Ocean

For a happy Friday, I am giving you this . . .

A trip to the beach. . . 

My new goal is to get used to the ocean. I made a realization since I've been here that I have a weird anxiety about the ocean. I can swim just fine, but I've never really been a fan of just swimming around in the ginormous ocean. I think I've been knocked around by the waves one too many times in my life.


But I live on Oahu now and it's probably going to be important for me to get used to that darn ocean. I see people, my husband being on of them, who just glide on into the water, totally carefree and looking simply in heaven. Then I get in the water and immediately get pummeled by vicious waves. Others might be floating along with sweet smiles on their faces while I'm flailing in the shallow water, being picked up and put down by the waves at their will. And the sand, oh the sand, it gets everywhere. And the water, it gets up my nose. Ick.


I think over time I have developed this weird dilemma. I have a great respect for the ocean. There are all sorts of creatures in there and the water seems to puke me out any time I try to get in, so I just don't like to mess with it. Aye.


Now my goal is to adjust and get used to swimming in the water. Each time I go to the beach I try to spend just a couple more minutes in the ocean. It seems to be working. Maybe some day I'll be like those awesome beach chicks who shimmy into the water with ease. For now, if there are large waves, I will cling for dear life on to whoever is closest, hopefully it's someone I know. Otherwise the waves might not be the only thing throwing me into the sand.


Any time you're missing the beach, or summertime, watch that little video. I hope it brings you a happy Friday! :-)

Island Worries

Some might say there are no worries in Islandville. I got 'em. And they have to do with RA. Ick.

The beach is a wonderful place. Sand, sun, ocean. Ahh. But this past weekend I had the weird moment of not wanting to put on my swim suit because . . .


I had a bruise from my Enbrel.


Oh shush. Quit your laughing.


Yeah, it might be small enough that no one else would notice, but to me it's like a big black and blue X on my stomach saying "I have arthritis, I had to give myself a shot last night, and it hurt really bad." Laugh all you want, but I know there are others out there who get that same feeling. It might seem like such a minimal thing to worry about, but it's a self conscious thing. I like to forget that I have arthritis as much as I can. But when it's staring at me in the mirror, I just want to cover up and hide. Even if it's just a little bruise.


Alright, if you're done laughing at me we'll move on . . .

The other beauty/ick of the beach is walking on that soft, gorgeous, powdery sand. Ah, how lovely it is to wiggle your toes in the floury, white, cloud-like sand. The problem is walking any distance in it. If you have ever tried running in the dry sand, you know how hard it works your legs. Your feet sink in with every step. When walking along the beach, my knee pain is doubled because of the extra effort it takes to move my legs. The farther I walk, the harder each step becomes. Add trying to keep up with your long legged spouse and it's even more difficult.


It's awful because I so love walking on the beach!

It's these situations that you don't think about until you're in the middle of it. And no one ever warns you about them. So here I am, with extra knee pain, a healing bruise from last Friday's shot, and I have to do it all over again today. Sigh. I guess if you're gonna be in pain, you might as well be somewhere beautiful.


I also could stop eating strawberry ice cream. That might help too.


But who wants to give up walks on the beach and ice cream? I know I don't!


So that's the end of my complaining. Because after all it's Friday. There are beaches to see and even if my knees kill me, it won't stop me from enjoying the wonders of the ocean. And I love ice cream.






Click here for this week's Achieve Clinical blog post!

To Do List

I no longer have that excuse that I'm too busy moving and unpacking to do the things I need to do. Sadly. It was a great excuse while it lasted, but now that we're settled it just doesn't really work. So now my job is to tackle that To-Do list that I've been avoiding.

Number one on the list, like I've mentioned a million times, is follow through with all the work needed to get the kitties here.

To do so, I have to stop finding cute pictures of those cats on the computer. Ack! Too cute!

Moving on . . .

Get all the bills organized and paid. Gross.

Moving on . . .

Writing. I was writing a lot before we left and though it seems like when you have nothing to do you would have plenty of time to write . . . but instead I've been practicing my skills at being a beach bum. That also goes along with the next item on the list which is to start the job hunt. But in order to really get that job search going, I have to figure out what I want to do. Aye.

Moving on . . .

And importantly on the list is to get myself back in that kitchen making delicious things to eat. Paleo things to eat. Yum. We've been so bad lately with our food choices, and moving causes us to choose eating at a restaurant as opposed to making something at home. Along the same lines I need to get better at shopping here on the island. As everyone I've ever met has mentioned to me, groceries are expensive here. The food tax is a bummer. But also the seasonal foods are different. I have to get used to cooking with different items than I'm normally used to. Start the learning process all over again.

For now, I'm attempting a delicious paleo dessert recipe, because, well, there just aren't enough sweets out there in this world! 

That Darn Diet

I've been thinking a lot lately about my diet and connections to arthritis. Often I wonder if my food choices really affect my joints the way I've been preaching they do, and when I really test myself, I know it's true. I've been making some bad food choices lately. There, I admit it. I haven't been sticking to the paleo plan, I've been eating whatever the hell I want, and I've been paying the price.

The stress of moving has it's place in all of this, but at this point things are winding down, getting settled, and there are only a few things left to really worry about. So the worries are becoming more of your everyday "gotta pay the bills and feed the cats" kind of thing opposed to the extremes of moving across an ocean. So I can take that out of the equation.


That leaves arthritis, food choices, exercise, and random tripping and falling to be blamed for those pesky knee pains and popping elbows.

When on track with Enbrel, I'm doing pretty good. Enbrel and Methotrexate seem to keep flares from taking over and things on an even level. But, and here's where my opinions on diet get involved, I notice that my lack of willpower to keep from eating all the dairy and grains in the world really does make a difference.

Sure, things could be going well on the medicine front, but if I let myself eat that bowl of ice cream, I'm not going to be happy. Well, that's a lie, I will be very happy and my belly will be smiling. But the next morning when I wake up and can hardly move, my joints won't be smiling that's for sure. I'll be achey. No matter the pain medicine I take during the day, I'm still going to be sore and tired. Drained from the extra energy that it takes just to move around. And that's no fun at all.

But when the food choices get better, when my belly is filled with grass-fed beef and fresh seasonal veggies instead of cheese and bread, my body will feel almost 100% better. I won't be as achey. I won't be as unwilling to get up and walk to the beach. I'll actually be able to walk on that beach, and maybe even take a swim in the ocean! Where I otherwise wouldn't have had the energy to pick myself up because of that burrito I had the other day, I can now see how throwing a frisbee around would be fun.

It all just proves to me what an impact this all has on my body. How nourishing foods really loosen up my joints and make me feel like I can do anything. It's night and day and it's amazing.

It just moves me to attempt, once again, to get you to give it a chance. Find out your reaction foods, maybe give the paleo diet a shot, and see how you feel after a month of eating differently. Maybe you won't have the same feelings I do about it as me. . .

. . . But if you do . . .  oh the possibilities!

Exhausting

It was an exhausting day yesterday. The lack of blog was due to this little guy . . .

Yesterday morning I got the call that every parent dreads . . .


The worst nightmare . . .


Niki ran away.


My little baby got a little too adventurous. And then got himself chased around by my mom's two dogs. And then went on a little adventure, giving his mother (me) a 24-hour panic attack. He was missing. He wouldn't come when called. He might have run underneath the deck. He might be hiding in the bushes. He might have run father away than the property. No one really knew, and it caused me to sob and cry "WHYYYYY?!"

 

My sweet little baby, who has never been outside before, doesn't know his surroundings at all, and let's face it, is a little on the slow-side. Will he know how to get back home? Will he hear Tesla crying from the window? Will he get picked up by an owl at night? Oh my sanity was nowhere to be seen.

I could only think of what life would be like without him. . . and I didn't like the look of it. I can hardly remember what life was like before he came around, before we adopted that little mangled, black and white kitten with giant feet. How unhappy Tesla was when she found out that we brought in a new little brother for her. But soon, they became friends. They love each other so much. Even now, when they are away from us and in a new, strange place, they still sleep snuggled together.

 

How could we all go on without the little guy?

After an entire day of my mother searching and calling him in between clients, my dad pulling up boards on the deck, tearing things apart to search for my little baby (I can't imagine what it looks like now, and I can't thank my dad enough for working so hard to find him, even when he's not much of a cat lover), both of them alerting the neighbors to our missing cat, me sitting in Hawaii crying my eyes out, the day turned to night. And after everything that they had done, we all just needed to wait and see if he would come in on his own.

The problem with Niki is that when he is scared, really scared, there is nothing that will get him to come out from his hiding place. It wouldn't have mattered if I was there, my voice would not lure him out. The only way to get him out of hiding is to either physically pluck him from his spot, or let him calm down and make his own way. And since no one had any idea where he was, that's what we had to do. Wait.

And luckily . . . eventually . . . it worked.


He was back. And I could finally sleep.


This whole, horrible event made me realize how much I love my family. I love my kitties and I love my parents for working so hard to take care of them. I can't imagine life without any of them.



And Niki, if you ever run away again, I will be so mad at you.

Let's Give It A Shot (Guest Blog by Philip Dunn)

The sign read “Whale Parking.”

I figured the hospital put it there for the children patients, being certain that there was a moniker reading “south level section A” or some such corporate designate for the adults. Lyda picked up on the theme as she read “Whale entrance, Giraffe section, Airplane elevators, Balloon stuff, etc”

“This is sort of like Disneyland.”  She said.

Lyda started to open a little.  The drive from Wenatchee had been a solemn.  Neither of us knew the gravity of our situation.  The clinic made an appointment for Lyda at the rheumatology department of Children’s Hospital in Seattle and we dutifully complied.  I, with my doubts, and Lyda, with her fears.

“Do you think they’ll have plastic chairs shaped like Hippo heads?”  I asked.

“. . .Or, maybe a water fountain shaped like an elephant’s trunk.”  She responded.

“. . . or . . . a soda machine shaped like a cow. . . and . . .”

. . . Maybe a bit over.

We tried to joke on the walk to the Whale entrance, but a van pulled between us and the door.   We watched while two women worked an unusual wheelchair out the side door.   I thought about offering help, but I didn’t know what to do and the women moved methodically, with experience.

It was a high back leather upholstered chair decked with all sorts of straps, hooks and holders.  A shelf for an oxygen container.  Pouches and tubes.  Stealing a glance inside the chair, I spied a little boy, maybe four-years-old, half-sitting, half-laying in a fetal position.  He wore seatbelts and a harness.  His head was strapped.  The two women talked as if discussing last week’s soap opera.  The blonde one looked exactly like the boy.

Lyda looked up at me.  I tried hard not to exude any more vibrations of helplessness.

“Whoa . . . That’s gotta be the Cadillac of all wheelchairs!”  I shakily said as we got more isolated.

Lyda navigated the building, after I put us on the wrong elevator.  (I didn’t think two elevators sitting side-by-side would go to two different places.) We entered the waiting area with ten minutes to fill out insurance forms and family history.  Then, we settled back to watch ‘The Powerpuff Girls’.  To my surprise, a girl called us to the examining room within moments.  I looked and saw it was one o’clock.

Good . . . we’ll miss rush hour.

After fifteen minutes of no-show doctor, I decided to educate Lyda on the art of doctor waiting.  I started rummaging through cupboards and drawers.  We scored some soft footies and rubber gloves, but just when I pulled out four or five of the cones used to look up your nose and in your ears, the door opened.

Dr. Sherry entered reading a file, and giving me time to discard the evidence.  Running shoes, blue jeans, tee shirt, white jacket. Dr. Sherry.  He sported a scraggy beard, long curly hair, and glasses.  Too skinny and short to be a troll, he looked like a hippy pixie.  I’d dealt with his type before.  They get you into trouble and cost money.  But they’re so damned funny, you have to keep them around.

Lyda laughed a lot as he examined.  I blabbed nervously throughout.  He told stories going from joint to joint.  I countered when I could.  He cracked jokes and hummed a Neil Young tune, then stopped after twenty minutes.

“Lyda, you have Pauciarticular Arthritis.  Have you ever heard of it?”

“No.”

“Well, I have, and I can take care of it!”  He stated.

Lyda’s welling eyes searched for me.  I could see her, but I wasn’t there.  I didn’t understand Pauciarticular and that is where I stopped . . . until I heard him say he would take care of it.

Dr. Sherry looked at me . . . 

“We have to drain the fluid in her knee and give her an injection.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Noooooooo!”  Shrieked Lyda.  “No shots!”  

She jerked her leg from his hand and curled on the table.

“Honey, we have to do this.”  I said.

“I don’t care.  I’m not getting a shot.”

“I understand the stress, so I’ll leave you alone and come back in a few minutes.” 

The doctor looked at me, nodded his head once then left.

The battle between my twelve-year-old and me progressed.  I knew I would give in to her wishes because I always did.  This time I thought I needed to try as hard as I could, It seemed crucial.

The doctor stuck his head in after twenty minutes.  We still battled, both crying and hugging.

. . .

Forty minutes later, we formed an agreement.  If the doctor would give her a pill sedative, she would get the shot . . . if she could hold my hand, twist, contort, claw, and bite me every bit as much as the treatment hurt.  On my way down to the pharmacy I began to wonder if I made such a good deal.

Another half hour for the Valium to work, then we proceeded.  Dr. Sherry used a red cocktail straw to mark where to place the needle, and the ordeal began.  I held Lyda still with my right hand.  She had her nails dug deep into the back of my left alternating from pulling apart my fingers to twisting them until all of us heard them crack.

Lyda still screamed after the doctor finished.  Tears flowed down her cheeks.  Tears and sweat poured from me.

Dr. Sherry patted me on the shoulder as he departed, saying, “We’ll do this again in thirty days.”

. . .

I looked at the clock as we left the building.  Ten to Five.  Rush hour for sure.  Lyda still whimpered, exhausted, as she fell into the passenger seat.  We met bumper to bumper traffic when leaving the hospital.  By that time, I felt so relieved and tired that I didn’t care.  It was almost better to see cars, lights, and people than to continue the frantic blur of events passing at high speeds.

I believe Lyda’s sedative finally took affect as we crossed the floating bridge.  She lay with the seat back and her head on a pillow beginning to nod.  Her hand fumbled its way to the console reaching for me.

“I love you, dad.”

She seemed to drift off when I put my hand on her’s.

“I know, sweetheart . . . I know.”

        

Click here to read more by Philip Dunn, and tune in for future RA Friends posts!

Missing Kitties

I miss these little rascals.


Things are finally starting to get settled and the last piece of the puzzle is the kitties.


I have to fill out paperwork, and more paperwork, and more paperwork. And then pay a whole bunch more money.


. . . Just to get to snuggle with this little bug when I'm lonely . . .

And this little bear . . .

Hmm. . . maybe I'll rethink that one . . .

That's all for now.

Aches and Pains

Moving is a big pain. It's exhausting and stressful to start all over again. And for those of us with autoimmune diseases, we feel it harder than most.


Over the years, I've noticed that when I stress it not only affects the little sanity I have, but it also affects my joints. Joint pain and low energy are always present when life gets crazy. Funny enough, I often don't realize how mentally stressed I am until I take time to notice how I feel physically. Sounds a little weird, right? But often when I have any sort of joint pain Mitch and I sit and talk about what's going on in our lives - work, money, family, diet change, anything that could possibly be the culprit. Often we figure it's most likely a combination.


Diet change . . . that's something that's kind of a bummer when it comes to moving. It's hard to stick to your strict food preferences when you're in flux. Not to mention, when we were sick with that cold, all you want is food that is comforting. (That cold is still holding on for dear life. I've heard from multiple people that it lasts for over a month!) So between moving and clinging on to life, our paleo diet was sacrificed, and let me tell you, I can tell the difference.


My right knee pain the last week has been making me wonder if it's from the stress of moving and unpacking, or from the fact that grains and dairy have been hanging around for a while. Again, it's probably a combination.


So what do you do? Try to relax when your home is in shambles? Force yourself to stop desiring ice cream on a hot day? I guess so . . . wish me luck.

I Forgot . . .

So yesterday I went on and on about my cold and I let you know that I arrived in Hawaii somewhat in one piece. Sort of.


Well since I was so excited to be on the internet, and to complain about this damned cold, I forgot to fill you in on some interesting events of the last few days.

Let's begin with the flight that brought us from Bellingham to Seattle. Nothing spectacular, just a cute little WSU plane that flew us in, Mitch's Alama Mater. (Is that the right wording? I don't even know, I'm an idiot sometimes.)

Wish they offered cocktails at 7 in the morning, but whatever.


Another important, but sad moment in the trip, was the destruction of my faithful laptop.

Because Alaska Airlines made me use their "A La Carte" system, my laptop, which was packed in my suitcase for carry-on use only, was smashed. Luckily, the people at Alaska are so nice that they are going to pay to either have it fixed or replaced. (We'll find out how nice they are if they stick to their word.) But that means for now I am using Mitch's gargantuan laptop. (It's huge compared to my sweet little Eee netbook.) This was one of the few times I've ever been sad for an inanimate object.

I would show you pictures of the new apartment, but it's in shambles at the moment. Literally, boxes stacked in multiple places, crap thrown around willy-nilly, and just general chaos. Here's a preview. . .

Yikes. And that's after two days of work.


For now, I'll just show you a picture of the beautiful beach we live on.

Ahh. Lovely.


We also took a trip down to Koolina Resort, on the other side of the island, near where Mitch works. There are these four manmade lagoons, absolutely beautiful and awesome to swim in. I'm not a big ocean swimmer, but it's just so nice out there I had to enjoy it. (And I better get used to ocean swimming, I guess.)

They recently opened up a Disney hotel there, so if you gots you some kids, bring 'em on over.


We also snuck over to see something really cool . . .

The ship from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

It's dry-docked - looks like they might be doing some updates to it, maybe. I'm assuming they'll have it open for viewing soon since they just opened that Disney resort. Who knows, though. Anyone know about it? It was pretty dang cool to see, though.


We also drove by Mitch's new office.

And we laughed at a truck we were following on the highway.

(I'm sure those 8 cyllinders don't hurt, either.)


I also spent a good amount of time the last few days reading books on my Kindle. Let me just say, that little piece of technology saved me from going insane while I sat alone during the day for two weeks. I managed to finish three different books, one of which being The Help. I loved it, and saw the movie right after I finished. Also liked the movie.

Other than that we've just been enjoying the many spleandor things around us. Like giant, green mountains. And the beach. Oh the beach! But for now, instead of going to the beach, I must finish unpacking. Happy Friday, friends!

Hello Again!

I'm back, people! I'm alive! Did you miss me? Oh man did I ever miss you!

I've been MIA for the last two weeks (WHAT?! TWO WEEKS?! ACK!) because of the move. We got here on the 1st and it wasn't until an hour ago that I had a reliable internet connection. That's two whole weeks without the internet, which is a terrible, terrible thing for someone who blogs and emails, networks and connects. I'm not gonna lie, I went a little crazy. 

Anyway  . . .

We made it! We now no longer live in the Pacific Northwest, we live in the state of Hawaii. Crazy, huh? That's the only word I've really used to describe it so far. Just a little crazy. 

We're in our new little apartment, which is surprisingly only about a block from Kailua Beach.  Our furniture just arrived yesterday (it made that ship-ride across the Pacific Ocean safely), so for the first couple of weeks we lived in our empty apartment with nothing but an inflatable bed, a couple of folding chairs, and a few items that we hoped would get us through that time alive. It was definitely "roughing it." Let's just say I'm extremely happy that we have furniture again, and let me tell you why . . . 

As wonderful it is to live in a place so many people consider to be paradise, it's very difficult to live in paradise when you have nothing. Well, that's not true, I have a lot of wonderful things. A wonderful husband, a roof over my head, a little gecko visitor every night whom I named Jerome. 

But with my wonderful husband at work all day and the roof over my head being just about the only thing I had to look at inside, things got a little difficult. Especially with the horrible cold I caught.

Yeah, the worst cold I've had in a long time.

You know what it's like to have a wicked cold and no couch to sit on and no television to watch or internet to bum around on? It sucks.

So I have this cold (it's still hanging on with a vengeance), and it's a bummer, but what I keep hearing is ". . . but you're in Hawaii! You have no right to complain!" 

. . . Well that's the biggest load of bull I've ever heard. Because even in Hawaii, people get colds. And their arthritis flares up. And they can't figure out how to cook a delicious meal when it's so dang hot in their kitchen. And they get homesick for their family and friends and sweet little kitties.

And because of that, I will continue to blog. And I will continue to tell you about the daily shenanigans. And I will learn to stop beginning sentences with the word "and".

And good day!