proba tive org archives

Not a good night. The intense itching, especially of my palms and the soles of my feet, kept waking me.

Stopping the naproxen doesn't seem to have had any immediate affect on my symptoms. Hm... perhaps I was being too optimistic (again) thinking it would be that simple.

Yellower and yellower. When is it time to go to emerg? This is not a question to be answered whilst I am sleep deprived.

I went looking for some solutions to calm the itch on the wonderful wide web and turned up an edifying article about the possible causes and remedies. The only thing that is reputed to stop the itch is yet another prescription drug that I'll have to discuss with my doc when she calls to let me know what mysteries the bloodwork has solved.

Hopefully that call will come soon. Limbo at this point is definitely not helpful: I'm tired, stressed and unable to stop the ITCH! I've tried Benadryl last night, but not much noticeable relief. Sort of understandable. For now, I'll try some sunburn type remedy. If I can get it turned down just a notch, maybe I can sleep or read to distract myself.

Whilst I was enjoying an itch break and managed to catch a few z's, my doctor called to tell me that elevated levels of bilirubin have been confirmed.

Still to come: Hepatitis test results. Can't think where I might have picked it up, though. It's not like my life has been risk-prone lately! Hoping for a more mechanical (and fixable) culprit.

No pain meds allowed starting now and Celexa reduced by half and discontinued shortly. An ultrasound has been scheduled for tomorrow morning. Luckily noone else (you, for instance!) has to go through this withdrawal of mood and pain support with me.

Just to balance out the nasty health news coverage:

The abused African violets have survived and one has bloomed post-incident. (In fact, a baby violet was found in the mess and has its own little pot now!)

The new landlords arrived at my door just now with a replacement space heater for me. (I'd mentioned in the letter that accompanied the rent last night that mine has expired.)

The heating system for the building will be adjusted to provide a consistent level of heat sometime tomorrow, too.

It's looking like I'll have to find another use for the energy I've been expending dealing with irrational landlords. Like getting well, huh?

The alphabetic Hepatitis tests came back negative/normal. Can't really say I don't have Hepatitis though, since it really means 'liver disease' and my liver (or pancreas or both) is certainly not at ease.

More blood tests on Monday and the ultrasound results should be back by then, too.

But I am almost doctor prescribed chemical free now. Not much protecting the world from the REAL me, he he he.

Several weeks ago I told my psychiatrist I wanted to get off the Celexa. The weaning process had started just before this yellow episode. No sense getting a month's supply to stop taking it in another few days. Perfect timing, so, no more anti-depressants.

Too bad it's not Halloween: jaundiced eyes would lend a cool realism to a demonic ghoul costume.

Remember that question about what I'd do with my energy now that I have a reasonable landlord? I have to stop giving the universe such perfect setups. I am busy learning all kinds of things about bilirubin and impaired liver related itching in an attempt to get the energy budget back in the black.

Dixie looked alarmed by the many leaps I made from bed cursing the damned itch during the night. I tried everything: sunburn lotion, letting cool air into the room (which left me scratching my goosebumps), rubbing alcohol, benadryl. These were semi-useful except for the soles of my feet so finally: a cold pack at my feet. I think I may have slept a whole hour.

During one of my out of bed spells, I searched the web again and found a couple of interesting things one of which is that light breaks down bilirubin which may explain why it's worse at night. Maybe. I'll try leaving my light on tonight. Might help. Also, that epsom salt soaks may help release the toxins that my skin is accumulating and provide some itch relief. Another thing to try.

So, no sleep and no anti-depressants. This is going to be interesting. I don't recommend this as a weight loss strategy, but I am decidely not hungry as often and not able to comfortably consume as much food as usual.

In the itch department, last night and today have been an improvement. Could be a number of things to thank for that. Like the cessation of the drugs suspected of contributing to, if not actually causing, the whole bad liver thing. Or the fact that I'm getting used to it and learning to head it off at the pass.

Last night I was determined to sleep, so I had a bath with epsom salts, drank some tea (which I'd noticed over the past few days seemed to help) and took the blankets off the bed because accumulated warmth seemed to activate it. When it tried to attack, I refused to recognize it as itch. I just told myself whatever it was it would go away in a minute. I was pretty exhausted, too and finally slept for the whole night. Yay.

Today's been so-so. I didn't feel like going outside to walk (it's rained most of the day) and after hanging around reading and waiting for phone calls I'd had enough of looking at the chaos in my apartment - a reorganization that has been in a bit of a gridlock awaiting energy. So I took two loads of shelves and boxes up to storage.

I think it was well within the range of "just don't over do it" that I was advised when I asked if I should be resting or active while I await more diagnostics. I'm not in too much pain, either. Tomorrow will tell the tale. I did want to be tired enough to sleep again, though.

I dropped by my GP's office right after I'd had my blood sucked again and received the news that the ultrasound showed normalcy in and around liver and spleen. No blockages. Today's blood tests are to see how my liver is functioning.

I am still yellow, but looking better according to the pharmacy staff. Yep. I am on Atarax now to help calm the itching. A good thing, since last night was another all itch, all night night for me.

I did mention that warmth activates the itch demon, right? Well, this weekend the weather regressed to winter, complete with snow. The heating system appears not to have been made any healthier (yet?) and provided lots more heat than I found comfortable.

At the moment, it is 65 F here in my little home office and the rads are almost cold. I attribute this to two things: the latency the system has in responding to changed external temperatures (far more than normal I believe) and the current location of the thermostat - inside a middle floor apartment. DOH!

I managed to catch a few hours sleep after the sun came up. My day really didn't start until about noon. I did take advantage of the sunny atmospheric conditions and walked about the downtown area after my visits to the medical folks. It was cool enough that my winter jacket turned out to be a good idea, but nice and bright and hopefully bilirubin destroying.

Tonight I will sleep.

Last night I only managed to snag 4 hours' sleep. While it is twice what I was getting, it's not enough to keep me going all day. The newest chemicals have me less itchy when taken in a large enough dose, but then I may as well be asleep because the grogginess takes over. What's a mother to do?

Speaking of which: I do hope the career games are coming to a close, having been burned one time too many myself over the past few years. Keep smiling, buddy.

Tonight's task is figuring out how to engineer 6 hours of sleep.

Canada blanks the US to take gold. That'd be the Canadian Women's Hockey Team.

With a final score of 2-0, it would have been worth seeing. It wasn't broadcast on any of the (granted, non-cable) channels I get half of which carry Hockey Night In Canada at least once a week. But not once have I seen a women's hockey game there. Funny that.

Time for some equal air time, don't ya think? As a fan of high-calibre and less violent hockey, something I don't think Canadian TV has seen since the good old days, I might even be persuaded to watch the game again. But only if they get new theme music. The current (men's) hockey broadcast theme brings back unpleasant memories for me.

I am up, but not especially alert. It's a trade-off: itch free or alert. I managed the targeted sleep in hours, but it wasn't without a brief interruption. Closer and closer.

This is the yellow/itch condition report. There will be fewer of these now, unless something unexpected occurs.

I went to my doc's office today to see what the tests from Monday had revealed. Short answer - my liver functions are improving. The expectation at the moment is that it may take several months for complete recovery.

Oh fucking joy. If you've detected an attitude, you got THAT right.

The long story will explain...

I was (and still am) fatigued, woozy, frustrated and worried about what my symptoms actually mean(t). Subjectively, I felt worse today than the previous two days, so when the assistant revealed simply that the tests showed 'some improvement' but no, they didn't really know what was causing my problem, and handed me bloodwork requisitions for 4 weeks of retesting as if I should be placated, I was certainly NOT.

The dissatisfaction was increased by my understanding that my doc would be out of the office for 2 weeks starting Friday. To add to my negative emotional state, the information described was eeked out with an attitude that I should already know these things and therefore not be worrying my little head about it. You know: let the doctor worry about the details.

I am used to and expect to continue being treated as an interested party in my health care, complete with disclosure and explanations as things are found/eliminated from the picture. So, I was pretty distressed by the end of my exchange with the assistant. And so exhausted that I was on the verge of tears.

She came back to tell me that the doc couldn't talk to me right then, but if I came back in a bit, she'd have time then. I explained to the assistant (and to the doctor when I did get to see her) that I didn't come there expecting to see her, just to get some information. I handed her my list of questions and we chatted.

First about the problems I was experiencing with her office over the past few weeks - not getting phone calls I was told to expect; not being told that Rx's were called in for me when it was questionable whether they would be. And then that, in combination with her anticipated absence, I didn't want to wait again and have no information, hence my unscheduled visit to get some answers. (One of the questions was: who do I consult and who would be checking on my blood tests while my doc is away? Not as simple as one would think, at least not for this particular office.)

We got through that and then I explained that I'd rather know exactly what was causing my liver problems then just being relieved that things seemed to be getting better and stop looking for information. I explained why - I have done some research: I do have herpes and the virus can be implicated in hepatitis, is not a simple thing to combat and can be fatal. We didn't even get into the big C that could be the cause.

It was not comforting to have my GP tell me she'd never heard of herpes affecting the liver. I have to think that if anyone was going to be seeing this, it would be a hepatologist, not my GP who has only had two other patients with hepatitis in her career.

In her opinion, the medications were probably the underlying factor, since I was improving now that I'd stopped everything. I countered that if there were other factors, the meds could possibly have been magnifying the effect, and that stopping the meds would provide some improvement without changing the root cause. And I also pointed out that for the past year she had been experimenting with my hormones and I didn't want to continue that approach to my health.

It was a long, but productive exchange. I am only slightly mollified that she did ask me to look into the herpes connection and let her know what I found out. If I hadn't been so tired, I may have remembered to take the following (from www.medscape.com) Herpes Simplex Type 2 Causing Fulminant Hepatic Failure But then again, I thought I was just going to get answers not provide them.

I am, according to my doctor a 'difficult patient'. Not a bad patient, just difficult. Why? Because I am usually one step ahead of them (her words) and because I come in with several complaints at once. I had continuously complained of fatigue, along with various other non-specific symptoms for the past 3 months but because I also discussed with her my neck and other issues it was difficult (for her) to figure out the main problems.

Not in her favour, but ignored for the time being, at this point, she said that vague tiredness and feeling like shit were sometimes emotionally induced. Don't go there with me - I have been improving immensely in that department and am still under mental health care.

I pointed out that the reason for my having more than one issue to discuss at an appointment was the fact that I cannot get in to see her when one particular problem is of concern - it takes weeks to get in and by then several may have come to mind or become more urgent. She conceded that the waiting time for an appointment has been a problem since she came back from leave in January.

I also told her that I had never been this ill for this long in my entire life. I didn't mention that I'd learned that I needed to be active in figuring out my own problems specifically because I have had many encounters with medical practitioners that have proven to be, in the least case, annoying and time wasting or, in the worst case, potentially life threatening.

I made no apologies for being informed and concerned and ill. We parted on good terms with an increased understanding of each other and the medical problems that are rampant in Ontario. No excuses, just acknowledging the reality that things are getting worse instead of better. (Oh, and she's only going to be away for a couple of days. Communications in her office really need some attention.)

I promised that when I get my neck sorted out (and this liver thing) she'd really hardly ever see me - honest. Whole years have gone by in my life where no doctoring was necessary. Well, if we forget all the ones that were necessary solely due to my femaleness - but that's another long long story.

I want to go there again and I plan to exceed the expectations of several months to recover by at least 2.

One of the things my doc and I talked about yesterday was the prescribed dosage of Atarax and the fact that I had found it to be insufficient to help me sleep a whole night. The original Rx was 10 mg tabs, 1-2 tabs max 3 times a day. Also that the drug was supposed to reduce anxiety as well as address the itch problem and that was one of the reasons she'd Rx'd it.

My experience was slightly reduced itch but mainly wooziness and I ended up sleeping a lot, although most of it not at night and not in one go. When the PDR was consulted, it turned out the dosage I'd been prescribed was that for children (itching due to chicken pox, etc). The wooziness had kept me from increasing the dose on my own. (BTW, the first opportunity I'd been given to discuss this medication with her was yesterday. And then only because I was unsettled enough by my mushroom status to get in her face so to speak.)

It was agreed that I could increase the dosage significantly without worry. And I did so last night, taking 3 of these little pink babies before bed. (I was rather agitated and unable to relax until I went for a walk to Tim Horton's, got a couple of donuts and had a good cry on the way back.)

The downside: I didn't get to sleep until 1 am. The upside: I slept for 5 straight hours.

Earlier this morning I took an (one) Atarax because I was feeling slightly itchy and now feel a bit groggy and still itchy. I am afraid to have a 'nap' because I may sleep too long: opportunely, I have a psych appt at noon today. Maybe I'll set the alarm.

[see continued... link for more about diet - another topic that hadn't been given any air time since the discovery of my liver impairment last week.]

Originally I'd posed the question of what I should or shouldn't be eating to the assistant when she'd called on Friday (to tell me it wasn't Hep A through Z and that I was to have another blood test on Monday). Her response: eat things that are easy to digest. I wasn't sure what this meant, since I'd never had any problem digesting anything. I asked a couple of "can I have this?" type questions and was left with the statement that yogurt was good, pasta was okay, cheese on the pasta should be limited.

I have now been instructed to eat what appeals to me (which includes donuts now!), avoiding fatty foods (not a problem), lots of clear fluids, not too much caffeine (no problem) but then also not too much protein. This last thing I am not sure of - my body has preferred the high protein, low carbs prescribed as the diet of choice when I was diagnosed with hypoglycemia in adolescence. My doc wasn't sure about my vitamins and supplements being continued. This, even though I'd told her everything I was taking back when she noticed my yellowness and she hadn't had anything to say about them then. I'm not keen on stopping them, so they remain part of my regimen.

Seems to me that if my body's not processing food optimally, nutritional support is a good idea. It also seems to me that it very likely is this support that has enabled the fairly quick recovery of liver function. But that's just my opinion.)

I am continually amazed at the influence of the Christian church in the face of the propaganda of Canadian multiculturalism. If you are right now getting your hackles up in aghast, consider that we as a multicultural society do not have any government enforced restrictions on normal activities in honour of non-Christian religious holidays. At least I cannot think of any.

Why is that, do you think? A practical answer is that we'd be closed for business more often than not if we honoured all faiths in this manner. But the real answer is that we are not truly multicultural at all. Canada is a Christian establishment that condescends to acknowledge the existence and private practice of other religions. She has abandoned her egalitarian ideals, continuing to enforce legislation of public observance of the establishment's religious holidays rather than descending from the pedestal and contenting herself with private religious observances, those being perfectly adequate for those others.

This goes as far as closing government offices and schools even though they serve and are supported by tax payers of all religious persuasions. Churches, interestingly, are exempt from this support obligation.

Just to add to the insanity, the application of "thou shalt not shop" is rather whimsical. In the city in which I find myself today: one can buy a book from a small used bookstore, but not from Chapters; one can rent movies or view one in the theatre, but can't get things from the hardware store, Wal-Mart, the Beer Store or liquor stores, ...; one may purchase gasoline, but may not bank except via the instant tellers; one can eat at a restaurant, but cannot purchase food in a grocery store to prepare at home (even the 24 hour A&P is closed). Which isn't to say you can't buy any unprepared food - you can go to the local convenience store and get ripped off on junk food. Forget fresh vegetables though. I'll bet you can wash your clothes at the laundromat, too.

So, the rule seems to be that as long as the government is not involved (liquor stores are government operated in Canada) and/or your business employs a few people: you can be open. Read: you're not going to make a blasphemous amount of money nor prevent numerous employees from observing this Christian day. No matter that this causes inconvenience to those who do not share that faith. To add insult to injury, if you are a non-Christian business owner you are still required to pay all your employees, Christian or not, for not working today. As an employee, you'll have to take a day off without pay if you want to observe a non-sanctioned religious holiday.

Stuff like this makes me wonder about us. Most things being closed just gives me more time to ponder the hypocrisy. For that matter, how did the Christian faith come to equate shopping or doing business with a lack of respect for religious holidays? If faithful people have to be forced into observance, by the government no less, what does that say about their faith in the first place? And, if shopping and doing business are so terribly abhorrent to the faithful, why is this only the case on a few days of the year? (I know, I know, you're thinking I really should go back on all those nasty drugs I was taking - right?)

How does this absurdity continue in our enlightened, progressive and oh so tolerant country? Answer: It's a day off for most people and nobody in their right mind would mess with that. A day off with pay, even. Wow. We are a very simple people after all - give us something for free and we'll go along with almost anything, even flagrant dismissal of non-dominant religions. We'll even, if we are not of the sanctioned faith, accept the requirement that we behave as the believers and not work or shop. We deserve what we get if this is the extent of our convictions.

And in my opinion there's nothing multicultural about us if people of all faiths lose the right to do business and access government offices only on days that one particular faith system deems to be significant. Either religious holidays of all kinds should be given the status these Christian ones have or no religious holidays should be the subject of government enforcement or restriction (depending how you view not being able to access things you normally do).

We should have a whole lot more paid days off or a lot fewer.

Now that my liver has my attention, well, livers in general... okay, human livers, I am informing myself as much as possible. Some of what I have learned/read is comforting and some not. All of it is fascinating, though. It is the largest organ in your body and can regenerate itself once the antagonist has been removed/stopped. Except for those problems for which there is no cure, in which case things get much scarier: transplants IF a matching donor is available.

To make things more challenging, bad livers have side-effects that my primary medical caretaker doesn't seem to appreciate: mental confusion and extreme sleepiness. I thought for a while the anti-itch remedy was making me sleepy, but now I am not so sure. In a sleep defying stunt, I have stopped taking the remedy for now.

When my GP told me to rest, I didn't take that to mean bed rest, but for several days I have been sleeping whenever my body seems to want. It has been an outrageous amount and I don't seem to ever get enough. This has me wondering whether my sleepiness is a symptom that I should bring to my doc's attention.

If I still had confidence in my GP, that might be an option, but I have pretty well decided I do not. My psych and the emergency room attending physician (to whom my psych suggested I go to get the second opinion I wanted) discussed things surrounding the liver situation and treatment approaches that not only allayed some of my worry but were, I realized exactly the kinds of things I am accustomed to being told by my primary caretaker. That was Thursday.

Friday was the no shopping day and Saturday (after arising at noon) I got food and retrieved from storage my juicer, juicing being a liver-friendly way of getting nutrients because juice is easier to digest (not to mention ingest).

Sleepiness and confusion can be a symptom of meat protein over taxing an impaired liver. The recommentation is to replace some, if not all, of the meat with vegetable and dairy sources. I have a very poor appetite right now and certainly not a lot of energy to put into food prep. Juices are easier to force down when you're not really very hungry but you know you should eat AND take less time to prepare.

Some, but not all, of the apartment reorg has been in support of accomodating kitchen gadgets in my space lean kitchen. Gadgets I already have but have been simply storing until now. I have exactly 4 linear feet of counter top. Really.

Sunday (yesterday), I managed to get the trailer road worthy (flat tires and a salt rusted lock on the hitch, eh) and the last and tallest steel shelf wrestled onto it. The sun was still shining when I finished so I decided to walk to the 24 hour grocery store.

DOH! Easter appears to be to Canadians as Thanksgiving is to Americans, because it was closed for the whole 24 hours of Sunday and won't open until 7 hours into today. (I was really glad I'd gotten food on Saturday, though)

Today I will be attempting to: get bloodwork done; get some banking done; make an appointment with a gastro specialist at the hospital. Oh, and get the shelving into storage. Doesn't sound like much, er, doesn't sound nearly as productive as I am used to being, but it will wear me out I am sure.

I will try to remain calm and rational as I deal with the world today. Luckily, I bet on the weather forecast to be intact this morning and won. Which means it was not raining when I woke up so the shelves are not soaked. So maybe the world doesn't really hate me after all. Maybe.

Not for long, but yeah, it IS still Monday! It's been an extra busy one for me.

Unloaded the stuff at storage and rearranged the locker so there is now floor visible between boxes and shelves and whatnot. Which means you (I) can move around in there without having to move and re-move boxes. I AM the Storage Queen.

Back to the building here to uncouple the trailer so I could run more errands. Then to the bank. There's an insane situation there with my CAD and USD accounts (at the same Canadian financial institution) but if I get into that, it will be Tuesday before I finish. Later on that one.

Down to MBE where there was a much anticipated package from my sister: Christmas in April - so much fun!. Down to get stuck by the lab tech (again). Up to my doc's office in the same building to ask about a referral to the gastro specialist. The office was closed for lunch hour and I was too tired to wait, so I walked the two blocks to the hospital (Hotel Dieu) to see what I could find out about the availability of the specialist. No sense asking for a referral if it would take too long anyway. Right?

The hospital was closed for outpatient business. The security guard said: "It's a holiday." And I said: "Hard to tell some days." He did tell me what floor I should head to on my next try, though. (Holiday oddness: the schools were closed today, but everything else seemed open. At least this hospital was the only thing I ran into that wasn't.)

I did a few more errands and ended up walking a LOT more than I had anticipated. When I realized that I hadn't eaten since the morning and it was almost 3 pm (how'd that happen?), I decided sushi was the solution. I picked the slow side of the street though and had trouble pretending I was awake while I waited for my liver friendly lunch. Fish is an acceptable source of protein, too - I don't think I mentioned that yesterday (or was it earlier today? whatever).

Got home figuring I'd have the rest I deserved. Opened my package. A veritable cornucopia of surprises. I returned a call to Stephanie and caught up with her and then called my sister to thank her for the goodies. Oh and my brother, too, who sent along a fun response to the mud flap girls he's likely been staring at on long hauls through the States.

Remembered to eat a bit and now, it's about time to relax my whining muscles and get some sleep. I hope it's more than the four hours I got last night. Double that would be good... that's when the school across the street starts getting active.

By boat no less. A first for me. It is an inspired plan born of course, of necessity.

Here's the thing. I have a bunch of household effects in a storage facility in Cary, NC as well as a storage locker here in Kingston. I wasn't kidding about being the Storage Queen, you know. The Cary storage place needs a payment as soon as possible. I messed up by not checking my balance in my NC account earlier. I was certain there was enough to cover a month's rental. And now, I am behind. Not good - I really don't want my piano and a few other sentimental items to be taken hostage.

I have a cheque ready to go, but the deadline to prevent the next stage of delinquency procedures is April 25th. Today is the 13th and I know that it takes an average of 10 to 14 calendar days for a letter to get from here to there. I am certain I do not want to know exactly why that is, but it just is. I also know from experience that it takes the USPS less than half that time to get a letter from anywhere in the US to anywhere in the US (continental).

I checked out the Canada Post offerings but then remembered that I already tried their Express Post prepaid service last year with dismal results. For instance, you can only track it until it leaves Canada. Like that's information you can use. As I recall it took about 2 weeks anyway and cost me $8.00 instead of a buck something for the regular mail rate. (I was too busy to fight with the post office here regarding the "guaranteed delivery" feature.)

Living in Kingston, I can get myself over to Cape Vincent, NY by driving to the other end of Wolfe Island and taking a second ferry. The whole trip will take less than 2 hours and is free of ferry fares if I don't take my car into the US. No problem. Once I am there, I'll just deposit my envelope (with 0.37 cents US postage affixed) and come back. I love it when a plan comes together.

So, I'm going to America by boat this afternoon. (I'm not taking any pain remedies until I get back though - those border folks are tricky enough without complicating things - you know? Especially the Canadian guys and gals when Canadians are returning from the States. The stories I could tell will wait until another time.

I called the wonderfully pleasant folks at Wachovia Bank, NA (my bank in the US) to get the lowdown on the correct snail mail address for sending a cheque to myself as well. The guy who helped me was so nice that when I told him I didn't have any preprinted deposit slips, he ordered me some and said he'd make sure to check my account and reverse the charge since I am way up here in Canadia-land (a Stephie-ism :), the second a is long). I didn't even have to ask.

I wanted to cancel the online bill payment service since I hadn't used it for a while. No problem. He transferred me to the online service folks (who didn't even ask me all my account information again. Don't you hate it when they ask that over and over?) He'd already briefed the woman he sent me to so she just verified that she understood it correctly and then took care of it while I was on the phone with her. I love US banking.

Oh, and here's the BEST PART: I pay zero, nada, zilch for service charges on this account and get statements mailed to Canada monthly with images of the checks included. And the INCREDIBLE PART: for the paltry sum of $1.00 monthly, I get a Check Card that acts like a debit card, with a twist: to merchants it looks and acts just like a Visa credit card, using the widely available Visa network to do the debit magic when I make a purchase.

HONESTLY. No service charge per transaction plus I think it's more secure than a debit card because a signature is required. Which means a merchant's system cannot learn my pin, I don't think, since I never enter it. There is a charge if I use it at a Canadian bank machine to withdraw cash, but that's forgivable because it is a different financial institution. An easier way to do currency exchange I just cannot imagine.

Just one example of why I enjoy(ed) living and doing business in the States.

I got back safely about an hour ago.

The envelopes are in the capable hands of the USPS.

No boats were involved in the final attainment of this feat.

All I have the energy to say right now is that my research assistant has been severely reprimanded for shoddy work. On her behalf, though I should note that it was the 13th today.

In the past few days I haven't been sleeping much. Early this morning, as I was finally getting sleepy and heading to bed, I realized I had been up for 24 hours straight. Normally, I would have to make a concerted effort to do this. Not yesterday. I didn't feel tired once I got fed and showered after getting back home last night.

I'm paying for it today, though: spent a whole three hours running a couple of errands (browsing hardware stores for some materials to support two projects: the storage project and the nutrition project) and I am wore out.

The GP's office left another cryptic mushroom message: the blood tests on Monday show I am continuing to improve, but not normal yet. No numbers and no interest in *how* I am feeling subjectively. At least I'm not backsliding.

Today was therapy day. Well, that was the most significant event. I made some really great tasting stew today, too, and bought some herbal stuff for liver support and/or repair, information about which I culled from the web before heading out into the world.

Actually, I made a lot of stew: a whole soup pot full just like I used to when I was feeding at least four regular size people.

It was a beautiful day outside today. A seemingly endless and cloudless sky along with the positive energy from the bright, warm sunshine made me forget about the generally dirty landscape for a while. More please!

Catching up on the excursion to America:

Things went well for the first half of the planned route. It was pouring rain, so while I waited in line for the ferry on the Kingston side (listening to the CD my sister burned some songs on which I hadn't heard for decades but had a hoot listening to again - Mountain of Love by Johnny Rivers, for instance :), I decided that the five bucks for the ferry over to the US was worth not getting soaked walking to the Post Office.

I was on Wolfe Island, which has no traffic by the way, heading to the other side with time to spare. The Horne ferry would leave in about 30 minutes. There were signs so I couldn't really get lost. Got to the dock and figured I was the only one wanting to go to the US side. Oh well.

Until I got even closer and saw a sign at the dead end of the road just before the ramp to the dock that said that the ferry service was "NOT OPERATIONAL" and would return to service MAY 1st. Really! I grabbed the schedule information I'd taken off the web to see what part of the fine print I managed to miss.

The Wolfe Island schedule was good about making a distinction about which dock was used in winter and which one was used after "ICE OUT". The other ferry schedule didn't think the fact that the ferry didn't even HAVE a schedule during the winter ("ICE IN"??) was not nearly as important as which dock would be used.

So I didn't actually miss any fine print, per se. Instead, I was the victim of another Useless-Information-Presented-as-Useable-Information scam.

Just so they could say they'd told me so, there was a number next to the schedule on the web advising that if I wanted more information I could call blah blah blah. I figured since I wasn't hauling dangerous chemicals or a heavy construction vehicle, etc, I didn't need much more than where and what time the ferry left for the US.

Since I wanted my mail to get to NC before the ferry would even be running, I'd have to get over to the States by land. Go tomorrow? Or go right now? The day was pretty well shot by then anyway (it was after 4 now) and the Peace Bridge isn't very far. Might as well get it over with.

Retrace my steps, listening to another CD and waiting almost an hour for the ferry back to Kingston. Headed out to the Ivy Lea/NY border crossing. On the way, I mulled over how odd my mission might seem to the guards and whether it might not be a pretty sane security strategy to keep people with dubious reasons for entering the US on this side of the border. I mean, to me it was rational to reduce exposure to threats by reducing the number of entries. And if you needed a fairly non-political reason to deny entry, "I want this mail to get to NC as soon as possible.", would be a good choice.

I have also learned to divulge nothing that is not asked when crossing. And to keep my answers short but true. I had been hoping to use the more relaxed entry point because I figured they'd be less officious. They wouldn't be dealing with large numbers of vehicles (one ferry load at a time) and certainly no commercial trucking or moving truck, etc. Surely they'd not have a problem, especially if I was on foot. It's about 3 blocks max from the dock to the Cape Vincent Post Office. And if they did, I was going to ask them just to mail them for me and I'd stay on my side. Worth a shot, right?

Now, I was headed to the same Port of Entry that I'd used on numerous occasions while working in the States and who had rejected my entry at least once. This might require a different approach. So I considered my options and finally got to the exit ramp marked "Bridge to USA" only to see a single line of transports head to butt that extended to my left as far as I could safely peer while trying to determine if it was safe for me to proceed through the gap they'd left for the ramp. At the same time I am thinking "this could take a lot longer than I'd thought" and "I hope that line is just for transports and there's another up here for others".

The little green light that says a lane is open wasn't visible until I'd gone around a curve in the road, but there was one and it was marked with a No Trucks symbol. There was one car at the window and after a really short wait, it was my turn. I handed the guard my passport as instructed by the sign that said "have ID in hand".

She: "What's the purpose of your trip?"
Me: "Personal business."

Usually the next questions are to ascertain that I am indeed not going to be working without a permit. But NO....

"What exactly will you be doing?"
"Dropping off some documents."
"What kind of documents?"
"Financial documents."
"Pertaining to a business?"
"No. Personal financial documents."
"So you're going to the Post Office."
"Yes." (Mentally scratching my head as to how she got there so quickly without me. I really only need a mail box, but yeah, the Post Office, that'll do. I don't think they're open this late but, if it keeps her happy I'm not going to complain. She visibly relaxed at this point. Good. Weird but good.)

"Where will you be going?"
(Yikes! I hadn't even thought about a city. I figured I'd just accost the first mail box I could find and then turn around. My luck was turning sort of, because there was a highway sign within view with two city names. Only problem was I wasn't quite sure which was closer to the border. )
"Watertown." (I am gesturing ahead of me towards the sign.)
"Will you be leaving anything else in the US?"
"No."
"Will you be stopping any where else?
"Not planning to."

Back came my passport and I was allowed to go through. The whole thing only took 5 minutes. So much for border delays, I thought. Now I'd committed to driving to Watertown. Really, that's what I intended to do.

But the situation was ripe for me getting lost. It was dark and raining and every transport that passed and got into my lane left me in heavy fog conditions. So it's understandable that I missed finding anything that looked like a sure-fire mail box exit to me. It might have been the one with the sign that had "Watertown" on one line with "Ctr" on the next line. I figured it must be a shopping "Ctr". It couldn't mean city "Ctr", right? Because a sign that's long enough for "Watertown" has plenty of room for "Downtown" on the next line. At least that's what I thought.

About 10 minutes south of Watertown I decided I'd probably missed an exit, got off and was preparing to get back on going the other way when I noticed another road, right there, saying there was a town thataway. I'd been talking myself out of just such bushwacking by telling myself I didn't want to have to explain that I'd been in the US for a day and a half because I got lost.

But this little town was, according to the signs at the intersection of the northbound ON ramp, north as well. If I found a mail box here, then I didn't have to figure out where the Post Office was in Watertown at all and I could just trundle back into Canada without getting off the highway again.

The downtown business area for this little place was not well marked and I was again driving out of a populated area hopefully on my way to another ON ramp for 81 North. Before I see anything like that, I am in another (real) village with the downtown right on the main highway like it's supposed to be.

It's still raining and I really don't want to get more lost, so I park as soon as I can and get out figuring I'll be able to see the Post Office from the corner up ahead and if not, I'll find someone who can tell me where it is. On my way I notice a blue box. Yay! Good enough.

Mission finally over, and there's a sign indicating how to get back on 81. And I'd found a really nice little town, too. Adams, NY. Pretty looking. Maybe I'll go back to visit one day.

As I approach the Canadian border, there is a sign saying trucks are to stay to the right. There's a passenger van ahead of me and the driver is acting like they are lost or want to turn around. The rest of the road to our right is bumper to bumper transports with a couple of cars once in a while. There's only one lane now on the left and I am figuring it is for the "Not Trucks" like me and the van.

As we get closer to the array of lanes we find that there a no lanes marked as open to the left of the line of trucks. We have driven at least a half a mile, probably more, since the person ahead of me stopped a couple of times because they were not sure they were in the right place. They have to be kidding, right? I have no intention of turning around to get behind this line of trucks, especially because the lane to my right, although full of trucks, is clearly marked for private passenger vehicles.

There's no way we could have known that the trucks were three (yeah, 3!) lanes deep and I have no idea how many other victims have piled in behind me. The van and I put our signals on and edge up closer. The trucks move ahead one truck length, but don't leave room for a car.

Sit a little longer, wondering how two sides of the same border can be organized so completely differently and whether this is some stunt on Canada's part to counter the bad press they've been getting about being a haven for terrorists.

Do you think we'll be treated as well as Iraq has now that we've been unmasked as knowingly aiding and abetting the kind of people who caused the whole war on terrorism in the first place? [Cretien's decision not to support the US takes on a different light, too. Did he know?]

The van gets weary and starts to leave, then changes its mind and gets in line behind me. Aside: turning around at a border is just asking for trouble, I think, so I'm not doing it. Besides, the nice American signage told us pretty clearly that the last US Exit was back there.

Someone in the van gets the attention of the truck driver whose truck is just behind the front of my jeep. I can't hear them but they are discussing something. The van stays where it is so I figure (okay, hope) that they have arranged for us two to get into the line in the next truck shift. The car behind the van has edged diagonally toward the trucks as well, just so they know we all want to merge: a common traffic manuevre.

These trucks are pretty huge up close and although we do edge a little bit closer, when the trucks indicate they aren't slowing down, I stop. Another change up and the guy who spoke with the van people is ahead of me. The driver behind him has not moved and is nodding we insignificant specs that he's going to let us in. (Turns out there are only the three of us after all.)

Once I get to the wicket, and I am allowed back in after my 2 hour absence to put something in the mail during which time I did not buy anything and most certainly did not pick up any mail, I ask if the guard told off the truckers for being in the "No Trucks" lane. He looks surprised and says "It is?" Yep, it's marked that way. But they had a problem with one of the trucks and, etc, etc. I say whatever, the truckers could have let us in - we can't take nearly as much time as they do. Turns out the ornery trucker was from Quebec and the guard puts this forward as the reason he wouldn't let us in. Those Francophones, you know how they are.... right.

Got back to Kingston and relaxed to get the kinks out of my back.

Too bad about the ferry being out. It would have been a really simple trip. Next time.

On the way back I figured out why the US guard made the wonderful leap she did: all the way from "Personal financial papers" to "Post Office". When I crossed the border, there was only one day left before the US Tax Filing deadline. She assumed that I was mailing tax returns which people do at a Post Office to make sure it gets postmarked properly and for which the USPS keeps them open late.

Today was a No Energy day, very likely because the night before was another All Itch, All Night. I finally took some anti-itch chemicals and slept from 5 am until 2 pm. Oh yeah, the whole time. I think I may have over-estimated the itch or underestimated my liverish system. It was apparently a very mild and sunny day for the most part. At least that's what people told me :)

For the past couple of weeks the TV and radio station had been relentlessly reminding me of the Open House at the college and I realized that the students I'd had the fun of teaching that first term of my stint in academe would be showcasing their projects. I'd been to similar presentations many times before as a representative of my employers while I was on the Advisory Committee for the program and decided I just had to go. Had to.

I arrived not really sure where the displays were only to find the Engineering building deserted. Huh. The sign at the entrance to the college assured me this event would be going on for at least another 2 hours. No indicators as to where else everyone may be could I find. If I hadn't seen some suits leaving from a door of the adjoining (?) building while I was returning to my car, I would never have guessed that anything was happening in there. I gave it a shot and there they were.

I had a great time chatting with the students and hearing all about their projects and what their plans were post-graduation. Time flew, but I managed to visit almost all of the software projects, briefly visit with the faculty in attendance and discover the tail end of the Electronics projects display. There was only one of these left, but it was a really fun one: a robot that avoids barriers and follows a line drawn on the floor. (But not at the same time, I think there were different software loads for each set of skills.) Much more exciting than the software applications, sorry guys.

Because I had already determined how I would respond should I encounter my nemesis I didn't get an opportunity to use it. See how Murphy works? A very contrary force that.

While I was out and about I took a huge side trip and visited Larissa at the piano store. where I learned the details of an upcoming performance to be presented by the Kingston Historical Society in which my friend will be very involved. I think I was once told it would be broadcast on CBC Radio as well. How cool is that? Trés cool.

Back home to warm up some stew which would be even better than yesterday, having sat overnight. A couple of crime shows, a very interesting 20/20 piece on a new heart attack risk assessment test, dishes washed, stew stored in containers (I must remember to put labels on them tomorrow, too) and now I'm starting to fade. Just to tempt me, there's a Law & Order show on at 12 midnight. But I'm not staying up that late. I need some rest. (The PC clock did me in again --- it's 1/2 hour off. Well, I didn't plan to be up this late, so that's still true.)

This weekend is the Delta Maple Syrup Festival. Mmm.... I might have to go there tomorrow. Yes indeed.

I haven't figured out the connection between what I eat and how active I am and the ups and downs of my energy levels yet. Today is starting out with even less energy than yesterday, so I won't be going to the festival in Delta today.

My brain doesn't operate well when I am in the trough. It behaves as if it is drunk or drugged, so I limit my time in the Jeep until I feel more alert.

I'll just have to find something else to do with myself in town. Maybe I'll look for a more health-friendly place to live. If I'm supposed to be resting, this isn't the place for it. Unless I was deaf, like the owners of the yappy dogs (one above me, one in the house next to my apartment) seem to be.

Then there's the pre-teen daughter and mother yell fests, laundry machine noise marathons, creaking floors, "hammer tapping on the floor" sounds of the dog upstairs playing with a toy. And people yelling "Enough!" when it has (finally) barked longer than even they can stand. Barking at the dog to stop barking as it were.

Not helpful in my quest for wellness.

I have been considering relocating so I can get access to liver and spine doctors as well as finding a new GP. There are none accepting patients here in Kingston and no specialists will see you unless and until your doctor refers you. Just at the consideration stage right now, mind you. The logistics overwhelm my poor head at the moment.

Yesterday was a great day to stay indoors. Lots of rain. Not good for much except dragging boxes of kitchen equipment out of storage and searching out large jars for sproutings. Ah, yes, now that I am a witch in training, I am in need of more of my heretofore not accessible kitchen tools.

After not finding what I wanted at the newly expanded Canadian Tire store the other day, I thought I'd try again at some of the used-stuff places yesterday. I hit several with no joy and on a whim decided to stop at the smallish CT near me on way home. Bingo! I had to buy a dozen of them, but hey, they weren't much more than the lidless wonders at Value Village and the other musty places. 'Sides, they can be used for lots of stuff.

I decided that that (can be used for lots of stuff) was the difference between a tool, which I love, and a gadget, which other people in my family love. Speaking of which, my brother-in-law (a gadget lover, that's the connection here, in case you're getting lost already) reportedly posed the question "What does your sister know?" recently. I am shocked that he hasn't figured out that I know everything. I mean, he's only been part of the clan for a couple of decades at least.

Now, I am not sure he was fully informed of what I had observed (how better to know a fact?). It had to do with Chapters being closed on Good Friday, but when my sister related the exchange to me, it wasn't clear whether she and Ben were also discussing Good Friday or the Saturday right after that. Saturday was a capitalistic orgy in Kingston after the shopping fast of the day before. I can only presume it was the same elsewhere.

Anyway, during my conversation with my sister, I told her that after delving into the herbal concoctions that are now being enlisted to heal my liver, I'd been thinking of becoming a witch. Coincidently, during the trip to Chapters she'd become the proud owner of a huge book of spells. Thousands of spells, in fact. You may start to worry now.

The remainder of yesterday was a pain and confusion festival that had me thinking I'd maybe done way too much over the past few days, despite having slept lots. More thoughts of the strange circularity of my life these past few years and recollections of severe childhood hypoglycemia and what it had taught me - namely to listen to my body and adjust my eating accordingly. Also that my blood sugar fluctuations had a profound effect on my mood.

My mood was depressed in part due to the weather but also due to my blood sugar levels and my encounter with a vitamin merchant downtown the other day. He'd been through the same thing and it took 5 years for him to recover. 5 years! I am hoping that since I have been taking supplements and eating right (according to my body, not the latest book flogger's idea of right) for the past 30 years, I won't have as long a road back as he did.

Today has begun with fog outside and, since I live in a port city, fog horns sounding but no pain and a pretty decent mood, all things considered. Like the noise upstairs last night: kids partying in the bedroom over my office room and then - the freaking dog barking at 1:30 am. I heard it through the earplugs that are de rigueur.

When I got up and the noise started again, I put Linda's mix on nice and loud so I didn't have to listen to it. Humourously, the first song is Carole King's "Beautiful" .... you've got to get up every morning with a smile on your face. Yeah, right.

In other family news, today is my youngest sibling's birthday. In honour of which I am again not going to search him out. He has been unreachable for the past five or six years and I am positive he'll appreciate my respecting his choice. It's the least I could do. Something with which he is extremely familiar, but with which I am rather unfamiliar and perhaps a factor in his invisibility. I really don't know. He is now "the brother we never talk about" to my therapist.

Time for some more sorting and organizing of the kitchen equipments. Followed by a walk in the fog.

What...? Didn't I eat enough yesterday? Did I eat the wrong things or not enough of the right things? Does what I eat have anything at all to do with how crappy or wonderful I feel the next day? Maybe it's hydration that is the deciding factor. I may have to start keeping food and beverage records to figure it out.

Yesterday I felt closer to normal than I have in many months. Today I am starting out tired. I expected the tired, but not the puffy eyes, sneezing (allergies?) and pain in various places. Not to mention a complete and utter lack of interest in eating.

I didn't get to sleep until early this morning. This was partly due to not feeling sleepy and then, after sleepiness happened, not being able to rest for the itch. I have been able to control the itch pretty well lately with showers and soakings.

Between 7:30 pm and 9 pm last night the building ran out of hot water. This happens sometimes and it's just a matter of a half hour or so before the poor water tank can catch up. At 10 there was still no hotness and the familiar popcorn popping noise that the water heater usually emits was gone. I checked the tank and it was cold as a, well, you know.

I called the 24/7 office number provided by the new landlord. This was the second time I'd called within about a week and I was again greeted with only "Hello". No company name, no answerer's name, no "How can I help you?".
I told the woman on the other end why I was calling. She wanted to know which unit I was in and then simply said "Okay, leave it with us." Like I had any choice.

I heated water to wash my face and went to bed about midnight or so. It being an itch night, rest was elusive. I finally gave up and warmed more water for a sponge bath at 4 am. This took a lot longer than a shower would. I got back to bed (and sleep!) at the time most of the building was starting to awake for the new work and school day.

At this moment we are still out of hot water. Audible progress is being made though: clinking and conferring noises emanate from the utility room. I hope the thing is fixed soon. I have dishes to wash and a date with the lab today.

And: I have some noise making of my own to do, the loudness of which I haven't been able to estimate. Anybody remember how much noise drilling into concrete makes? Me neither. I want to hang my bike by my "back" door. It's the one that opens into the utility room. There ain't no good place to put it in the utility room, either - I already thought of that.

On the hot water front, there was still none after the first bit of tinkering. I called again. More conferring has not given us hot water. Yet. Tomorrow the 10+ year old tank is being replaced with a brand spanking new one. I hope it doesn't decide to run away when it sees the utility room neighbourhood.

I discovered and documented the fact that, sometime in the last few days, coin operated laundry machines were deposited into the middle of the fire hazard rich environment in the utility room. Since I could easily and distinctly hear the popping of the sediment on the bottom of the about to be retired water heater through the kitchen (aka "back") door of my apartment, this new development is a mixed blessing. But it may be the reason for a big leap toward meeting safety and building standards here at the slum. I realized this afternoon that the installation of the required outlet for the dryer may be the catalyst for updating of the electrical system. Fingers crossed.

There's even a bike rack, albeit not the most confidence inspiring, but it's a start. The rack is currently situated on the grass between the two slum buildings, a space that is about 12 feet wide. The bike that used to be locked to the gas line is locked to it already. Yes, I know, I know. Other people's thought processes are extremely mysterious to me at times.

I went to get poked today, too. And it hurt for the first time in a long time. "The alcohol wasn't dry yet, I guess." Really. More odd thought patterns: After she'd explained to me that the burning was probably due to alcohol remaining on the needle and that that was odd because she usually knows how long it takes for that to happen, I said that it didn't usually hurt, which was why I mentioned it when it did. Well, that and I was already more stressed than usual. Are you ready for the response? Really? It is where the title of this post comes in.

"That [my remarking on the pain today] proves I do know how long to wait." Really? How about another explanation... like most of the time I get the other lab person. Yeah, that's what I should have said, but I didn't have enough energy to do more than mentally note the lameness.

Therein lies the silver lining of my being ill - I don't have the energy to argue unless it's really worth it. Too bad you aren't here to enjoy it, huh? ;)

Bean soup, bouillabaisse, actually, is simmering. Don't worry, it mainly takes time, not a lot of effort. Aside from some opening of cans (only two), chopping and sauteing of onion and peeling of shrimp, all I did was empty a bean mix into the pot. I made this a lot when I lived in Virginia and North Carolina, but only found a local merchant who stocks it recently.

I ran into another tenant in the building this afternoon. After our longer than we both intended chat wound down, I promised to post some tenant links and a page/item about commonly misheld beliefs about tenant rights that are habitually stomped on by landlords here in Kingston.

I don't have first hand knowledge of this last accusation, but I was told of an imminent infraction of the Tenant Protection Act by one who was present when the illegal requirement was voiced, so I still stand by my claim. In fact, if tenants don't know what their rights are under the Act, a claim on their part that they have never had their rights violated is without merit in my books. Kind of like someone saying they never speed when in fact they don't even know what limit is in effect.

The rest of this night will be spent on getting the soup done, eating some (yum!) and putting something useful on the site for a change. It won't be pretty, but it will be a start.

Sleep beats Posting To Web, too. There were two days' worth of dishes piled up in the sink last night. I shuddered at the prospect of waking up to them, so I heated water and washed them. By the time I was finished it was well past a civilized hour for retiring.

I'll get it done today. Honest.

No new hot water heater has arrived yet. I think the old one may be possessed, though. All morning the water from the hot water taps has been tepid at best. A few minutes ago I found the water is now warm and getting warmer. I thought perhaps the deed was done stealthily at the crack of dawn or at least before I got up and removed my earplugs. A quick check of the utility room confirms that there is nothing new there. So, why then did the tank decide to behave? Or more to the point, why does it randomly stop and then start on its own?

I don't know enough about gas powered water heaters to invalidate my intuition that it has something to do with the ancient electrical wiring. More likely: there's a switch that gets toggled without anyone knowing it controls the water heater. Maybe because it also controls something else.

Could be that this house of cards is about to fall down around our ears. If you don't hear from me in a couple of days send a search party.

45 hours and counting without hot water. Camping isn't this inconvenient - you know?

Two plumbers are still here making some OT cash and working on getting the new water heater installed. They've been drilling and cutting and banging and laughing for many hours now.

Cigarette smoke started coming into my kitchen and I am in no mood today for additional environmental irritations. On my way to take out the recycling bin I asked them if they could please not smoke in the utility room. (FYI: The new landlord smokes but thankfully he's also very good about not doing so inside.)

The smoker said he wasn't... he'd gone outside. His non-smoking buddy backed him up on that. I couldn't get too far into the room because they had tools and such all over the floor. As I voiced my question about how the smoke got into the room then, I leaned forward and observed the back door to the building hanging wide open.

My statement, "Well, shit - the door's open, no wonder the smoke's in here." prompted a claim that he'd been as far away from the building as possible. I decided I was wasting my breath and ended the discussion. At least they won't be needing to repair the tank any time soon.

I am praying for a soonish finish and return to hot water (a shower!) and relative quietude. That's not too much to ask - is it?

A new link has been added to the menu on the right side of the blog: Residential Tenancy 101.

From there, you should see a couple of links to official sites along with one to a TPA Crib Sheet sort of an executive overview of the most critical bits of the Tenant Protection Act (for people who don't have time right now to read the Act, but promise to read it as soon as they can).

As usual, it's just a start. Send me comments, queries, complaints. Or just ignore it all, as you wish.

Today the bell rang in my world: in the despair and frustration and other dark feelings department. Observant readers will know that I was still up at an ungodly hour this morning. I didn't manage to drift off to sleep until hours after that first post of this calendar day. What I did not mention was the fact that the plumbers had exited the building last night without having completed the new water tank installation. Oh, yeah! It was colder than usual here, too and I finally had to get the propane heater going. Not surprisingly, that precipitated my falling asleep.

My doctor (herself) woke me at 9 am or so. This week's blood tests show a continued downward (good) trend, but not anywhere near normal. I told her my subjective experience has not been in that direction at all and, as a matter of fact I now have several other physical symptoms, one of which is pain for which I cannot (yet? or ever?) take any of the usual remedies to address. I described my fatigued state, omitting for now the fugue state into which my mood has descended and told her I felt worse now than I had a couple of weeks ago when she'd first seen me and started the investigation into my newest impairment.

She said she'd speak to a specialist about the numbers and my symptoms (without having seen me? Hmm... that's not how she insisted on handling my request for a referral to the neurologist.)

Speaking of which, I dropped into the doc's office on Monday after the lab visit for the sole purpose of enquiring as to the completion of the promised referral to the Ottawa neurologist. This had been discussed at least 3 weeks and again 2 weeks ago and for which purpose I had gladly found and forwarded the neuro's new phone number. There was only a short delay before I was told that the letter had been written. Good. I almost walked away, but then asked "And it's been mailed? Right?". Well no, they'll fax it as soon as they get the number. I volunteered to make the required phone call - if that was all that was standing in the way of getting this ball rolling. No, no. That won't be necessary - they'd make a note and see that it gets done right away. Thanks, eh.

Back to today's exchange. She made a depressing prognostication which I have been mulling over and cursing since then: not to work for another 3 to 6 months. Not that she's certain of what I have, still. Today she dropped the word "viral" to which I reacted with skepticism, reminding her that all the viral testing came back negative.

My next appointment is coming up on Monday at which time I am hoping for more information to be available. She offered me an earlier opening this week. I couldn't think of a good reason for seeing her any earlier. I'm in no hurry to hear more of what she doesn't know.

After that call, I heard multiple loud-ish voices in the utility room. A snatch of conversation something like this: "How dangerous would it be?" "Well, people might fall asleep and not wake up." kinda grabbed my attention. I didn't care how grungy I looked having gone through 50 some hours without hot water, I didn't think this warranted laughter at all.

I learned that they had got the heater going this morning, but there was a problem with fresh air flow to the gas burner. The back door was again wide open. I asked if showering were now a possibility. "Oh, sure. No problem. You'd better hurry though, before we have to shut it off again." I reacted with surprised "What?". To which the installer said "No. No. We aren't going to shut it off. I was just joking." I told him that wasn't quite as funny when you'd been without hot water since Sunday. And then I boogied to get one.

It helps to be clean, that's for sure.

To add to my sense of cosmic unfairness, a head hunter called me with a job for which I am well qualified but for which they need someone yesterday. We had a good chat about my latest round of health support frustrations. He advised me to find a good specialist and get there - his wife had been through a similar problem.

He will be informed when I am back on the market. Gosh that sounds good. And he agreed to keep me in mind for contract non-crunch-mode opportunities that I can do from home as long as the client is okay with a possibly erratic application of my inherent genius toward the deadlines.

There has to be some kind of life lesson that I have been remiss in grasping. Why else would the universe be whacking me on the head several times in past year (or two)? I hope I break the code soon. Or change whatever needs adjustment to get a scene change in this nightmare. Really... I am paying attention - I just don't understand the transmission yet.

When I retrieved my recycling bin this evening I noticed two things. One, that the rain was warm. This brought back good memories of my favourite place in the world (so far): the Southern States. If I wasn't so tired, a walk would have been enjoyable. Next time.

The other thing was that the heating system has been dismantled and is being worked on. Let's hope this doesn't turn out to be another multiple day undertaking. Or maybe I shouldn't even express an opinion on this. Do you think the forces of nature are listening? How about this then: It will be wonderful to have the heating system fixed. Marvellous. Incredible. About time. Ooops. That just slipped out.

Time for a nice warm candlelit bath to relax and then off to the land of nod with me.

None of us. But I am most likely the most not amused of all. Us would be the residents of this abominably neglected older building.

I called my landlords this morning. First I told them the hot water was working very well. I wanted to be sure they knew that the heating system was not operational and that the weather predictions were for increasingly cold evenings (below freezing, in fact). They did know. And they had bad news: we won't have heat for another week.

So much for not angering the universe with negative thoughts last night.

I expressed my displeasure at this unacceptable situation and was assured that there were electric space heaters for our heating enjoyment in the utility room. (Yes, we tenants pay for electricity.) She didn't know all the details but apparently the installation of the correct - commercial size - water heater had created a complication. This required the boiler for the heating system to remain off until whatever it was that was needed was available and it was going to take a week for that. Her husband wasn't there, but he would call me to explain it all. Great.

I called Tyla and Michael to discuss my latest stresses. They were, as always very understanding and patient and helpful. Thanks again, kids.

The landlord showed up with a letter explaining that we couldn't have both heat and hot water until a change was made to the chimney so adequate air flow can be provide for both gas heaters, something the current setup could not handle. Which is the delay... the liner has to be custom made and it will take a week.

I was pleased to hear that he didn't want us to die in our sleep from CO poisoning - quite a nice change from the minimal maintenance and non-existent concern for tenant welfare that was the norm before his watch started, by the way. But I told him why I didn't think he'd want people runnning electric heaters for the next week anyway. I thought he should know.

When I said the wiring was not in good shape, he gestured at the meters and remarked that they looked pretty up to date. He didn't believe me about the wiring not being grounded, so I invited him to test the outlet in the utility room.

He didn't do it right then, but I have a feeling he'll be checking it out one of these days. We have a lot in common he and I.

I also told him that the previous management company knew about this problem because the Electrical Safety Authority had been called in about my apartment and sent them a report. I told him about the over fusing that was the cause of a blown fuse in one of the meters (very bad when that happens!) and that I knew only of two of the six units that had any work done to install GFI's and fuse rejectors: mine and the unit that blew the meter.

I was not impressed with the "what can I do?" response (about the heat being off) mainly because - as I explained - even when the heat was working, I was using a space heater to stay comfortable and the heaters he was providing were not going to be able to heat this apartment all by themselves. I know because I've been using the one he provided until the other day when I switched to my portable propane heater.

I was glad to see that his letter instructed everyone to take a bit off the next rent payment in compensation for the electricity used by the space heaters, though, so I compromised for now: I am going to keep using my excellent emergency propane heater and he will reimburse me for the cylinders.

I reminded him that I am ill, something of which I'd informed him in person and in my letter back when I paid the rent at the end of March, and I really don't need to be living in an unheated and uninsulated basement apartment right now.

And if the freaking universe is listening, that goes for you too...give me a break already.

On another topic, I have decided to try a new (well, to me) approach to gaining a measure of control over and relief from my physical and emotional stresses. The first step was contacting a gentleman I became acquainted with during my stint at the college. He is a hypnotherapist. (Actually, I am guessing on the actual terminology there.) Hypnotism as an aid in relaxation was the subject of his talk during one of the faculty 'support group' get togethers I attended.

I sent him email this afternoon and just got off the phone with him this evening. We'll be getting together early in May. I can hardly wait for an opportunity to gather more tools for staying healthy and sane - well as sane as I want to be - without incurring more systemic damage.

And a note to all of you who are about to remind me of the CO dangers regarding my choice of space heaters. I have a detector plugged in and ready to save me from this silent killer, but to tell you the truth, I suspect we (myself and the other basement dweller in particular) were in more danger of CO poisoning before the latest repairs to the propane appliances in the utility room than I will be from my Buddy.

I think something is afoot but it's still just an inkling. There was a voice message from my GP yesterday. Herself, even. To let me know that she had spoken to a specialist who was of the opinion it would take "some months" for me to recover from damage now suspected to have been caused by antibiotics. The hepatologist would be "reviewing" me after receiving the records my GP was hastily faxing over as well as the results of additional blood tests that had been orderd for early next week.

My weekly poking is about to become a wholesale blood-letting it seems.

Just to blow my poor head a bit more, my GP wanted me to confirm I had received the voice mail and to tell me that she was available to talk to me some more if I had questions. All of which sent my panic demons to straight to their rooms.

To myself I thought: I remember being treated this way by my doctors. Messages and interactions were conveyed with a measure of human understanding and concern. It has raised the bar on my expectations of my doctors and their office procedures and staff. Yes, me (I?) of the already high expectations.

These are just inklings, remember. As glad as I am to see that my displeasures were not without an effect, I am a little wary of the actual reasons for the change in treatment. Okay, so... high expections and skepticism. That's not a bad combination, now that I think about it.

I decided to put off consulting with my GYN in NC until the hepatologist has had a chance to answer some of my questions. (My GP would want to send me to the sadist I saw in the summer and I really don't want to argue with her about it.)

It's getting kind of chilly in here. It's supposed to snow two nights from now. Really. Check out the link if you don't believe me. My auxillary heater is great for one room at a time. AND when the tank is not empty. It's 63 F / 17 C here in the north facing room. The floor is the worst, though. Those of you living in properly appointed basement apartments (you know who you are): erase the existence of subfloor from your understanding of the world of construction. Now, just imagine vinyl tiles laid smack on top of the concrete.

Right. So basically, there's this heat sink that starts about 10 inches from the floor. I just moved from the warmed up living room to this one so I could post this earth shattering entry. And the tank died. So I'm letting it cool off before I feed it again. (Just in case you were getting ready to tell me off for bitching about the cold if I hadn't fixed the heater.) :^P

Which reminds me of the association everyone in the world makes. Okay, maybe not everyone, but a great majority of people. When I tell them, or you do, if you're the one doing this that you are from Canada, they will invariably remind you that "It's cold there, isn't it?". Yeah, or maybe they're smart enough to know that anyone who doesn't think it's cold in Canada can't have lived there for any length of time.

And then you (or I) will say: "Oh yes. It sure is cold there."

Raise your hand if you have been the Canadian side of this. Wow, that's quite a few. So that's what Canada's reputation amounts to 99 percent of the time: cold. Maybe we could save ink and other supplies if we just adopted that as the name of the place: Cold. See, we don't just live in a cold place - we live in the cold place. By reputation only, however, because everyone knows there are cold parts within other places around the globe.

Canada, I should say Cold, is a place about which you'll hear people tell others that there are warm parts within her borders in a futile effort to defend her honour.

As if the country's reputation rests in having some warm parts. But how could that be, since Canada's reputation is that of cold? Shit, now I've got myself confused again. I'm going back to the warm part of my place and light Dixie's fireplace.

It's about 62F/16C here in my igloo office so this will be mercifully short - for all of us.

Last night I fantasized about getting the mountain of laundry done today, but that was out of the question after a further slide of my sleep cycle. The discouraging part of my current state is that doing almost nothing gives me the, false it turns out, impression that I am making headway because I start feeling not confused and not fatigued. Of course this leads me to do a slight bit more the next day and then the day after that becomes a foot dragging numb head kind of day.

Keeping my head wrapped around a good mood takes energy that escapes me most days. Which means there is very little protecting the world from me. And even less protecting me from me, either. Fair's fair, I guess.

Today's sleep shortage along with feelings of nausea and fever kept me moving slowly enough that when a store employee told me I looked tired, I said I was and thanked him. No, I don't know why, either.

Talking and listening to some of my family over the past few days helped dispel the impression that I am completely alone in the world. My brother called the other night and I called my kids on different days to catch up with them. They are all doing well, by the way.

Not much else is newsworthy. That's thing about being fatigued and idle - there's nothing to distract me from being fatigued and idle. I did finally realize today that I'd missed Larissa's concert performances earlier this week. It wasn't intentional, that's for sure, just a sad consequence of circumstances beyond my control at the moment.

Maybe I'll get another chance one of these months. Here's hoping.

We had a wicked thunderstorm last night in Kingston. It shook windows. It was great. I haven't heard a good one for ages. It was too cold to keep the bedroom window open, so I heard a muffled version.

Earlier than I was ready to get up the cat woke me. It sounded like she was trying to dig straight to China through her litter box. Maniac. I got up and told her off because telling her off from the bed wasn't working. Several hours later, I was awakened by cutting and banging on pipe noises loud enough to make an impression through the earplugs I'd installed post dig. That got me out of bed. Well, the realization that the heat might be coming on and that I'd left my stash of propane cylinders on a rad, a cold rad being a close approximation of a shelf, you know.

By the time I'd made a coffee and given the cat her "hey, you're up!" treats the noise makers had gone elsewhere. Hmmm...

The project for the day is getting to medical appointments - one with the lab and one with the GP. I'm not feeling up to much else. Outside it is foggy. Inside it is still 62F/16C in this office.

In the back of my mind a thought is being examined, namely that I should see about getting an interview for the employment opportunity my head hunter called about and, if a job offer ensues AND I still cannot work, I should expect compensation for lost wages from the doctor who has NOT managed to "do no harm" and has created my disability.

I have very little confidence that I would be approved for benefits under the Ontario Disability Support Plan (ODSP). There is that little requirement that the disability be expected to continue for at least a year. Who's going to predict that, I wonder? My doctor? Their doctor? What if I manage to get better sooner?

Even if I got the benefit of $930 per month, it would come with a number of restrictions and frustrations: remaining within Ontario; filling out a report once a month; medical 'reviews' of my health; continuing dealings with government officialdom.

I suspect the facts of my brief employment in Ontario over the past couple of years preceded by my absence from Canada and the misleading manner of accounting used by the college that makes it appear as if I was only working 10 to 19 hours a week during that time may be reasons I will not qualify for Ontario Works (aka unemployment insurance aka welfare) support, either. And that's not even taking into consideration the fact that I did not immediately apply for OW benefits upon becoming unemployed last March.

Insurance supplied by government is still insurance and comes with the 'deny if at all possible' precept intact. I have given the bureaucrats far too many opportunities to fill their quota of denials, I fear. Silly me.

Late breaking news: the doctor has called in sick today and my appointment has been moved to midweek just now. So, maybe this will be lab and laundry day after all. Could be worse.

Today is my lucky day. Past and present tense.

Historical luck: 30 years ago I married my first husband, Allan. A few years later two miracles occurred for which I have always been grateful.

Thanks for the children, Allan: my life wouldn't have been the frequently hilarious, incredibly heart warming, often humbling and immensely rewarding adventure it has without them.

This occasion simply cries out for a couple of pictures, don't you think? That's what I thought, too.

The Shavers leaving the chapel - hopeful.

The picture taking took forever and it was all my fault because my eyes were usually closed just when the flash took place. What can I say? Not sleeping the night before takes its toll. I was severely trying the photographer's patience by the end. Eyes open...right.

Okay, enough of that stuff. Back to the present. Today's luck: I was given the fantastic news that I will be seeing the neurologist on Thursday. The same one who saw me many years ago when I was known to keep one arm up over my head.

I know... I could hardly believe it myself. Wa-fucking-hoo indeed. Nothing has bothered me much since that news arrived. Not even my phone getting cut off. Otherwise I'd be calling my family to let them know, too.

[Updated May 1st at noon]

CJOH's news anchor reading the Super 7 lottery numbers just now: Winning numbers are... number number and tonight's boner, tonight's bonus number is number.

Poor Leigh. Kudo's for not laughing her ass off even though you can just imagine the rest of the crew looking pretty stunned while she nonchalantly corrected the blooper without bringing attention to the mistake.

Is there a news anchor course at some college somewhere that teaches people how to do that, or is it just the years of experience?

[One small part of this entry refers to some inside family trivia, but it shouldn't keep you from enjoying the part you do understand.]

In light of one of the stories of the night, a little less professionalism and a tiny bit of comic relief would have been a public service.

This traffic incident affected road use for at least an hour, myself included. The police lane closures were set up at (Robertson and Moodie - 1) in all four directions. I counted about 20 marked police cars. No rescue vehicles, thankfully. The ambulances had already been and gone.

Reading all of the account in the news item will brighten your take on teenagers, too. Things can't be all bad with the world if heroes like Zack are still being produced.

I asked directions from a very helpful policewoman, but after not finding the first street she mentioned I ended up going in a huge circle one and a half times.

It would be a great help for visitors to the area if the outlying 'rural' roads like Richmond and Fallowfield, etc actually had directional markers at major intersections. Meaning North, South and East, West.