Sunday, February 05, 2006

Excuses, excuses. More about me than you really wanted to know.

Well. Have I been all emotional and whiny this weekend or what? My posts haven't been typical for the past few days, and I want to apologize to you all for being such a weirdo lately.

The fact is, I don't feel very well. I feel really rotten, in fact. It's no excuse for dumping on everyone but it's the only excuse I have.

I've joked before about being one of Jerry's Kids. It's not wholly a joke. I really am.

When I was first diagn0sed, I was a mess. Fortunately, it was summertime and by the time school started, the worst of the manifestations and symptoms were gone, controlled by the medication. Then followed a regime of biopsies, physical therapy, and trips to all kinds of specialists.

Here's now it all started.

About twelve years ago I noticed a weird rash all over the tops of my hands. It was an UGLY red bumpy rash. I went to our family doctor and he sent me to a dermotologist.

The dermotologist took one look at my hands and told me I didn't need a dermotologist, I needed a rheumatologist, because I had a severe muscle disorder. She punctuated this sentence by reaching over and toppling me off the chair and telling me to get up. I did, but it wasn't a pretty sight.

I really liked this dermatologist. I think it was because she had baby spit-up on the shoulders of her scrubs, and a Metallica t-shirt showing above the 'V.'

I also really like my rheumatologist. He looks like Rick Moranis, and he's hilarious. Even when he's shooting cortisone under my kneecaps or slicing little growths off my legs, or telling me to slow down and rest more, he can always make me laugh.

That 'slow down and rest more' thing? I wasn't able to do that until my kids were out of school. I was going, going, going every night and every weekend. Now that the kids are grown and on their own, I have more than made up for lost time with that 'slow down and rest more' order. In fact, slugs have nothing on me, now. I'm a master rester.

Over the past twelve years, I've done pretty well. There were a few flareups but they were soon controlled. I hope this one does as well. Because, I've had another flareup.

In fact, I've relapsed, and I feel really crummy and grouchy and itchy and weak, I'm spotty and hideous, and I've been exploding like a volcano at the least little thing that annoys me. Plus, I can't seem to conjure up enough energy to even enjoy an evening out. I look like someone has put a lacy doily over me and sprinkled red sugar over it.

I have dermatomyositis. It's no fun. I hate it. When it's controlled, it's like nothing, but when it flares up, it's awful. It's flaring up. It's awful.

So, for the next few weeks, please take my grumbling with a grain of salt. There's never a real excuse for dumping on people, but this is the excuse I'm using tonight.

After the flareup is gone, I'll have to think of another excuse for being unpleasant. Oh, seriously, I try not to be unpleasant. I try to be nice, really I do.

Right now, though, I'm going to give it up and go to bed and forget it, because I'm so groggy and mean that my poor son and husband will be well rid of me till tomorrow. And maybe by then, the sleep will have helped change my obnoxious personality back to normal.

My normal personality IS better, isn't it? Scheisse, I hope so. I can't stand myself tonight.