The Bloody Doors Off

Growing old sucks.

Growing old blows.

Growing old both sucks and blows.

Been experiencing my restless leg symptoms earlier and earlier in the day, this past month. GP thinks it could be an iron deficiency, so she orders blood work. Sure enough, I’m on the very bottom of the spectrum. She orders iron pills.

Warning: iron pills can make you constipated.

Very constipated.

That’s on half the dosage I’m to work up to.

I haven’t had a proper shit all week. We’re talking the odd nugget.

And lots of gut pain. I’m not a praying man, but I said a few words to anyone up there who might be listening. That’s the level of pain I’m experiencing.

So now, along with the plethora of pills I take, I added Metamucil to my daily routine tonight.

(Really, WordPress? You recognize ‘Metamucil’ but not ‘WordPress’?)

Marlo says it takes twelve hours before I’ll notice anything.

Which is fine with me; I don’t need to wake up at three a.m. to dash to the porcelain palace.

On the plus side, I got my booster shot ten hours ago and so far I’m only experiencing mild shoulder pain. Which is blocked out by the need to take a fucking shit.

I’m constipated. Each word is accompanied with a grunt of frustration.

Yesterday, I felt I’d turned a corner.

Today, I think it was a roundabout.

And I’m still circling, looking for the right exit.

Not to jinx it. But today turned a corner for me.

A feeling that maybe, just maybe, the current spate of depression and anxiety is lifting. I still had a moment earlier, but it was recognized and countered with deep breaths and positive thinking.

Of course, my body decides to say ‘fuck you’, and I started feeling like utter shit physically, come nighttime. But I took a nap for an hour, and that seems to have helped. Hoping a good night’s sleep bolsters my immune system.

Now if I could just generate some billable hours. (December traditionally sucks for freelance work.)

The doctor says I can apply Zilactin to the affected area of my tongue. I believe it numbs the pain.

So I pre-tested by rubbing the area with my index finger, and yes, there was something there.

Trying very hard not to have an anxiety attack right now.

And no, I didn’t apply the Zilactin. I’m quite nervous to do so.

There’s a white circular patch under the right side of my tongue. Doctor thinks it’s an ulcer; she’s referring me to an ear, nose, and throat guy.

She did admit they may need to take a biopsy, to rule out pre-cancerous concerns.

So yeah. Fifty-five and moving into the “is this gonna kill me?” phase of my life.

It’s true, when you’re in your twenties you feel invincible. But now? Just cover me in bubble wrap.

On another note, she thinks my restless leg was aggravated by the lithium, and will hopefully settle back to being a minor annoyance now that I’m purging the drug from my system.

I had a simple choice to make: have lunch (salad) or take an hour nap.

This should’ve taken 30 seconds, most, to decide.

It took me over five minutes.

Settled on the salad.

Of course you need a drink to go with that. I chose chocolate milk. That only took thirty seconds.

And five seconds to spill it all over me and the floor.

Clearly the universe’s way of saying ‘wrong choice, assbutt‘.

You know what’s ironic?

I wanna write. But I can’t. Because my fucking computer keeps freezing.

I’m taking it into the shop tomorrow. I’ll have to haul out the laptop in the interim. I just don’t feel like doing that now.

I woke at 5am with a blood sugar level of 3.3. To be in range is 5.0-7.0.

This isn’t the first time it’s happened of late. Without fail I will wake up shaking, curse the blood glucose monitor and wander out to procure something to bolster my sugar.

It’s 5:45am now, and I am preparing to climb back into bed.

But I think I needed an info dump first, as I haven’t been writing in my blog consistently this week.

There’s no way else to say it.

I’m struggling.

Harold’s been whispering in my ear. So soft, barely audible. Which makes it even more insidious. It’s chipping away at the mental brick wall I’ve constructed to keep him out. It takes massive amounts of energy to do simple tasks. Hell, I’d only been up an hour yesterday morning before I went back to bed. I wasn’t feeling well.

I was feeling defeated.

I am feeling defeated.

I’ll try to keep writing.

But I can’t promise to be around much over the next little while.

I had a blanket when I was a toddler. Pink, with blue bears.

When I’d finally given it up, the fabric was frayed and the stuffing spilled out.

But it was my blanket.

I get now why Linus never wanted to give his up. When things get bad, all you had to do was throw it over your head, and you became invisible. Nothing bad could get to you.

That’s what duvets are, I guess. Adult security blankets. I know, when I pull it over me, I feel safe. Warm.

Granted, I’m desperate to throw it off in the middle of the night. (My body is a furnace.)

I could use that comfort right now.

‘E’s not pinin’! ‘E’s passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! ‘E’s expired and gone to meet ‘is maker! ‘E’s a stiff! Bereft of life, ‘e rests in peace! If you hadn’t nailed ‘im to the perch ‘e’d be pushing up the daisies! ‘Is metabolic processes are now ‘istory! ‘E’s off the twig! ‘E’s kicked the bucket, ‘e’s shuffled off ‘is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!

Dead Parrot, Monty Python

I’m blocked. I don’t know why, but I suspect it to be self-sabotage. Even the mundane seems pedantic.