My previous post was tongue in cheek…but now, this is living hell…the constant itching is actually painful…dr has increased my antihistamine to the point that it knocks me out…when i wake up there is a 1 hour window (now) before i can take my next dose…i have to choose what feels like induced coma, or suffering…the lupus is making me suffer, exacerbating and extending the allergic reaction
Archive for the ‘drugs’ Category
First, this picture is not me. I found it on google images. I WISH i looked this good…
Not good, people. Not good. I was given the drug Plaquenil to add to my autoimmune disorder arsenal by my doctor a few weeks ago with the goal of weaning me off the prednisone. I am now covered in a rash from hell over 75 percent of my body. EVERYWHERE you can think of and don’t WANT to think of. And the non specific lupus type disorder I have is gleefully helping the reaction to reach its fullest potential.
Long story short, the morning that my slowly developing rash blew into a full blown stage 3-4 allergic reaction, I also fainted and broke my ankle. So I spent the day in the ER, and was admitted. They were more worried about the fainting in case it signified something serious. It didn’t. AFter mega dollars in testing the fainting was attributed to an episode of low blood pressure.
I look like a monster. I feel like a monster. I have red, elephant ears. You can barely see any skin beneath the eruptions. My face is masked with them…Does anyone have any recommendations for excriating itching? I”m taking steroids and antihistamine but topically nothing is offering much relief except ice packs. Oatmeal bath – so so.. Coritsone cream the same…. wahhhhhh!!!! 😦
I was just watching a news story about a police officer who was killed by a “career criminal”.
Now there’s something for the perpetrator to be proud of. A murder to add to his resume.
Come with me to an interview with a career criminal composite. We’re having coffee at a Mac Donald’s in a really scary part of town.
“So what do you do for a living, Bob?”
“i’m a career criminal.”
“Could you tell us a bit about your job?”
“Yeah. I sell drugs. Steal and kill and stuff like that.”
“What kind of compensation can a good career criminal hope to make?”
“Well, the drugs are always good for a few hundred, even a grand some nights. Or you can always get some cash from someone walkin’ down the street. It depends on the victim. You have to be good at targeting your mark. If you’re lucky, you can make hundreds in just one night. If you screw up and the mark has no cash, there’s always the payoff of the thrill kill.”
“Yeah, you know, like, you kill the mark anyway because you’re pissed off and just want to at least get a rush from that. Cops are better though.”
“Cause they think they’re so above us, and are always sticking their noses into our business. I mean everyone has to make a living, right? I need a roof over my head and food on my table just like anyone else.
“Well…it must be dangerous?”
“Some. ” (He flexes his muscles a bit, clearly proud.) “But not if you’re tough, and you’re good. A lot of so called career criminals are just criminal wannabe’s. They’re amateurs. They don’t stay on the street, or anywhere else, very long.”
“Does your mother know what you do for a living?”
“Well, she knows I’ve done time but she also knows I was wrongfully convicted. I mean, otherwise why would they allow us conjugal visits?”
“Yeah, man it ain’t so bad at all. In our state, we have the right to get a trailer one weekend a month for our booty call.”
“Have you ever thought of going straight, getting a…real job?”
“Hey lady, you ever see where I grew up? Did ya think I was gonna be a banker, or a lawyer? I”m doin’ just what my daddy did..”
“You could go back to school…”
“And make what? Ten, fifteen bucks an hour when I get out? Who could live on that?” He looks at me like I”m a complete jackass and stomps out, like a bull ready to charge.
I walk fast, trying not to run, and get into my upscale car, locking all the doors. I feel scared, confused, angry, and also strangely sad for him. For the blankness in his eyes and the danger in his soul.
I zoom home to my cozy little house in the burbs, and thank God our sons were born into the life we’ve been able to offer them.
I am so ashamed to report that until I read VanessaLeigh‘s post today, I had no idea…
I lost three family members to AIDS. My Uncle Joe died in his 40’s. He was a handsome, brilliant professional actor and singer who never did make it to the big time. He never had the time. Also, in those days, he “passed”…but not enough… God what a guy magnet he was! I remember he visited my husband and I when we lived in Italy and we practically had to barricade the doors to protect him! Ok, I’m exaggerating a bit, but you get the idea. He was also one of the funniest people I’ve ever met, my mother’s dearest friend, wild, witty, best known for his role as one of the original four cabaret singers in Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris. When he died, they had a tribute to him that I will never forget at The Village Gate in Manhattan, where the show ran for years. I was so proud to be his niece. I was always a bit in awe of him and so I loved him from afar. Uncle Joe, I pray that you’re alive and well and living in Paradise with my father and yours.
Lenny and Joe, my own age and my cousins on the other side of the family, will be harder to write about, because I loved them more. They were my age and we grew up together. They started drugs at the age of twelve which ultimately led to them dying of AIDS, also in their 40’s. Lenny was the proverbial chick magnet. He was a swaggering, gorgeous, macho early Sly Stallone look alike. He was bitingly sarcastic (anyone who reads my blog knows I hate sarcasm) but I could read him…I knew him…I saw his facade…his emptiness and no clear sense of his own identity. The same emptiness drove his identical twin brother. Joe was the less aggressive one. A goofier sense of humor. A one girl kind of guy. Rough around the edges, both of them. Street smart but no interest in academics, ever. Their twinship, rather then feed a closeness, seemed to drain both of them of their psychological life’s blood. Almost as if there weren’t enough for both of them. God I miss them. My roots. We were the first three kids in a huge Italian extended family. We all lived together in a 3 family house until I was about 6. There was a built in pool which of course needed adult supervision in order for us to jump in. So we would start the garden hose and put drops of water on our foreheads in order to get someone to take pity on our overheated bodies. On Christmas Eve we listened in awe as reindeer and bells clattered across the roof of our house, courtesy of our ingenious uncles.
I started life with two older “brothers”, and now they’re both gone. There but for the grace of God went I.
Lenny and Joe, I will always, always miss you. I will always be grateful for the love and the roots and the FUN we had as kids, before the drugs and the plague took you. And I will ALWAYS associate the magic of Christmas with you, and remember the sound of those bells on the roof.
Most of all, I pray that, like my Uncle Joe, you’re in Paradise with my father and yours.
And so, my friends….who would you like to memorialize here?