I just finished giving myself my shots and needed to curl up and recover. Lots of people have asked me how I can give myself shots. Umm. They preserve my life. It's stressful to do it, but less so than not being able to get one when I need it. Having to hang on to life for a couple of hours and sometimes days (over weekends) with the kind of horrific symptoms I go through, is far more stress full. It convinced me that I could do it. The kind of relief I get from the shots is akin to the euphoria an addict experiences. So I do them, then have to veg for a while. I was writing a chapter of a paper on safe and effective weight loss, which I'm posting on The Holistic Chatter Box, when I realized my symptoms were climbing and it had been a week since my last shots. I'm thrilled to note my improvement over this time last year. I'm getting them only once a week as opposed to twice a week, and my health is generally better. My cognitive function certainly is. I attribute the improvement to my RV, aka Escape Pod, Hamster Ball, Medical Isolation Unit, and leaving during sprays.
The down side, I've been in exile for 10 days now and it's driving me crazy. The first spray was 2,4-D, which is 5-8 days. They applied right across from my house, so 8 days. Then I got the call they were spraying all around my house, yesterday, so I stayed put. I'm hoping to go home Saturday, if no one else sprays. I'm so tired of being contained in this small space.
In reality this post could be a litany of complaints because that's how I feel, BUT how annoying and boring is that?! I'm trying, desperately, to distract myself, and lift my spirits. Even Rosie was glum. I'll post a pic at the bottom. Rosie was mopey because I told Ron to stay home one night and go to bed early. He looked exhausted. She missed her Poppa. Poodles are like that. They LOVE their family members and long for them when they are away. Alex, Justin and Joey went to Indiana to visit his family. Rosie is bereft. So in order to cheer her up we slipped out, into the big pasture with the steers. She loves to run in open spaces, and a 1/2 mile square field is heaven to a hunting poodle. Under all that fur they're built like greyhounds. I have Rosie clipped in the retriever cut, so you can really see it, as she covers the ground in her long loping run. Well, it didn't take that herd of 600-900 lb steers long to spot the intruder and they got all het up in themselves and rumbled over, blustering and tossing their heads. They stopped under a few trees tucked into a corner of the field and checked us out. Rosie, tongue lolling and trailing back from her mouth as she raced in complete and absolute pleasure, saw them too. She headed back in their direction, never breaking her stride. Tails up, snot blowing jostling each other like little boys daring themselves not to be chicken, the steers held their ground as she advanced. At the moment they broke and ran, I whistled her back. She made a sweeping turn and the steers thundered to a stop. They turned and watched her race away. Ho ho! They thought and charged behind her. Rosie's merry eyes grinned at me as she flashed by. She loves to be chased. The steers came on until they noticed me, standing my ground. When she was 300 yards on the other side, I whistled her back again. The steers watched in solemn consideration. Back she raced on her elliptical path. This time they threw up their heads in delight. They knew this game! On she came and away they rumbled. Kicking up their heels and springing sideways. When she got about 300 yards out I whistled her back again. It wasn't long before both the dog and the steers where turning about on the whistle. Back and forth they ran fully enjoying the game. I got tired and I whistled Rosie in. Both Rosie and the steers were disappointed. But Rosie came in, cheerfully enough. She got to see her Poppa again that evening, so all was right with her world.
Meanwhile, I'm still seeking diversions. :-}