Happy Thanksgiving to All, and to All a Good Night. Wait...

The pork roast was delicious, I don't like leaving the skin on mashed potatoes, I'm loving yams more and more, not just for holidays, I forgot to put out the cranberry sauce, we decided we were too full for pie, so that will be for breakfast, and the dressing was really good but too damp.  DAMP?  lolol  I meant to ... moist?  Wet.  Soupy?  It was good tho. 

Annie got a bath and smells like coconut.  She ADORES Jeremy, so much so that she forgets that she works for me!

Tomorrow, I volunteered to be for door greeter for the Humane Society down at Macy's, but they changed the schedule on me, so I have to be there 4 hours than I expected to.  Which is going to cut into my time with Jeremy, but his girlfriend is also here, visiting her grandparents, so he hopes to meet up with her in the afternoon sometime, before he has to go back home. 



I hope he doesn't mind my bright white big knee in the picture...

Click on the pics to enlarge, should you wish.

 
I just sent an email to the two ladies who have befriended me, thanking them for teaching me the things I needed to know in San Francisco, and that I was thankful for meeting them and getting to know them.  I am rarely so sentimental, and it felt weird!

Kim called to wish me a happy Thanksgiving and to ask if I'd received his letter.  Ummm yes, I did and I sent one back, how are you, I am fine, Jeremy's here, did you see your family, umm, umm thanks for calling! 

I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving! 
~

Content AND Happy... Two Birds with One Stone

I'm too happy to sit down and blog.  How many times can I come up with different ways to say I'm not only content, but I'm happy too.  I've been happy and I've been content, but I think the times of being both have been very, very rare.  The only time that comes to mind is sitting in front of the fish tank, rocking Jacob, and watching Jeremy fall asleep on the couch.  Even so, those times were very situational, because it was only moments of time, interrupted by daily traumas and worries.

I FEEL different.  I've been here almost 8 months.  I have made 2 friends that I feel comfortable asking if they would be my emergency contact here in California.  I'm happy with my social life, such as it is, because I'm a loner type anyways, but not I don't have to feel guilty for not being more social. 

I LOVE the feeling of being anonymous.  I like no one knowing I have MS.  I like not being worried about.  I like walking out of my apartment with a plan, and no one talking to me as I go along, making me forget my plan.  I think some of my friends at the apartment in Idaho will understand that.  Steve, Connie, Lorene, Suzanne.  I miss my friends back there, but at the same time, I didn't really realize just how much it takes out of me to be human in front of other people, to fulfill expectations that I put on myself, knowing perhaps someone was counting on me.  All of my own doing - I don't want my friends to think they were too much for me!

For the first time in my life, I feel like the other shoe is NOT going to drop.  Fifty two years old, and I finally feel like everything is okay, and whatever is not? Will still be okay.  I have no idea how to explain that any further either.  

In this city of 808,976, almost a million, I feel safe and secure.

In this tiny studio, I have space in my brain to watch TV or read and/or listen to music on purpose, with purpose - not as an escape from whatever.  I now know what "whatever" was, but I'm not going to mess up this post with talking about it now.  Reading and music win out more over TV lately.

My only worry is the cats... wondering if they are happy, or should I give them a chance to go to a better home.

I wake up in the morning to this view:                                                                                                                      

 8am in the morning, and I WANT to get out of bed to go walk.  I don't lay there and let the pain take over.

I remember a long time ago, how the statement "God will provide" had such a huge impact on me.  "God" "provided" all right, by relatives, or friends, thereby creating obligations/expectations.  Or more likely then not, I worked my tail off to "provide" what I wanted.  To say "God will provide" was a negative for me, for the most part.  Actually, I didn't think God had anything to do with it.  I lost God when Jacob died, so I'm afraid my faith during his life was a fraud, I'm ashamed to admit.

But the serendipity-ness that is my life now...?  There IS something to "IT"... a greater thing than me, that is giving me peace of mind in this city of nearly a million, inside 49 square miles.  When I am at my most poor, living on $770.00 in the 5th most expensive city in the USA, I am content with having exactly what I need, and feel that it's finally time to save money, instead of spend it. 

I had given up on moving here, but I put it at the top of my bucket list on January 20, 2011.  Half jokingly, I "Oprah-ized" it, putting it "out there in the Universe", the 'The Secret' way.  It was one of her Book of the Month selections, and it basically went viral.  I've got the book.  I haven't read it.  I got the gist of it from her show, and reading.  Unfortunately, my attitude is much like Emily Yoffe's, who writes a column called "The Human Guinea Pig" for the Slate website. 

As everyone in the Universe now knows, (it's the least I can do... to give credit where credit is due, so I continue to tell the story), the very next day after putting "Moving to San Francisco" on the top of my bucket list, I got a letter from San Francisco Housing Authority, saying my name had reached the top of the list and a studio was ready for me, should I want/accept it.  This is after waiting over 5 years, and basically giving up.  Did I mention THE VERY NEXT DAY?

Sooo many things have happened since then that further prove there is something bigger than I am - I would wish for something, and I'd find it on the sidewalk the next day.  

I'm being ridiculous.  Who cares if I'm happy!!!
~

SoC, and Tony Stewart won the damn championship!

~
In catching up with other SOC'ers, there was one lady who said she wasn't going to recap today's race cause she doesn't remember enough details.  I have that same feeling after most races, much as I would like to start a segment on the blog, recapping the races, cause I KNOW how much ALL my readers adore Nascar, but I don't remember details either.

But today's race?  It wasn't so much about the details as it was purely amazing.  It was the last race of the season, and the championship had yet to be determined.  Often, a racer gets so far ahead in points that they know who the champion is by the end of the season.

Tonight, it came down to Carl Edwards, and Tony Stewart.  Neither of whom is my favorite driver, especially Tony, but I do have a whole new respect for him, I must admit.  Yes, Ben, I really said that.  There are 36 point races a year, from February to November.  Nascar's version of a play-off is scoring points for the first 26 races in order to compete in the last 10 races for the championship, called The Chase.  All 43 racers continue to race each race, and place, but the Chase drivers start all over in points for the last 10 races - whomever wins the most points wins that year's championship.

Neither Tony or Carl won a race during the first 25 races, but both placed high enough to qualify for the Chase.  Carl didn't win a race during the Chase, but finished consistently in the top 5 and had collected enough points ahead of everyone else to nail the championship... cept for one thing.  That damn Tony WON 4 of the 10 races, which meant he and Carl were TIED at 356 points each.  Tony had several setbacks during today's race, having to come from behind 2 or 3 times (details, details!).  Carl lead the most laps, which gave him bonus points, and he looked like the winner.  But Tony persevered.  He lead the last 40 laps, after a harrowing pit stop strategy that had me cussing at the TV, but it sorta kinda paid off.  Again, I lack the memory for details.

He and Carl ran 1st and 2nd those last 40 laps.  Tony won.  And as far as I'm concerned, there were 2 champions this season.
~~~

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post below.
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

Now…
1. Grab the button

(it’s at the top of this post)

2. Write your post.
3. Link up here.

Rock, Hard Spot Part Three

Lordy, this is hard.  I'm thinking I'd actually rather tell the abuse story, or the MS story instead.  If you haven't read already, here's Part One, and Part Two.

Perhaps I'll post some pictures first of the place where I buried the puppies.  Warning:  pictures of the dogs (deceasd, wrapped in a blanket are present)  I have to do this in order to let go and deal with the guilt.  It's almost like I'd welcome the judgement.

As I posted before, I had tried to re-home Muttin/Jeff way back in January of 2010.  Wow, it's coming up on 2 years I've been dealing with this.  Actually, much longer, because deciding to re-home them took at least a year to consider.  Going thru the pictures to choose which to post has been good for me.  It's in my face.  It's been so hard not to write about them when I have a memory of them ALL THE TIME, over the last year.  They were so much a part of my blog before that I really didn't feel like I had anything to say unless I could write about them too. 

They spent 3 weeks with the Humane Society, without one single bite.  There was interest until the information about them was told; 12 years of age, had to go together, Jeffrey was allergic to most dog foods, so they ate the RAW diet, specifically raw chicken.  I did say that cooking their meat was a possibility, if raw meat wasn't going to work for the new adopters.  I was also honest about Jeffrey's seizure activity, and his weakening bladder.  Not many people want to take on aging dogs, much less those with other issues.   I was insistant on telling the truth, so that whomever took them KNEW what was ahead, and the someone willing to take them on... would automatically be the right person.

They spent 3 weekends at PetCo, in cages at adoption fairs.  There were several other events they went to, and they were online as well.  After 3 weeks, I couldn't stand it anymore, so I went back to get them.  The lady keeping them in her home was soooo happy, because she said they just didn't seem to settle in like most dogs do, accepting their fate.  She said it seemed like they were just ... waiting.

However, she could have just been saying that.  I lost a little trust with the Humane Society, because they had said they would be easy to adopt out, but I sometimes felt they were just saying what I wanted to hear.  I called her every week to see how they were doing, and got the feeling that I shouldn't have, or that people didn't do that once they gave up their animals.  I had told her I was going to do that, tho.  Also, I happened to run into a friend, who had seen my puppies at one of the adoption events during the last week, and she had asked about them, knowing their story.  The kid told her they were 5 years old! and didn't seem to know anything about their food requirements.  The card that I had written up for them was not on their cage either.  After I heard that, I was sooo glad I had got them back. 

That first night, having them back home, I still knew that it was going to be hard to keep them.  It's hard to explain how happy and right it felt to have them back, but how fricking HARD it was to have them back.  Not to mention all the hassles I had to put up with the new landlady over the last 2 years, in order to keep them.

I admit, when I first got Annie, I saw the benefit of having her as a single dog, once the two littles had passed away - that I would be able to travel easier.  I could afford to pay for one dog on a plane, but had never been able to fly with the two littles because it was just too expensive.  Kenneling them AND paying for Annie's plane, etc., was just too prohibitive too.  I wasn't thinking of Annie as a service dog back in the beginning.  Physically, all three of them were a drain.  I simply couldn't walk Annie enough, she needed more than I could give.  To walk all three of them was impossible most of the time, much as I enjoyed it.  Muttin, as always, was the problem, running off at the most unexpected moments, and there were many times when a one hour walk turned into a two hour walk, and I paid for it at home.  If I didn't distract Muttin at just the right moment, off she'd run.  Teaching Annie bad habits.  If I walked them separately, again, too much physically for me.

Mentally, having to pay attention EVERY. SINGLE. MOMENT. to them when outside was beginning to be physically too demanding.  One of the MOST frustrating things was ... my feet.  They had always slept at the end of the bed.  They were TRAINED to sleep in their own crate, but they always snuck up on the bed at some point in the night.  I didn't care, but then the sensation of them touching my skin got to be ... like fingernails on chalkboard.   I WANTED them with me up on the bed as I watched TV or played on the computer, but physically, they were beginning to HURT me!  These days, it's even worse, but having only Annie is a bit easier, and she is farrrr more aware of my pain than Muttin/Jeff ever were.  All I have to say to Annie, is "Move" and she gets up and moves further away.  Muttin would argue.  Oh would she argue!

I was depressed when they were gone to the Humane Society.  I was beginning to sink into that depression because I still had them.  I wasn't upset with THEM.  I had learned my lesson - I was miserable without them, and oh so happy when they were back.  Instead, I was turning against myself again, because of the MS.  MS was what was making it so damn hard to have 3 dogs.

I was spending most of my time in bed, and they were constantly triggering the pain in my feet with simple, contact snuggling.  Contact that I WANTED.  Contact that ultimately kept me irritated most of the time.  Irritated, torn, and in pain.  I even considered giving Annie up, but her value as a service dog was obviously clear.  The two Littles were just too little to help me. 

To answer Anonymous's question in my last post, I don't know if one can just arbitrarily euthanize an animal just because it's become inconvenient to keep them.  I didn't talk to the vet.  I had my sister do the dirty deed of finding a vet who would do it.  I don't know if she explained the situation to them or not.  I do know that the vet who did it was very, very kind to me, and the puppies.  He explained to me in detail what would happen, and how they may or may not react.  He did it the expensive way, I know, first putting them too sleep with anesthesia first, and then killing them.  They didn't feel a thing.  I made them go at the same time, they didn't see one or the other go first.  I wrapped them up in my favorite blanket, and carried them out to the car myself cause I couldn't stand for them to be carried by anyone else.  And then my mom and sister drove us to their favorite hiking place, behind Bear World.  The ground was too hard to dig, so I buried them the way the Indians did it, covering them with rocks and branches and twigs.

I made Annie come with us, so that she wouldn't search for them endlessly, like she had when they went to the Humane Society.

It worked.
~

Rock, Hard Spot Part Two

Buddie Pic

 If you haven't read Part One, you might want to get caught up.

Sunning in the garden

Well, I thought I had a direction for Part Two, but the anonymous comment (who are you oh thou who has been following me for years? :-) made me want to respond.  But I'm not ready to answer the questions yet, because ... I'm not there yet.  To put this out there is really very difficult for me, because I miss them so much still, and I admit it - I feel guilty.  I felt uncomfortable writing sometimes, because I used to write about them ALL the time, and for me to continue to do that, without being very clear with the truth...  I did not want to explain over and over again - it's hard.




 I used to blog about the dogs more than any other subject.  I've got over 3,000 pictures of them in the computer.  They used to have quite the following, too.  They talked, and I transcribed.  A group of us used to chat about them on Delphi, way back when.  Anyone who knows me can tell you how much I loved my dogs.  Jeremy, Cindy, Theresa, Ben, Paul, Michael, Kathy, Cheryl, Steve, and everyone in the apartment building where I used to live in Idaho. Hell, I even had to fight City Hall one time in order to keep them, since one was allowed only 2 dogs when within city limits.

 They came to me shortly after my son moved out, so they filled up that empty nest thing going on.  They were hell on wheels for the first 2 years, but eventually, they bonded with me, and they did that thing that dogs do - that unconditional love thing.

I loved to watch them together.  They were so close and so in tune with each other.  I have a series of pictures I've been wanting share, but couldn't until I get this post done, cause I knew I'd get asked how were the dogs doing.  And I dreaded answering that question. 

Ohhhh Ben....

Muttin was a she-devil thru and thru.  She was a liar and a thief with no conscious what-so-ever.  She would get in trouble and either stare me in the eyes, talk back, or let Jeffrey take the blame.  He had enough guilty conscious-ness for the both of them!  He'd hang his head in shame, even tho he hadn't done anything.  She's been known to slap a boyfriend, and her meaning couldn't have been more clear.  We were laying on the bed, and he'd given her a slight tap on the nose for licking him, and she sat still, staring at him, while he tried to talk to me.  Her staring was a bit un-nerving tho.  Finally, when he looked away from her, she reached out her little paw and slapped his hand right back. And then ran away!  It was the running away that killed me - she KNEW she'd be in trouble.  It was sooo funny and soooo cute, and it was obvious she was saying "Don't you slap me, BUD".  And she said "bud" in a drawn-out way, like Buuudud.

Her favorite position - looking down at Jeffrey

She was petite, slim, and I swear she'd diet, because she used to get out of the fenced back yard every. single. day. She'd crawl under the neighbors fence.  Jeffrey was too big to get thru.  

I loved her so much.

 

Jeffry was more burly, muscle-y, barrel chested.  He was so much more earnest and honest then Muttin, and had the sweetest look of concern on his face most of the time.  I used to worry that he could have had an ulcer over all the shennigans his sister got into, and dragged him along.  He loved to play under the covers, and he snorted.  He once tried to make friends with a spider on the wall, and was heart-broken when Muttin callously ate it. He wanted to be a nurse when he grew up.

I loved him so much.
 
I think the thing that touched me the most about them was their trust in the world.  Trust was a hard concept for me, but I could see it in my dogs, and perhaps learned from them.  They had never known a harsh hand.

In my high school years, I had a dog, named Tobie, who had been abused.  It took ALOT of time before she trusted me.  She would cringe if a hand came too close to her, or when voices got raised.
Muttin?  She'd get right in the middle of it, and participate, adding her 2 cents by slapping, barking, or just wagging her tail happily.
 


Hiney is probably on the bed, but next to me where he can't be seen.  Everyone got along.  I'd wake up in my SINGLE sized hospital bed to a sea of animals sleeping with me.  I never had a problem sleeping alone because of them.  They liked my music, and cuddled up when I read.  One of them taught me the value of all creatures, great and small - even spiders.  The other one reminds me of myself - eating spiders. 

They lived in a completely happy and safe little world and shared their exuberance for life in such a joyful (and sometimes irritating! way)  Even tho they suspected Jeremy was out to murder them, they loved  him too, much to his great irritation. He had developed an unnatural aversion to dog hair once he hit his teens - so bizarre! 

They were so uncomplicated, yet brilliant.  So interesting to watch.  They were as different as night and day, two completely individual personalities.  Muttin scoffed at the mere idea of training.  She'd sit next to me while I worked with Jeffrey, and call him names, while refusing to  to learn anything from me.  I'm tellin you - those first two years were hell.  I'm surprised that Jeffrey didn't suffer from low self-esteem because of her taunts.

One time, Jeremy had brought home a huge bunch of fresh flowers from Seattle.  I put them in a vase next to  my bed, and they smelled delicious.  That night, I woke up to Jeffrey growling low in his body, and he would not stop.  It scared me, as he rarely did that, and history had proven when he did growl, I was to pay attention because something was wrong. 

 Finally, I got up and turned on the lights, hoping the axe murderer wasn't looking in the window.  Jeffrey was growling at the flowers.  I had to take them out to the kitchen, but he lay awake for a long time, vigilant about making sure they didn't walk back in the door. They could have been attack flowers for all he knew, and he was the protector.

Guess who invited herself in?  

Our back yard looked like I lived in a trailer park with all the junk I had to use, trying to reinforce the fence line, because of Muttin's escaping every day when they were toddlers.  One time, I enlisted the help of my son in rebuilding Fort Knox Not, in hopes of finally containing Muttin in our own yard.  We moved bricks, logs, dog houses, boards and cinder blocks against the fence line to block her, and I seriously thought about mixing up a batch of cement.  Jeremy didn't understand.  He'd plug up a hole, and I would have to say, nope, she'll get out of that, put another brick there just so and maybe I better mix up that cement just to be sure, and he said, , "Mom, she's not Wonder Dog".

???  Hmphh.  Easy for him to say - he wasn't living there anymore.  

Oh my.  Wonder Dog herself watched us with GREAT interest, and as I looked at her, I lost all hope of ever containing her.  She was casing the joint, and even giggled when she saw me looking at her.  When I looked over at Jeffrey, he sure hoped our efforts were going to work this time, cause he was tired of being home alone all day while his sister cavorted around the neighborhood.  He was able to watch her from our large bay windows in the front of the house.  It was hard to be the protector, if those you are protecting are flaunting their freedom by standing in the middle of the street and you can't get to them!

s

You'd had to have seen it for yourself - the 4 foot cyclone fence, with another 3 feet of chicken wire, an 8 foot tall piece of plywood blocking one part of the fence.  Even the 12-inch garden fencing, laid flat on the ground along and under the fence line, so she wouldn't dig.  Then all the bricks, logs, and cinder blocks stuffed into the holes that she somehow managed to dig.  She'd get out, into the neighbor's back yard, and dig a hole under his fence to get out.  I'd come home and she'd be sitting out in the middle of the cul-de-sac, and ohsohappy to see me.  And quite full of herself, I might add.  For two years, it never got old for her.  She would bark her fool head off at anyone who drove into HER cul-de-sac.  Thankfully, none of the neighbors got upset with her, saying she was soooo darn cute about her shenanigans - they even enjoyed my frustration and misery.  I needed to quit my job in order to devote myself full-time to the problem... the mystery of how in the HELL was she getting out?

Thankfully, Jeffrey became quite good at telling me that she had escaped again.  I didn't consider it tattling, as he was being a responsible brother, concerned about her safety.  He got a butt load of criticism from her about it, tho.  

Finally, one fine day, both Jeremy and I witnessed how she got out.  She was jumping straight up 8 feet over the 8 foot high plywood, scrabbling with her feet up the last few inches, and OVER she went, into the neighbor's yard.  While I contemplated on how to fix the problem, Jeremy ran to the computer to look up How to Train Frisbee Dogs, and Win Frisbee Championships.  We were going to be rich!

On the spider incident, Jeffrey had been staring at a spider on the wall for quite some time.  He wagged his tail, barked occasionally, putting his front feet up on the wall, trying to reach the spider.  He was wagging his tail at a spider!   It was touching.  Muttin, sitting in a chair, watched him with disdain in her eyes.  She seemed to think playing with spiders was beneath her.  Until the spider fell to the floor, that is.  She pounced, and ate it.  Jeffrey was truly shocked, and wouldn't speak to her for hours.

Another story, set the scene:  Muttin was laying on the carpet with a bored look on her face.  Jeffrey came in with a cool twig, bone, toy, ball, gum wrapper, leaf - you get the point that the main thing is that IT is a COOOL thing, and he had it and she did not.  Being the sweetheart that he was, tho, he would drop it in front of her, hoping she would play.  She just looked at him, wagging her tail limply, feigning interest for one second, and then look away.  He'd roll over it, bark, snort, and bard again.  Muttin would close her eyes.  He gave up and walked away.  Suddenly, Muttin would spring to life, grab it and then chase after him.  The point was made very clearly - she had the cool thing, and he did not.  He fell for it every. single. damn. time.

Bitching about Muttin behind her back

And so, now you know.  I loved those puppies.  So the question becomes ... if I loved them so much, why did I have them put down? 

      And then came Annie. 









This comment from Anonymous is exactly why I've had such a hard time talking about my dogs.  If you've read my blog for years, don't I know you?  I will be happy to answer in the next post coming up - cause there is a Part Three, and your comment is a perfect segway!  Thanks for reading, and no snark accepted.  :-)

"Anonymous said...


I didn't realize you'd had them put to sleep. I have followed your blog for years and the sagas of Muttin and Jeff. For some reason, I was under the impression you rehomed them. What was the reason you gave for having them put down? Can one just arbitrarily have their pets put down for convenience? Just curious, no snark intended. "

To be continued
~

My MS Story

It was a long late night, a long time ago.  September 19, 2000 to be exact.  I woke up in the middle of the night, and jumped out of bed, convinced I was having a heart attack.  My left arm was numb, and then suddenly the "numbness" shot up my arm and stopped right above my heart.  See diagram A:

Having a heart attack?

I woke Jeremy up and he drove me to the hospital.

Wait.  I need to back up a little.

I have NO idea when my first symptoms started.  I was married to Tucker when I went blind in one eye.  Or I should say "with" Tucker, as we were married for only 3 of our 9 years together.  That would have been from 1986 to 1995ish.  The doctor said it was because of stress and since I was with an alcoholic, I bought it.  Then there was the summer when my knees quit holding me up, and I needed a cane sometimes.  Getting up and down from chairs was painful.  It wasn't joint pain... more like bone on bone pain and extreme weakness, so I chalked it up to arthritis and didn't go to the doctor.  I remember my boss at Help Inc. being really surprised to see me with a cane, so that would have been 1991 thru 1997.  (Believe you me, it's taken me finding my old tax refunds and resumes in order to find those dates, what a brain hurt!)  So, I'm going to say that I've had symptoms of MS since 1995.  Back then, symptoms would come and go, and for the most part, the symptom would disappear between making the appointment and seeing the doctor, so I would usually cancel.  Hence, no real medical record of a pattern of symptoms that a doctor could look back at and draw a conclusion.

The symptom that finally got me serious about finding out what was wrong with me was the tingling pins and needles burning in my feet.  I was seeing Ben then, who lived in Twin Falls.  I made an appointment with a foot doctor.  But a few days before that appointment....

... it was a long late night long ago.  September 19, 2000 to be exact...Jeremy drove me to the hospital.  They did some tests, and a CT scan.  A neurologist was called in, and I don't remember much after that.  We went home, after making an appointment with her in her office to follow-up.


At that appointment with the nuero, Dr. Iris Brossard, she made me identify items in a brown paper bag without looking at them, using my hands only.  I don't remember how I did.  She ordered an MRI of my brain.  After failing the first MRI, because who knew I had EXTREME claustrophobia issues, and it had to be rescheduled with drugs next time.  I failed the second one too, so it had to be rescheduled with anesthesia for the next time.  It seems MRI's cause me to have flashbacks of childhood sexual abuse - the pressure of that machine over me and so close to my face absolutely freaked me out.

At the second appointment with Dr. Brossard, she looked at the MRI's and said "It's not MS, that's what I was worried about".  She ordered a... test where they stick needles in you and then run electricity thru the needles.  Not a fun time, but better than an MRI by far.

Between Sept 19th and Oct 24, I had 8 different MRI's. The insurance wouldn't pay for the brain and spine to be done at the same time.  With or without contrast.  After the third MRI, they refused to use anesthesia to knock me out for the flashbacks, and it was a battle each time to convince me that I needed more than ONE freaking Valium. Oh, I also had a herniated disc surgery during that time, as Dr. Brossard said the numbness in my feet was caused by a herniated disc in my neck.  It didn't get better, it got worse.  The neurologist and the surgeon kept bouncing me back and forth.  Like maybe HIS MRI would show something, even tho HERS hadn't, or maybe HER different brand of contrast was better than HIS.

I should mention that when she told me "it wasn't MS", a bell went ding ding ding in my head.  I looked up MS on the Internet, and on one of the first pages, I had, at one time or another over the years, 13 or 14 of the 15 symptoms listed.  I KNEW it was Multiple Sclerosis.  I agreed to the surgery anyways, cause of course I preferred to think it was the herniated disc, and surgery would fix it.

On October 30th, my birthday, I was scheduled for a 9th MRI, because they still didn't know what was wrong.  The radiologist, as seeing me walk in the door, exploded, and said this was ridiculous and told me he thought I should have a spinal tap - a lumbar puncture.  I agreed, but said we had to do it right now, because if I went home and thought about it, after what he had told me what it was, I knew I'd chicken out.  It's a VERY long needle inserted into your spine, to draw out spinal fluid.  He obviously had a suspicion that it was MS, because a spinal tap is another diagnostic tool for MS, if plaques aren't discovered on the MRI's.

Well, guess what?  On the day before Thanksgiving, 2002, it was official.  I had MS. 

I was "lucky" actually.  Most MS's go years before getting accurately dx'd.  The medical part for me, took only about 6 weeks.  However, if anyone had asked me for a history, asking specifically if I had had eye issues, heat issues, fatigue and urinary issues... perhaps 8 MRI's could have been prevented.

I've learned that doctors don't know everything, and if they resent you looking things up on the Internet - get a new doctor.