Here and There

An iron poker landed on the big toe of Fiorella's left foot last night when she was trying to keep the fire going. Guess who's in pain this morning?
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When a chubby-cheeked baby smiles at you, there's no way you can't smile back.
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Fio has finally come to terms with "amazing" and "awesome," the descriptive terms that have taken the country by storm and are apparently the only words HG house hunters know. As a linguist, Fio realizes she can't hold back the tide because living languages are always changing, but as her mother's daughter, she wants to scream at people to enlarge their vocabularies or sit down and shut up.
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Did Fio tell you she's finished printing out all her 2017 pages and putting them in a loose-leaf notebook? Starting from 2008, that makes nine years of them. Yeah, Fio is a never-give-up-the-ship kinda gal.
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It feels strange to sit on the couch in front of the TV without a telenovela playing, but Mi Marido Tiene Familia has run its course and Fio hasn't found a replacement yet. Give her time.

Great Medical News!

Thank you, Dr. Renee Pietzsch! That pain Fiorella has been feeling in her footsies lately, especially the left, more pronated one, has been diagnosed at last--arthritis. And Dr. Pietzsch knows how to combat it, first by padding the arch of the offending foot, then by having Fio rub oitment on the top of the arch, and then, if all else fails, puncturing the arthritic cyst that has formed thereon.

Fio celebrated by going out and laying a cartload of rocks along the driveway--strangely, her feet don't bother her as much when she is out on the acreage. Then she came in and searched through her car and the house for the instruction page and prescription the doctor had given her, but couldn't find them. Her head bent in shame, Fiorella will have to call the doctor's office tomorrow for second editions.

Purple Arm

It's interesting, the contortions that Fio has to go through to sit up in bed now that she's down to one usable arm. And she'll admit she had to call for Husband's help to get her out of the bathtub when her one-arm lift didn't work. And it's hard for Fio to sleep when her arm, now purple from armpit to wrist, is sensitive to bedsheets and pillows. On the other hand, it could have been both arms. *

Post-migraine

The light was too bright
Each sound was too loud--
A touch was too much
Now that the headache's gone away
Fio knows
Just how bad she felt yesterday.

Violence

Fiorella understands frustration.  She understands anger.  She understands speaking out--even yelling. But what she doesn't understand is deliberate destruction of property.  Or hurting people.

Riots are not for her.

Aftermath

Fiorella and Husband woke up grumpy and in pain.  Every tendon in Fio's body had tightened up as she slept, and her nose wasn't working right.  She didn't want to take a hot bath because, as enjoyable as it would be, hot baths innervate her, and she has lots to do today.  Husband is having a problem with thigh muscles, shoulders muscles, and biceps pulling.

Easter is over.  Must be chocolate withdrawal.

Suppression

If I bury my hurt and anger deep
Where no one else can see
Will it simmer like a pot of fire
And ultimately murder me?

Question?

Fiorella forgot to tell you an interesting item of information she learned while she was at her neurologist's office last week.  As usual. Dr. M. told her the shots would hurt a little, but to try not to move.  Afterwards, Fio remarked that she'd never felt pain, only pressure.  At which point,  Dr. M's intern, Dr. Wong, said  recent studies have shown that women feel physical pain less than men do.

Could Wong be right?

Ka-boom.

Considerations

Fiorella is back on the cane and the painkillers again.  Apparently she overdid it at her last physical therapy session--she was in so much pain when she got home that the armadillo man had to help her get out of her car.  Two days, a couple of cold packs and several hot baths later, she's moving around better, but not as well as she was BEFORE the PT.

Physical therapy is administered in a large room full of torturous-looking machines and of beds which move up and down as needed.  There are usually three to five therapists in the room, and, like in a beauty salon, they tend to keep a loud conversation going among themselves about weekend plans, their families, and holiday shopping.  Long-time patients also chime in.  Today Fiorella heard the story of a woman recovering from rotator cuff surgery whose younger daughter got a pebble in her ear when a fellow student upended a bucket of gravel on her head.  The family doctor accidentally pushed the pebble in deeper.  Just as the mother got her weeping child to the emergency room, her older child's school called and told her she needed to come pick up her daughter, who had gotten sick.   Needless to say, Daddy was out of town making a business delivery.  And Mama was supposed to have spent the day packing for a family trip.

Maybe Fiorella's pain isn't so bad after all.

Nighttime Troubles

Fio woke up about 2:30 in the morning feeling hot and cold at the same time. And the air seemed too warm to breathe and she ached all over.  Her head hurt, her facelift scars hurt, her jaw and cheekbones hurt, her back hurt,  her legs hurt, her right hip hurt A LOT.  Lesser beings, she believes, call it pain.

No choice but to stagger to the bathroom, exercising her arms and neck along the way, grab a pain pill, and run herself a hot bath.  She slept in the tub till about 5:00, then transferred back to bed.  A slight headache was all that remained of her nighttime troubles.

Sonya Dog awoke her at 6:30 and Fio's been up and running ever since.  It's gonna be a great day.

Six-thirty a.m.

As Fiorella is sitting on the couch and keying in this blog, she is also mentally massaging every muscle in her body because she woke up feeling like she'd been beaten up during the night. And, in a way, she was--in her dreams. For some reason, her subconscious decided to review her teaching career, pull out every dumb thing she'd ever done, remind her of it, then depict her as totally unorganized to boot.

Now, Fio was sometimes dumb, but she was never unorganized so she's gotta figure out what this dream really means.

In the meantime, she's taking half a hydrocodone. Mental massage isn't cutting it.

Gingrich's Jam

Newt Gingrich reportedly said he would like Sarah Palin to have a role in his administration. But a little bird tells Fiorella that the high-flying Sarah wouldn't accept the vice-presidential slot again, and that not even Newt would be--uh--newt-brained enough to make her Secretary of State. So what does that leave? Well, Fio has an idea, which involves another headline story.

Yesterday the TV talk shows were dominated by the news that celebrity chef Paula Deen has diabetes. Every time Fio switched channels, there was yet another skinny-faced sourpuss blaming Deen's diabetes, along with the ever-increasing obesity of America and the fall of Rome, on the amount of butter Ms. Happyface uses in her recipes.

So--maybe Gingrich could make Sarah, who is slender and athletic, his Secretary of Health so she could regulate the country's dietary habits.

But no, he'd have to put her in the pillory with ol' Paula. Sarah's the one who countered Michelle Obama's healthy-eating campaign by charging over to her local public school with a batch of homemade cookies in hand.

Secretary of War?

Blessed Med

Fiorella is healed! Well, not exactly healed, but she's hobbling round with a lot less pain, and she got a full night's sleep last night. In fact, probably ten hours worth--but then, she had a lot to make up for.

No, she didn't put her hands on the TV and pray. She took herself off to the doctor, who listened to her tale of woe and prescribed a little white pill. And although she didn't pray for it, God bless Lyrica.

Seeking Succor

Fiorella's right hip pain
Is clogging up her topside brain
Pray the x-rays will explain
So she'll have peace of mind again.