax return. I told her to send me copies of her W2s and I’ll take care of it. I should have just said no. Next year for sure, she can figure it out on her own.

Arthritis and Bird Care

I’m whiny again today. This is the second day in a row that my arthritis has been bad. My hands feel like they have been plunged in ice. There is a constant ache and moving is painful. My right thumb actually pops when I move it, which I try not to do. After my third trip up the basement stairs yesterday, I started using the stair lift. I couldn’t wait too long for trips to the bathroom. I wish some generous millionaire out there would take pity on me and build me a safe bathroom in the basement. Remodeling my bedroom cost a lot and it will be a while before I finish paying for it.

I moved for a couple of reasons. My son got married last June and I think he and his wife deserve privacy. I’ve always joked that I will be taken out of this house feet first. I hate moving, so I intend to live out my years here. When my sister was sick, she was so weak that with very few exceptions I had to have the fire department come and remove her from the house. They suggested that I move her downstairs. I thought it was a great idea, but with her being bedridden, I needed her near a bathroom. She could not get to the bathroom, but I needed it for the bedpan and the cleanup. My ideal downstairs bathroom would have a tall toilet. My knees are getting worse by the year. I’ve had surgery on each of them twice. I want a shower stall with a bench. If I need to save money I would use a separate shower chair rather than a built-in bench. It may sound silly, but I want a vanity with a double-bowl kitchen sink installed. I have a kind of kitchen set up now with a coffee maker, refrigerator and microwave. The only access I have to water is the laundry room. I have six 2-liter bottles that I fill. Left over coffee, tea and dirt finch water gets dumped into a paint bucket. I empty the paint bucket in my driveway and rinse it in the laundry room. The only drain in the laundry room is the 3 inch pipe that the washer uses.

I try to keep busy. This morning I used a bathroom trip as an excuse to sweep the kitchen floor. If my son and daughter-in-law had been awake, I think I would have run the vacuum cleaner in the living room. Living with 8 dogs is rather dirty. I wish it would be possible to teach them to wipe their paws before coming in the house. I have now fed my finches and given them fresh water. On a bad day that simple task is hard and painful.

I have two finches that are laying eggs again. I am just throwing them away. I started with 2 Zebra finches last May and I now have 13 or 14. It has been fun to watch them tend the eggs and raise the babies. The two birds that are laying now are children of my original pair. When the first clutch of eggs was produced, I had to use a small stool and a mirror to see the nest. That was upstairs in my old bedroom. I can see into the cages better now that they are on stands. I got to see one of the eggs hatch. The babies are so tiny, but then they would have to be coming out of an egg that is just over ½ inch long. I didn’t know that birds clean their babies after hatching until I saw it myself. The babies do get loud and a bit obnoxious when they leave the nest, but still want the adult to feed them. It’s fun to guess what the sex the babies are. They do not display any of the sexually dimorphic (impressive!) markings until they are several weeks old. The latest baby is just now getting the orange coloring in its beak. There were two babies, but one died. I have two other babies that are a few weeks older. I keep watching to see if they will develop the orange cheeks of the males. I have a feeling that they are females which will mean more eggs to throw away. My room is never quite quiet during the day. Their calls are very pleasant. Thank heavens they sleep at night.

The picture at the top of the post is of a Society finch. The baby it has hatched is a Zebra finch. The Society finches do not have sexually dimorphic markings so I may have 3 males or 3 females. They didn’t seem to care that they had not laid those eggs. They just adopted the eggs are theirs and raised the babies.

Attack of the Red Velvet cake

I was writing about growing older, being in pain and being too well acquainted with my doctors. I suddenly felt really down about it and then remembered the remains of a piece of red velvet cake in the kitchen. There is nothing like sugar to make me feel better. At least that was the idea.

It was really a pitiful piece of cake. My daughter-in-law brought it home to me on Christmas Eve. It was squashed and dried out. I actually picked around on the plate and found the moist bits and a little frosting. I did throw some of it away. Maybe that was because the plate was the same color as the cake and I just missed it. I’m glad it tasted good going down because I am paying for it at the rate of 20 minutes of misery for every second of pleasure.

I am sitting here with sweat pouring down my face and feel like I might barf. I had a gastric bypass back in 1998. I lost over 100 pounds and am grateful for it every day. The misery I am feeling is called ‘dumping’ and it is one of the things that make the bypass work. Oh sure I can’t eat as much as I could before and there is less time for my body to absorb anything. The thing that really makes the bypass work is the punishment that is inflicted when I overeat or eat the wrong things.

I grew up Catholic and it seemed like they were trying to teach us to be good, but all we were learning was how to avoid punishment for bad behavior. The bypass feels like that. I’m supposed to learn what it feels like to be full rather than hitting that point when the food just comes back up. None of the literature about bypasses I read warned about lactose intolerance. I love half and half in my coffee. Sometimes I end up with gas, but it’s unpredictable. My doctor said sometimes it goes away. He didn’t say that I would be lactose intolerant on Monday, Tuesday, Friday and Sunday, but only during the second and fourth weeks of the month. For a real double whammy, I will insanely eat ice cream; gas from the dairy and dumping from the sugar. I also have trouble with rice and spaghetti now. If the rice is in soup, I can eat it and if I cut up my spaghetti into half inch pieces like my mother did for me when I was four, I can eat it.

The thought suddenly went through my head that maybe we all need a mother to control our eating, but my mother used to make me eat everything on my plate. She apologized to me repeatedly over the past 30 years of her life. I guess I am one of the people who just need to have the punishment of the bypass. I’ll just blame it on the nuns in the Catholic school.

TGIF and bad things that happen to some children

Unfortunately it's one of my bad days. A bad day for me starts by waking up with back pain and realizing that I didn't sleep well because of pain or I was dreaming about being in pain. It is raining today and that seems to make the pain worse. I am also having a lot of pain in my hands from arthritis. I will be spending much of my day in my recliner with a heating pad on my back. I have a paraffin spa for my hands and have already dipped my hands. The paraffin is hot and melted. It feels really good to cover my hands in that hot wax and just sit while it cools down. My sister had purchased the paraffin spa a couple of years ago and I have since inherited it.


I alluded to my sister in the "Hello I'm Marta" posting. I'm using the alias of 'Z' for my sister. People who know us will definitely be aware that it is us since she and I have unusual names. I suppose that is OK since she passed away in June 2005 and I am tired of keeping secrets. My immediate family is aware of my secret past and know that I am now very open about it. Now I drop the other shoe--my sister and I were victims of sexual abuse at the hands of our father. He died in 1968 and the man that I now refer to as "my dad" is my stepfather (who has been my stepfather since 1972). I did not seek professional help dealing with this abuse until 1983 or '84. I was going through a divorce and seeing a therapist to help with that situation. At the end of one session, I very offhandedly said "Oh yeah by the way, my father sexually abused me". There was barely time for the therapist to react. She said we had a lot to cover in our next session and that she was not surprised because I exhibited behavior common to abuse survivors. I continued with this therapist for about another year and joined a therapy group for sex abuse survivors. It was amazing and frightening how much I had in common with the other women in the group. The most common thing about us was the lack of self-esteem. It was so bad for some that one member had attempted suicide several times and did kill herself after I had left the group.

Until I started dealing with the abuse with a therapist, I didn't realize how much it had affected my life. The fallout continues to this day. They say that admitting you have a problem is half the battle. I think it's really about 20% of the battle. I am still overweight, self-destructive and depressed. Knowing that my father's behavior contributed to my behavior helps, but it is still hard work to change things. I admit that although I am depressed and unhappy, it is comfortable in my little rut of a life. It's scary to change things, so here I wallow.

Back to my sister: she was also abused and greatly affected by it. Now for the disclaimer; anything I mention here about 'Z' is my opinion. She is dead now and can't rebut anything I say about her. I loved my sister and I miss her like crazy. But I also don't miss her because she made my life miserable. To say that she suffered from low self-esteem is like calling Hurricane Katrina a summer rain shower. My sister was a train wreck. She let everyone take advantage of her (me included). I loved her husband like a brother, but her relationship with him was toxic. They loved each other fiercely, but she never came first with him. He was physically and emotionally abused as a child and I think that was part of their attraction to each other. 'Z' and 'J' were verbally abusive to each other one minute and loving the next minute. (He passed away in 1989.) I have had other family members tell me that they stayed away because they could not stand being exposed to the battling. Their daughter has had behavior and emotional problems for years. She was also diagnosed as bipolar. My niece (I'll refer to her as 'T') has been into drugs and was recently paroled from one of the Georgia state prisons. She grew up watching her parents be disrespectful to each other loudly and with lots of profanity. She seems to always form relationships with men who are physically and verbally abusive to her. I am going to keep the rest about her for later. (Way to go father, the effect of your abuse keeps going!)

I had tried to talk to 'Z' about the abuse around 1984. I had a long talk with my mother after I had been in the therapy group for several months. Mom was not aware of the abuse when it was happening. I'm not sure she ever really understood the nature of abuse. Her reaction had been to profess that she thought that she and my father had a good sexual relationship. I explained to her that even though the abuse occurs as sexual activity, the real payoff to the abuser is the power they hold over the victim. 'Z' was totally bent out of shape that I had told Mom. In her mind, 'Z' was still the little girl our father had told she would be out of favor with Mom (maybe even hated) if she did not do what father insisted she do. I never wanted to talk about the details of what had happened to us. I wanted to talk to her about how it made me feel. I wanted to know her feelings. She very seldom spoke of it. The few times I was able to draw her out, she said that it was in the past, it was dead and she felt no need to talk about it. It seemed to become a larger barrier between us. My other sister 'B' had been abused as well. Her reaction to my revelations were very different and letting go of the secret has brought us closer.

I've gone all the way around the barn to explain why I loved my sister and yet she made me miserable. 'Z' moved into my house with me and my son in '95. She was disabled and not able to work because of Crohn's disease, a chronic illness of the digestive system. She had been living with our parents since some time in 1993. 'Z' had been a registered nurse/case manager. According to her version, she was moving in to take care of me and my chronic pain. I wanted her to move in because it got her out of our parent's house before they asked her to leave. I admit to feeling a little superior because I was the one with the house for her to move into. We never discussed how we would handle finances. Things just seemed to evolve that she paid for groceries, meals out, her car expenses and her medical care. The rest was mine.

'Z' took over the kitchen and began dictating our television viewing. Our mother gave me hell more than once about how I would sit on my ass and make my sister do all of the cooking. I felt very unwelcome in the kitchen. Still I would offer to fix meals. As time went by the Crohn's was destroying 'Z's joints and she had knee replacements. Still she insisted on doing all of the cooking. I would worry about the stove and counter tops because she would rest her weight, which was in excess of 300 pounds, on the counters and the oven handle. (I was over 300 pounds myself, so I understood why 'Z' was supporting herself on the furniture and I never complained.)

'Z' was desperate to lose weight, but not by diet and exercise (my opinion admittedly). She had heard of the gastric bypass surgery and was researching it. She had a laparoscopic Roux-en-Y gastric bypass in January 1998. I had mine in February. We appeared on a local news story about desperate measures taken to lose weight. They even followed up with us a year later. 'Z' lost weight at a phenomenal rate. About August 1998, 'Z' announced she wanted to move into her own apartment. I confess that I was hurt at first. She moved in September. I didn't see her frequently so I didn't realize how fast she was losing weight. In May 1999 'B' came to Georgia to get 'Z' to take her to Texas to help with the preparations for our niece's wedding. While in Texas, 'Z' would call me and tell me things that seemed odd to me. She claimed to be having seizures and hallucinations. When I arrived in Texas for the wedding (about 2 weeks after 'Z' had left Georgia) I was shocked by how much weight she had lost in those 2 weeks. She seemed to be disoriented. I did all of her driving because she could not seem to remember how to get to places she had been visiting for 2 weeks. This was a woman who would read 8 books a week and could remember the names, the authors, the plot and an amazing amount of story detail about every book. I was supposed to fly home (I had arrived by airline), but changed that when it was obvious that 'Z' was unable to drive. She had a strange episode the night after the wedding. She managed to call our brother's hotel room to tell him she had fallen out of bed and could not get up. By the time I was called, the paramedics had arrived and took her to the hospital. They treated her for dehydration and recommended a follow up concerning her nutrition. I moved to her hotel room to keep an eye on her. We left for home after another day in Texas with family. In Mississippi I had to enlist the help of a stranger to lift 'Z' off the toilet in a rest stop. She was so weak, she could not stand up on her own. When we finally got to her apartment, she fell in the parking lot. Even though she now only weighed 130 pounds, I could not get her up. She seemed totally unable to help. Thank heavens for the fire department. I ended up sleeping on her living room floor until I convinced her to move back in with me. I tried sleeping in her bed with her, but she would wake me during the night with hallucinations about people being in the apartment.

'Z' continued to be very weak and disoriented. I contacted the doctor who had performed the gastric bypasses because I had taken her to the local hospital once and they seemed at a loss to help her. The bypass doctor was great. He had her admitted to the hospital and ran a bunch of tests. She was malnourished so he ordered special liquid feedings that were used when her Crohn's disease flared-up. This is very special because the liquid is administered through a port-a-cath which is a device implanted in the patient's chest. I always heard of these feedings as TPN, I now know it means "total parenteral nutrition" which is used when a patient is unable to eat normally. He also ordered physical therapy to help her become ambulatory (able to walk) again.

'Z' would get better, but then get worse again as soon as the liquid feedings were discontinued. By December, the doctor recommended that he reverse her gastric bypass. She had her surgery on December 28 and spent her 50th birthday on 12/31/1999 in ICU. I was down the street in the Days Inn because the hospital was 50 miles from our home and I just can't drive that much with my back. 'Z' came home a few days later and began her recovery.

I have gotten verbose without intending to. The entire point of this is that my sister used her illness to control my behavior. She also treated me as handicapped. She even said to me "You do not realize how ill you are." It was her way to hold the power in our house. And I allowed it. My philosophy was "go along to get along". Any time there was conflict she would say "I know that any day now you are going to tell me to leave". Of course I would back off because it had been proven that she did not do well living apart from me. I would hear her tell people that she raised me, that my mother was too busy working to take care of us. She also claimed to have raised our brother who is a year older than her. I never would challenge her when she made these claims. I don't know if I was being gutless or noble.