Poor Tom! His favorite phlebotomist, a woman named Erica, left to work in a doctor’s office. The rest of this entry is going to be pretty ranty, so if that’s not your thing, get out of here!
I feel like shit, but first, here’s another nightmare I had—this one even more detailed but different. We were living in a house that looked similar to our last one, only it seemed to have three or four bedrooms. In the midst of weird and senseless things, like me deciding on physical library books (which I haven’t gotten in years and never will again since I’m all digital), my parents were alive and decided to visit. Not only did they visit, but they brought along dozens of their friends! I definitely didn’t appreciate having a house full of strangers.
Tom was out somewhere when I casually ran a hand through my hair and pulled back a good-sized clump of it. Horrified, I asked Dad, who was in the living room, where Mom was. I went into the master bedroom only to find the bathroom door shut because she was taking a bath. I could hear water sloshing around in the large tub. So, I laid down on their bed to wait for her. Yes, they moved my beloved waterbed out and put their bed in its place for their stay. I sunk down into the firm memory foam, thinking it was just the type of bed they would get—probably costing a fortune. I didn’t like it and found it made me too warm.
When she was done with her bath, I found she not only got a ton of water all over the bathroom floor, but some guy entered the room, baring his teeth and pissed off about something. I told him to get out because I really needed to talk to my mother about something important. Growling something at me and still clutching the fallen clump of hair in my hand, I shoved him back, and he left without making me hurt him. Then, I showed Mom the hair and asked what it could mean. She just sort of stared at the hair and me with a mixture of confusion and surprise but didn’t say anything.
Anyway, I’m back to the broken-up sleep. I slept fairly well during the first half of it, but after waking up to pee, I couldn’t get back to sleep because I was having trouble breathing through my nose, which was all stopped up again for seemingly no reason. I wasn’t outdoors, and I’ve been sticking to my allergy regimen religiously, so I don’t know why my nose was blocked. It has been a little over a week since I dusted the bedroom, so if I can ever get the energy to take care of that, I will. I’m totally exhausted—not just because of shitty sleep quality but also because of melatonin, which leaves me hungover and fucks with my cognitive abilities. Even just half a milligram.
After I finally fell back asleep, which seemed to take forever, I woke up several times. I got the lowest sleep score I’ve had in quite a while. In fact, I think I’ll go try to nap before I finish this entry. I’m lying down talk-typing on my phone, and I barely have the energy for just that, let alone anything else. If I can get a nap and it actually refreshes me, I want to take care of the dishes and make a new but simple chicken recipe. Plus, I’ll dust the bedroom, and it would be nice to do more coloring and hit the road. I have less than 1,400 miles to go on my trip.
Later…
I ended up napping, although barely because my nose still gets clogged up when lying flat on my stomach. I’m still exhausted, but I managed to do the things I needed to do. I got the dishes in the dishwasher, cooked dinner, folded the laundry, and dusted the bedroom. Now, all I have to do is hope that today’s pre-bed plan works. I’m going to use the Neti bottle about 15 minutes before I use the steroid spray and take Claritin. Before I’m ready to fall asleep, I’ll take half a clonazepam and leave the other half for if I wake up in the middle of my sleep for any reason and have a hard time getting back to sleep. Melatonin is definitely all wrong for me. The break in sleep doesn’t help, but the melatonin hangover exacerbates things. It’s a wonder how I managed to take 10 mg of the stuff 25 years ago, but I had a whole different body back then.
Damn, do I wish this urologist would tell me I had terminal cancer, but of course, he won’t. I won’t get anything deadly until it’s time to kill myself. The question is if I’m going to be able to tough out the suffering until his time comes or if I’m going to finally get fed up enough with the years of suffering and check out sooner.
My clit is on fire at times, especially after I pee. So as I said, something’s causing the inflammation, and as Tom said, it’s just a matter of finding out what’s causing it and treating it. But, of course, that’s only if it can be treated. In my case, I’m usually stuck with temporary or half-assed solutions—things that either don’t help at all or that help but not enough, like with my nasal regimen. I really worry that the only way to deal with my allergies in this state is to have shots, and that’s just not going to be possible once a week, let alone two or three times a week.
Yes, I’m rambling, but I need to. As exhausted as I am, it’s just that kind of night, and I’m in just that kind of mood, you know? Anyway, Tucks sometimes makes me burn more, so I use hydrocortisone when it really gets bad.
I’m worried because while I do agree that the illegals who are breaking the law should be deported, and I am all for the Laken Riley Act, and yes, while I love the idea of equality, DEI is not fair, and what about our own homegrown nightmares who are barely getting a slap on the wrist? How about Trump’s fucking with China and possibly driving up the cost of Temu? And then there are Jew-haters like Musk and Kanye who are dying to be president so they can finish what Hitler started. Don’t think for a minute that most people wouldn’t just love to vote for them because they would.
There’s no reason the government couldn’t decide to hunt down and exterminate the Jews in the country if things took a turn in that direction, and you know what? Nothing would surprise me anymore. I don’t think most people realize just how overrated and exaggerated racism against blacks is. They’re not the true victims in this country. In many ways, they have more support than even straight, white, non-Jewish people have.
Sometimes I wonder what our lives would be like had we never met. Who would Tom have ended up with, and what would he have done with his life? Would he have stayed in Phoenix all his life? I suspect he might have. He’s always been adventurous in some ways, but living in different states was a thing we did together. It’s not something he would have done on his own or with someone who wasn’t into the idea. You have to be with someone who has the same curiosity and desire to experience new places. Usually, anyway. Still don’t know if we’re ever really going to make it out of here. I still sense that we likely will eventually. I just don’t know exactly how, where, or how tight money will be. I would really love to pick out the appliances of my choice, for example, but I will probably have to settle for basic stuff if we move—if not for good, then at least for starters.
Anyway, when I think of what my life would have been like without him, it’s always been a chilling thought, and the older I get and the more I suffer from health issues, the scarier the thought is. I don’t think I would be alive today. I think I’ve only hung on this long for him, but eventually, if things don’t turn around, I’m going to end up getting selfish. There’s only so much I can take. It’s so hard when I struggle so much of the time and watch so many people older than me live their lives while I have to spend most of it either in bed or feeling like shit in some way or another. It’s like I’m not really even living.
Yesterday, aside from the burning, I had fairly decent energy and could do more, but tonight I don’t even have the energy to sit up and color, let alone hit the road. All I want to do is lie here and bitch and complain. It’s a therapeutic outlet of sorts and Tom is asleep now anyway. At least one of us can keep a normal schedule.
He said he saw the honker’s saw out but didn’t hear anything. He said maybe he moved it to get to something. No, if it was out, it was because he used it. So, what is this going to be, the new weekend ritual? Sighs. 60-something more days, and he’s gone.
Later still…
Good gosh, on a scale of 1 to 10, my fatigue is a 10-plus tonight. It’s been horrible. I’ve been struggling so badly to get things done.
Being as curious as I usually am, I asked AI what organs are affected first when bladder cancer spreads, if you do have it. After spreading to the lymph nodes, as is typical, it can affect the lungs first, making for shorter breath. “I did not read that!” I said to myself. And I’ll ignore the fact that hair falls out from chemo. Seriously, I’m 99.9% sure it’s just inflammation. We just have to find out what’s causing it. But just like asthma is a type of inflammation and they got that under control—even back when I smoked, as Tom pointed out—hopefully, they can get this under control as well.
The shortness of breath does have me a bit mystified, however. Yes, it could be the levo, but this isn’t the way it usually affects me, and that was only in the beginning. It could be a Florida thing, just like my nose. Or it could be connected to sleep apnea, which can make you feel breathless during the hours you’re awake, fatigue, and nerves. Really hope it isn’t connected to the spray after all but I doubt it or else I wouldn’t have had tight spells in between now and the last time I was on the spray.