Normal Person vs. Hypochondriac: "The Neckache"

First, let me apologize for the quality of the drawings. Clearly, I am not an artist. Now that we've established that, here's a delightful little slice of my life as a hypochondriac with MS. In case it's not entirely clear from the drawings below, a Normal Person is featured on the left. Hypochondriac resides on the right. I call this one "The Neckache." Enjoy! (If you click on the pictures, you can see them in all their fantastic detail.)

 

And Now for Something Completely Different

What ever could I mean? That Capt. Nap has NOT done something gross? That I've expanded my culinary horizons from Tofurkey into something even MORE hideous? That I have decided to stop sharing embarrassing life and/or pet-related events and focus my energies on fundraising for a cure to MS? No, no, and no. Had you all worried there for a minute, didn't I? Although, let me warn you, this post contains some things that have made me happy over the last several days. (I realize this doesn't always make for the most entertaining reading, but don't you fret; I'm bound to eat something nasty or do something embarrassing or witness one of my cats do something gross in short order, and I'll certainly post about it.)

In part, I'm inspired by a new blogging "friend." (At the risk of seeming like a creepy blog-stalker, I feel as if the people I've connected with through this blog are part of a new circle of friends.) If you haven't already, check out Stumbling in Flats. The author regularly cracks me up, but in her most recent post she talked about the delightful way a disease like MS (or any other, I expect) can lead someone occasionally to wallow in bad feelings.

I thought: do I wallow? (Yes.) But why? Aren't good things happening to me? (Okay, yes.) Should I post about good things and not just crappy things? (ALL RIGHT! I guess so. Jeez, get off my back already!)

So here goes:

Arts and Less Crap, Plus Being a Demanding Customer Pays Off! 

In case you've forgotten, I made a...well, a thing called "Ugh" in the post "Arts and Crap." In spite of being temporarily crushed by the humiliation that was "Ugh," I forged ahead and tried something new. Two things, actually. This time, though, I had the sense to stay away from bits coated in glitter pasted on wooden boards. These (called "Rather Cute" and "Not So Crappy") are pictured below:

Rather Cute

Not So Crappy

In "Not So Crappy" please note the subtle application of glitter. I learned my lesson from "Ugh." Both items have one of my favorite things on them: birds.

So, all in all, these made me happy. 

The other thing that made me happy was an awesome manager named Juan at a local restaurant. I explained to him that I was on the Swank Diet (not without some cringing; I hate to cause a scene of any kind). He could not have been nicer. He went over some options with me that didn't have butter, and this is what I got:

It isn't Tofurkey, but it will do.

It was a lovely grilled salmon with lemon oil, along with some spinach and broccolini, also in lemon oil. Guess what's now on my shopping list? Yes, lemon oil. (Sorry for the photo quality; I was so busy trying to stuff it in my face, that I didn't want to take too long with the damn picture.)

So, these are some recent things that have made me feel good. Next post: something embarrassing, I promise.

Ms. CrankyPants

Tofurkey Round 2: A Hideous Mistake?

Call me a glutton for punishment, but god help me, I did it again: I sampled another item from the Tofurkey line of vegan treats. You may recall my first experiment, detailed in the post "What the *(&$ Did I Just Eat?" If you haven't read it, and you can't tell from the title, I'll give you a clue: it sucked. So, you may be wondering (and rightly so), why on earth would I try Tofurkey AGAIN?

That's precisely what I was asking myself last night, as I hauled out the Tofurkey "Italian sausage," which I was planning to add to pasta sauce. Before you ask, yes, I am on medication that may affect my judgment. Heavily medicated or not, as I investigated the package I thought, "Looks harmless. And it can't POSSIBLY be as bad as the pizza, right?" (See blog post "The Beginning" for my thoughts on people who make foolish proclamations such as the preceding.)

Hey! This doesn't look too bad! 

I wasn't a total idiot. I hadn't entirely forgotten the horror that was the pizza. This time I was planning to disguise the Gourmet, Meatless, and Delicious! "sausage" with onion, spinach, and lots and lots of tomato sauce. First step: slice the "sausage." It was starting to look a bit less appealing at this stage:

Oh, dear. Maybe this was a mistake.

The "sausage" was resting in an off-putting puddle of orange-y oil, and as I sliced it I detected a texture I had to force myself not to think about. Let's just hurry past this part and get this thing in the pan, my judgment-impaired, medicated self said to myself. Once it's covered with onions and spinach and sauce, it will be better. Into the pan with you, Mr. Sausage Swimming in Orange Oil! Now that does, indeed, look better:

If you squint a bit, it actually resembles sausage! 

Next step was to stir in some spinach and add some tomato sauce, which I did before I even dared to try the concoction. Gingerly, I raised a spoonful to my mouth and...it wasn't bad. It would fool no one who has eaten gen-u-wine Italian sausage, but it definitely was not bad. In fact, I ate the entire plate, as did my husband. So, in my book, this recipe counts as a Swank Success!

Today, I'm hitting the store to get some items for a new Swank recipe, so be looking for a report soon.

Until then!
Ms. CrankyPants

What the Neurologist Said...

Or, rather, what he DIDN'T say. See, he wasn't even at the appointment! I had the first one of the day (8:40 am), which meant my poor mom and I got up at the crack of dawn to be sure we made it to D.C. in time.

After two large cups of coffee (which I was regretting about halfway to my appointment, IF you know what I mean), we hit the road and got there in plenty of time. Oh, the vagaries of D.C.-area traffic. Had we slept longer and left later, no doubt we'd have been late. But I digress.

The nurse practitioner (NP) led us to Dr. M's office, where she informed us that he wasn't in yet and that she'd get started. Well, I'll spoil the ending for you right now: he never arrived. How nice to have a job where you can decide whether to show up... At any rate, the NP was very competent and thorough. She led me through the same drills that Dr. M usually does: had me walk in a straight line, tested my reflexes, jabbed me in various appendages to see if I could feel things. She asked a ton of questions and, all in all, it wasn't that much different from seeing Dr. M. Then it was time to look at the MRI. This was the part I had dreaded and why my stomach had been roiling.

The computer monitor was facing away from me as she loaded the disc. She was quiet. All I heard was whirring. She said, "Hmmm, that's weird..." I prepared to (a) faint or (b) bolt from the room. Then she said, "Something's wrong with this computer; the images aren't loading."

Now, a normal person would think, "Oh, what a crappy computer." I thought, "Oh, the images probably are so riddled with white blobs [both MS and not MS] that they're slowing down the computer."

Sigh. It's truly exhausting. After what felt like an eternity, during which she kept murmuring and the computer kept whirring, and I kept feeling like I was going to vomit, the images loaded. She scrolled through them and noted...one or two tiny spots, and none of them enhancing, which means none of them are active (for a more scientific explanation, please consult someone smarter than I am).

"Nothing to worry about!" she announced cheerfully.

I wasn't about to press her. She did point out that I have some bulging discs in my neck (here I thought the pain in my neck was my husband - hahahahahaha! Folks, I'm here all week!).

For the persistent and sometimes debilitating  fatigue, she prescribed Provigil, which my insurance promptly refused to pay for. Out of pocket, it would be $600 for 30 tabs. Ironically, I was too damn tired to get on the phone and start arguing with them. That's a battle for another day.

And what about Swank? She, as I had expected, was skeptical about the benefits as they relate to MS, but said as long as I'm getting enough protein and vitamins, there was no harm in trying it.

So, off I go for my morning's Swanky breakfast. For those keeping track: 42 shredded wheat biscuits and 3/4 C almond milk, and a tall glass of OJ.

I Cheated on Dr. Swank

Oh, the shame. But let me quickly point out that this was entirely our neighbors' fault. That's right, I will accept zero responsibility for shoveling in yummy pasta with homemade sauce (only the teeniest bit of meat), half a cannoli, and to-die-for garlic bread. Oh, yeah, and some salad. How are our neighbors to blame for forcing me to stray from Dr. S? Well, because they invited us over. And I HAD to eat what they made, right? Yes. Yes, I did. So there.

Since then, I've been Swanking, baby! I made the Skewered Scallops last night in the broiler. They had a nice mustardy/honey baste and were really, really good and easy. Tonight my mom is coming over, so she can accompany me to the neurologist's appointment tomorrow, and I'm busting out a classic (in that I've made it once): Baked Fish au Chablis. Another easy, tasty dinner.

Now about that appointment: I'm nervous. As a hypochondriac I hate going to the doctor perhaps even more than "ordinary" people do. I've been feeling kind of sh!tty for a few days, in fact, but I didn't figure out what was bothering me until today when I talked to someone about why I was down. It probably sounds very silly to someone who doesn't know where I'm coming from, but I hate looking at the MRI of my brain and cervical spine with the neuro. He has already gotten the written report, but tomorrow will be the first time he sees the images. I will watch him, trying to gauge his response. Inside I'm a nervous wreck, anticipating a slight intake of breath on his part and a, "Hmmmm, I don't like the looks of THAT," as he points to a whitish blob on the screen. From there my imagination goes completely wild, and if you can think of a horrible disease (besides MS), I'm way ahead of you. Not only do I *have* it, but I've had it for years (it was missed or misdiagnosed on earlier MRIs).

In short, that's why my wonderful mom is going with me -- for moral support. My husband usually has this delightful job, but he's started working at a new place, so he doesn't have enough time off accumulated. I'll get him next time!

Arts and Crap

I told myself I wasn't going to do it. Wasn't exposing Capt. Nap's, er, hygiene problems embarrassing enough? Apparently not, for now I am going to show you something. Something embarrassing. Something I made. But first, let's play a game. Look at the two pictures below. Can YOU tell which one was made by a professional and which was made by yours truly?

Lovely Fairy

Ugh

Take your time, this is tricky. On the first item, which I call "Lovely Fairies," note the pretty ribbon, and the subtle glittery effect. Now examine the second one, which I call "Ugh." Would you believe it was inspired by the one above? Yes, indeed. Note the cheap, bent, plastic hanger instead of the ribbon. Also, observe if you will the heavyhanded application of glitter, which accidentally covers the words on the banner "Forget Me Not." See also the thick tacky birds stuck on the bottom (which kept popping off). What you can't see too well, because the pictures are so small, is the wrinkling of the yellow flower paper that I (oops, or the "pro") stuck on as a background, because I/the pro misjudged the size that paper should be cut to. 

Give up? Okay, okay, I'll tell you. *I* made "Ugh" and someone talented made "Lovely Fairies." Friends and relatives, you can breathe a sigh of relief. I'm not planning to give "Ugh" to anyone as a birthday gift. Once I have attained a level of competence, however, you never know...

What the *&$^ Did I Just Eat?

Tofu or not tofu? That was the question as I stood (yet again) in Wegmans, looking in great dismay at my pizza choices. For Swank dieters, choices are slim. At the recommendation of a friend, I bought one Amy's no-cheese, roasted vegetable pizza and (at the recommendation of no one) a Tofurkey pepperoni pizza. Oh, the desperation one feels when one is not allowed to eat real pizza.

Last night I decided it was high time to have pizza!! Yay! The picture on the box, incredibly, did not dissuade me:

No, I do not know how to rotate this damn picture.

"No matter!" I thought gaily. "The picture is probably bad!"

Besides, there were many encouraging and cheery proclamations on the box, such as: "Meatless and delicious!" and "Cheese that actually melts!" (This one should have been sufficient warning.)

Buoyed by the idea that, yes, I might be able to Swank AND eat delicious pizza, I scampered off to give myself my Copaxone injection while my husband did the honors and stuffed the Tofurkey in the oven.

I was upstairs, gleefully giving myself a shot, when the aroma of -- could it be? -- pepperoni wafted my way.

"Mmmmm," I thought. "This is going to be GREAT!"

I heard my husband rustling around in the kitchen, removing the pizza from the oven. I trotted down to make sure he didn't take the biggest pieces...and froze when I saw the pizza. It would have been handy to have seen it before it went in the oven; I might have been better prepared for the horror that now sat atop it. In short, the picture on the box was good. What was sitting on the pizza pan looked bad: hamster droppings pepperoni tofu bits in an alarming shade of red, resting on a circle of cardboard  crust with tiny flecks of "cheese." (To be fair, yes, the cheese flecks had melted into small whitish globs scattered here and there among the bright red bristling chunks of tofu.)

I felt a surge of nausea and disappointment. I'm embarrassed to say I lurched out of the kitchen and flung myself into a chair in the living room like a bratty child. I didn't weep or even curse, I just hunched there, quietly lamenting the fact that, for me and for the foreseeable future, great or even good pizza was not to be.

Soon, hunger got the better of me. After insisting my husband try it first, I glumly sat down to eat my half. (I also insisted HE take the biggest pieces!) In sum: it turned out to be edible. It sort of tasted like pepperoni pizza. Some tips, if anyone actually is considering trying this:

1. Eat it while it's hot (for me, this required reheating, after my sulking-in-the-chair episode). 
2. Don't LOOK at it while you're eating it.
3. Repeat in your head as necessary: it's much less disgusting than real pepperoni or sausage, which is made up of snouts and tails and who the hell knows what, exactly? 
4. Eat a large piece of angel food cake afterward. It helps remove the taste. Also, brush and floss and use liberal amounts of mouthwash.

It will likely be a while before I return to the Tofurkey pizza, but as the weeks of no pizza stretch on and on, I may decide it wasn't that bad after all. Next time, though, I'll try the Amy's. Stay tuned!