The Unofficial End… and the Official Beginning

Labor Day usually marks the unofficial end of summer – all of my teacher friends and grad school friends are back to school, the weather is cooling down… kind of, the new fall TV season is upon us. Labor Day usually marks the end of one thing and the beginning of another. This Labor Day also marks the unofficial end of the “What the Hell Happened to Amy, Anyway?” series and the beginning of someone much greater.

If you are not sure what this series was all about, you can read a recap of what the hell happened to me and a timeline here: http://ruudremarks.blogspot.com/2009/07/what-hell-happened-to-amy-anyway-circle.html.

I am not, unfortunately, 100% recovered. Physically, I feel great. Emotionally, I am pretty solid. Mentally, I am good to go. My eyes, however… Well, they don’t see the way they used to. I still have some vision issues and the last thing I told my doctor is that I am not sure if they are getting better or if I am getting more used to how I see. I don’t talk about it much, because there are other things to focus on. And worrying about my vision limitations is not going to make them work any better.

So with that, it is time to move on from this series. It is time to start anew. Sure, I will still post updates from time to time on my progress as I continue to face new challenges and struggles with my recovery. And I will continue to post funny insights regarding my doctors, nurses and parents concerning my condition when they come up. And of course, you can still look forward to funny and poignant stories about how my condition messes with my life. But now that you know the story - from start to present - it is time for me to move on and start to post about things other than the condition I call “Jack.”

So what I am doing now? Well, I am focusing on getting healthy - working out and eating right. I am focusing on extracurricular activities – outside of my massive TV watching schedule. I am getting back to being funny on stages in front of tens of people. I have goals and I am working towards them every day.

And as for this blog, what will you find here? Well, you will find letters – like the ones I posted when I first started this blog. And you will find random thoughts and musings. And you might even find a movie review or two – with a Ruud twist of course. And naturally, the updates on my progress – or regression. But now that you know all about what the hell happened to me, it is time to get back to the important stuff in life – like laughing and loving and living as much as I possibly can. So while this may be the unofficial end of “What the Hell Happened to Amy, Anyway,” it is also the beginning of something great, and this certainly is not the last you will hear from me.

Karma, the Reasons Why and This Too Shall Pass

I believe in karma – the idea that, essentially, what goes around comes around. I also believe that everything happens for a reason and of course, I believe in the phrase, “This too shall pass.”

Let’s start with the last phrase – “This too shall pass.” It is hard to believe that just a few months ago I was laid up in a hospital bed starting my recovery from surgery. And when you are in the middle of something like that, it is hard to look to the future and know that you will be okay. When you are laid up in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery, can barely move, can barely keep food down, can barely see, can barely sleep, it is hard to think, “This too shall pass.” It is hard to imagine things will get better. But they do. It’s been a little over 4 months since my surgery and I must say, I feel pretty good and at times I am surprised. Sometimes it feels like just yesterday and other times it feels like forever ago. But the point is, this too shall pass and it did.

And I firmly believe everything happens for a reason. When you are in the middle of a difficult situation it can be hard to see the reason why it is happening. And sometimes it is clear and right there in front of you and other times it is not and it might take some time to see it. I cannot fathom a guess as to exactly why this happened to me – and I am sure someday the reason will become clear to me. But for now I would like to think this was the kick in the pants I needed to change my lifestyle. Kick received, lifestyle changing.

Now on to karma – what goes around comes around. I am not saying what happened to me is punishment for something I did in my past, but there is certainly plenty of stuff I did in my past that could – and should – come back to me one day. There is also plenty of good I have done in my life and I have been repaid many times over. And I believe if I continue to do good, good things will – in turn – happen to me.

With that said, I found out last Friday that I won a spot on the Dave Matthews Band Live at Port Paradise Cruise. I am more than just a little excited, because I am sure we all know how much I LOVE Dave Matthews Band. Do I deserve this after what I have been through this year? Hell yes. Will this cruise be the little extra incentive to keep me on track with my new healthy lifestyle? Of course. And will I continue to improve and actually survive a cruise weekend? I should say so.

Life philosophies are just that – philosophies, not facts. They work for me. They are the thoughts that got me through the hard times and helped see through to the end. They are the ideas that I will carry with me throughout the rest of me life and believe in.

Did I deserve what happened to me? Maybe not, but I am sure there is a reason why. And you better believe that some good stuff – like winning a Dave Matthews Band Cruise – is coming my way because of this ordeal. And that is what I am going to focus on moving forward – because this too has passed.

Reset on Life

We didn’t really have a gaming system growing up. If we wanted to play Nintendo, we had to go to friend’s house to play. I distinctly remember playing Tetris non stop whenever I was at a specific childhood friend’s house. And I specifically remember that game getting stuck all the time. You know what I am talking about – the game freezes up and weird lines appear on the screen. You get all frustrated because you had the perfect tetris lined up and all you needed was the long line of 4 squares and you would have made it the next level which was faster and harder and now it is all blown. So you throw the remote at the wall and pop open the lid on the console. You press down and pop out the cartridge. You blow in it and dust goes flying and you shove it back in and press it back down and restart the game. We all know the routine – whether you had Nintendo or not, you know the routine. Sometimes you could get away with just hitting the reset button, but most of the time, you had to pull it our, blow it and shove it back in (Get your mind out of the gutter – you know who you are!). The point is, you started over.

I can look at my situation in one of two ways. I can sit back and blame what happened to me on all sorts of things. I can blame hormones or genetics or a shoddy hand being dealt to me. I can wallow in my misery and bitch and moan. I can complain. I can use this as an excuse to be lazy and just sit around and think about my limitations and let them… well, limit me.

Or I can do what I always do. I can say eff it. I can find the funny in my situation. I can name my condition (it’s called “Jack” by the way, after a concept in the movie Fight Club). I can tell people funny stories about how I talk to myself at Starbucks or literally run into people constantly. Instead of complaining, I am changing. Instead of waiting around for things to happen, I am making them happen. Instead of letting my limitations hold me back, I am pushing myself more than I have before.

I am taking the steps necessary to make changes in my life. Sure, it is scary and it isn’t easy. And I have moments of regression. I’ve eaten bad food and skipped a work out or two and picked smoking back up for a few weeks. But no one is perfect. I am not going to say I am trying, because I am not trying – I am doing. I have set goals and I am working towards them. And sometimes they need to be adjusted, but they are still there. And I am not going to let jack or “Jack” hold me back.

Some people might think there is something wrong with having to go through what I went through to make such changes in their life, but you know what I say? Eff it. If I thought that way I would have gone right back to my life before the surgery – my unhealthy life before “Jack.” Sometimes you can just hit the reset the button and move on. But sometimes you have to pull it out, blow it and shove it back in – and apparently that is what I needed – now, seriously, get your mind out of the gutter!

My Co-Pay is Paying for Your Watch

When I was about 6 years old, my dad asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told him I wanted to be either a doctor – a dentist, specifically, or a lawyer. When my dad asked me why, I told him, it was because I wanted to make a lot of money.

20 some odd years later, I am neither a lawyer (too much reading) nor a doctor (I don’t look good in white). I do still love money, but I digress…

When I was first admitted to the hospital and I met my neurosurgeon the first thing my dad asked when the doctor left the curtained area I was sequestered to at the time was, “Did you get a load of that guy’s watch?” To which I responded, “No, Dad, I am blind, remember?” To which my dad responded, “Well, it was so huge and shiny, I thought maybe you would be able to see it.” Touché.

On August 13, 2009 I went to a follow up appointment with my neurosurgeon – let’s call him Dr. Brain Surgeon. I spent a good 20 minutes in the waiting room before they called me back to the examination room. When Dr. Brain Surgeon came into the room the first thing I noticed was the gold watch with little shiny diamonds.

Dr. Brain Surgeon spent about 15 minutes with me. He checked my scars – looks good. He made me follow his fingers without moving my head – looks good. He asked how I was doing – looks good. He was on his computer a lot. I can only assume updating his Facebook status to something like, “Dr. Brain Surgeon is thinking steak for lunch.” Or maybe “Dr. Brain Surgeon wishes he was on the golf course this morning.” Though I am sure he was writing notes about me that could be used as Facebook statuses: “Amy Ruud is presenting signs of improvement.” Or maybe “Amy Ruud was stitched up nice and good by an awesome Dr. Brain Surgeon and will have minimal scarring.”

I asked Dr. Brain Surgeon a few questions about the shunt – what is it made out of? Will it move? If I lose weight will it jut out of my side? These are the things I worry about. He answered my questions: It is made out some sort of medical rubber. Not, it should not move. No, it will not jut out – even if I lose so much weight you can see my ribs. He then shook my hand, said, “See you in 6 months,” and he and his ridiculously expensive watch left the room.

In a few days I will get an Explanation of Benefits from Blue Cross explaining how much my 20 minutes of waiting and 15 minutes of talk time will have cost my insurance company and what my co-pay is. One of these days I will add up how much this whole ordeal has cost. I can tell you that it is well over $50,000. No joke. Thanks to some amazing insurance, I have paid out, probably about a grand. But that grand and the money Blue Cross has paid out is paying for that shiny gold watch. And suddenly I am thinking my 6 year old self may have been right – I should have been a doctor… or at least a lawyer.

(August 13, 2009)

No One Wants to See Your Ass: Amy Goes to Another Concert

It is no secret I am a fan of Dave Matthews Band. Some people may balk at this. But I have been a fan of theirs for over half my life and I do not see that changing anytime soon. I have seen them play live 48 times – including the night in questions - July 28, 2009. That also includes seeing them in over a dozen cities in about a dozen states. One of the more memorable concerts was a road trip to Anderson, Indiana where Dave Matthews Band played at what was then called Deer Creek Music Theater. It was a 5 hour road trip with one of my (now) best friends (we barely knew each other when we went on this adventure).

This was the year I had a horrible fake ID – which I used at the show and I got a little… tipsy. On our way into the concert we saw a line up a guys urinating right outside a wooded area – I took note.

After the show, I needed to pee – BAD. Instead of waiting in the long lines, I decided to venture into the wooded area outside of the venue and do like the guys did and pee in the woods.

So outside the venue I made my way toward the trees. My friend yelled, “Keep going! No one wants to see your ass!” So I went a little deeper. Step, step, step, six foot drop and submerged in water.

Apparently, there really is a Deer Creek and apparently it is more like a rive and apparently I had fallen into it.

So there I was completely submerged in water – pee water, floating down stream, convinced I am going to die, I still had to pee. If I was drunk – it was now gone.

I am not sure how much time had passed, but finally my friend called out for me. “Don’t come any closer!” I yelped. And I looked up and there she was, looking down on me – probably in more ways than just the one. And now to try and get me out.

After several attempts, I finally crawled my way out of the creek using a tree branch and my friends reluctant hand. And I was able to relieve myself as well. Soaking wet, we found my car and I sat in the passenger seat on a floor mat and a box top. My muddy sneakers were in the trunk and my socks are still in the parking lot somewhere. We sat there for what seemed like days. My friend could not look at me without laughing hysterically – and since she had to pee, too, she just could not look at me.

We finally got back to the hotel, thanks to my friend explaining to a traffic cop that she had to pee and I was able to clean myself up. The next day we drove home and I showed up to my brother’s graduation party wearing red Hawaiian print pajama pants and a Michigan State T-shirt. It was a great road trip and a story my friend and I have told and will continue to tell for years to come.

But I have come a long way from falling into Deer Creak. And on July 28, 2009, I saw Dave Matthews Band – for the 48th time - at what was once known as Pine Knob (and has, to my knowledge, no creeks) with my sister Amanda. We were third row and it was an amazing show.

This was only the second concert since the surgery and MUCH different from the Coldplay show I saw back in June. No handicap seating for me. No earplugs or sunglasses and virtually no sitting. I actually danced. A lot. I may have dislodged my shunt, as a matter of fact. We did not get there late and we did not leave early. It was like any other concert I had been too – but better, of course, because it was Dave Matthews Band. But all in all I did pretty well with the noises and the lights and the crowds of people. And I was happy to have such a normal concert experience. And while I may have come out of there with a bit of a backache from all the dancing – at least I wasn’t soaking wet from falling in a creek.

(July 28, 2009)

Strong Like Bull

I once helped my dad move a stove from my parents’ kitchen to their garage. My dad was unsure if we would be able to move it with just the two of us – but we did. When we set the stove down in the garage my dad, exasperated, said, “Amy, you are strong like bull.” Yeah, I am strong like bull.

Since then I have moved another stove, rewired all electrical outlets and light switches in my house, done minor repairs on my car, installed lighting fixtures, snaked drains, moved boxes and beds and desks, built Ikea furniture. I mow my own lawn and do my own laundry. I work out. I take pride in what I can do – especially in what I can do without the assistance of others. And then I got sick and needed surgery and my world changed.

All of a sudden my sister had to mow the lawn and carry my laundry from my room to the basement and back up. There was no cleaning – which was fine by me – and things that once seemed commonplace to me became a chore. And all of a sudden I needed assistance from others.

But the most jarring of restrictions – except for driving – was working out. All of my doctors were in agreement on one thing regarding my condition – I needed to lose weight. But, they explained to me, I had to be careful. The shunt that was placed in my lower back and wrapped around to my abdomen can become dislodged with strenuous activity. So no heavy lifting. No heavy exercise. No over exerting myself. For exercise I can walk. I convinced my doctor that I could do hand weights, too, but no bending over. Not until I lost enough weight that I don’t need the shunt and I can let it fail. No yoga, no bike, no aerobics, no moving stoves.

So walk I did, and walk I do. And I can feel my shunt – pulling slightly on my side. They tell me it is normal. I’m sorry, but there is nothing normal about feeling a contraption in your body. But I have a goal and as soon as I reach it I will step it up a notch and I will over exert myself as much as I possibly can. But for now I simply walk on – why? Because I am strong like bull.

(July 22, 2009)

I Feel 16 Again! But With a Different Kind of Awkwardness

So I am driving again. No, my eyesight is not perfect; yes, I have blind spots in my peripheral vision; true, I once totaled two cars in 12 months – but that is beside the point. I am, for the most part, a very good driver. And since I have not been driving, and instead been a passenger, I have been very cognoscente of my limitation when it comes to being on the road. Am I scared to drive? Well, I wasn’t scared to drive when I got my license at 16 and I am not now. Though, maybe I should have been…

As I mentioned in a previous post I once put 100,000 miles on my car in 4 years – so you could say I am a seasoned driver. My driving habits in the past few years, however, have changed. I pretty much stay within a 5 mile radius of my house – and often get perturbed when I need to venture outside of said radius. As a matter of fact, in the past year I have put less than 10,000 miles on my car.

But as soon as I got the OK to drive, it was like, where can I go? What can I do? And what better way to act like an irresponsible brand new driver than to drive to see your best friend. Who happens to live 45 minutes away. Mostly highway, but some country road driving. In the evening. Yeah, I am a genius.

But I did it anyway. I hopped in my car, blared the radio and jumped on 696. I am pretty sure I hovered around 65 miles per hour. Keep in mind I have been pulled over, literally, countless times for speeding. I once had 8 points on my license and my insurance payments were $480 PER MONTH – but I digress. I did not speed. Cars buzzed by me the entire way out there – and when you have limited peripheral vision, this is both terrified and exciting. It’s like, “Oh hey, look, another car passing me!”

The drive out there was not too bad. Once I got to my exit I felt a little more comfortable driving overall and the rest of the drive was just fine.

My visit with my friend and her newborn twin boys was great – and long overdue. And then it was time to leave… at 11:30 at night… ugh.

I had made myself a deal, if I had any issue getting to the main road that would take me back to the highway, I would turn around and bunk up with the twins for the night. If I was okay, I would continue home. Driving on a 2 lane road in the pitch black was not as horrific as I thought it was going to be, so I figured I was good to go.

And then the highway came – bright lights from oncoming traffic, reflecting white lane lines flying up at me, orange barrels, cars buzzing by. And then came the anxiety, the heart palpitations, the sweats and the excuse I would tell the cops if I get pulled over: “No officer, I have not been drinking. I have… um… a… uh…. visual impairment? Look, my doctor said I could drive!”

I was not used to this! I was not used to being nervous when I drove. I mean, I am a DRIVER. It’s what I do. I fly down the freeway at a comfortable 73 – 78 miles per hour. Cars move over for me. I hang out in the left lane and zip by the people who… well, who are like me, now.

So there I was moseying along in the right lane, never quite hitting 70 MPH (blasphemy!). Concentrating REALLY HARD on staying between the white lines, not getting too close to the orange barrels, staying on the road, really. I hadn’t concentrated that hard on driving since that one time when I… well, it’s been a long a time. At one point, I was confused with some construction and thought the highway was closed. It wasn’t. I took myself on a small detour that dragged my already excruciatingly long trip home out more.

I once said that one of my favorite places is the stretch of highway on 696E between Orchard Lake and Southfield Roads because it means I am almost home. This sentence as never rang more true! This part of the highway – construction free – I can drive with my eyes closed and I almost did – it would have been less terrifying for all involved.

When I finally exited the highway, I breathed a sigh of relief. I survived. I haven’t been so nervous to get home since the last time I… well, it’s been a while. But I made it home – alive – and so did the people I encountered on the highway that night – if, god forbid, they didn’t, it wasn’t because of me.

So, will I get on the highway again? Did I really think my life and the lives of other drivers were in danger? Should I be driving at night? The answers are yes, maybe and sure, why not. I will get on the highway again – but for now, it will be during daylight hours only. I really did not fear for my life. I am confident that as nervous as I was, no one was at any real risk. And yes, I can drive at night…, I should have done some local surface street driving instead of jumping right on the highway for my first nighttime drive - it was not the smartest move I have made, but I am acting like a 16 year old with their brand new license – so would you expect anything less?

(July 19, 2009)

I’m Not Waiting on a Lady, I’m Just Waiting on a Ride

For some strange reason, my parents didn’t think I was trustworthy – or responsible enough – to take drivers ed when I was 15 like most kids did. As my mom once said to me, “Amy, you have this wild streak about you that just scares me sometimes.” I took driver’s ed after I turned 16 and I was already a junior in high school – I mean, there were freshman in my class! I didn’t actually get my license until halfway through the school year – and probably for good reason, I mean, I did get pulled over in the drivers ed car, but I digress. I had been waiting for that day for months and when I finally got my license, I could not stop smiling. The people are the Secretary of State got a big kick out of me. My mom almost refused to let me drive home, but she finally gave in. And then she yelled at me for speeding. And I have been speeding ever since.

For 3 months I had been carted around like a child.. or someone with a DUI. I missed driving. A lot. It felt as though my freedom had been stolen from me – having to rely on someone else to do pretty much anything. There are a few places within walking distance from my house – a drug store, bar, restaurant, market, gym, 7-11 – but not much else. And public transportation doesn’t really exist around here. So if I needed to go to the bank, grocery store, Target, work, a friend’s house – wherever – I had to get a ride. This was kind of cool at first, but it got old. It got old really quick.

And I missed my car. It’s a nice car. Fully loaded, with a sunroof, XM radio, leather seats – all of it. My mom was driving it, which was fine, except when I was in the car. It’s not that my mom is a bad driver, its that she does not drive like me. And did I mention I love to drive? I mean, I once put 100,000 miles on my car in 4 years… Yeah, I like driving.

My doctor explained that I have to be able to see 90 degrees in each eye. Now I know my vision isn’t 100% but I am pretty sure there are people out there driving with vision that is so much worse than mine. Seriously. So while I’ve held my fingers out 90 degrees from my eye and I claim that I can see them even though I might not, I am pretty sure I can drive a car. I need to be extremely careful driving the car and be aware of the limits of the vision, but come on people! I can drive – I need to drive! I love to drive!

So my appointment went great – for the most part. I have improved – which is great news. My optic nerves are no longer swollen – which is also great news! The nerves are pale, however, which is a sign of permanent damage – though they cannot tell me how extensive it will be – most likely to my peripheral vision. My doctor is confident I will continue to improve – though gradually – over the next 9 months. The “screen” I see – he thinks – will subside over time. I need to be patient and continue getting healthy and losing weight. Doctor, this is great, really it is, but can I drive???

In order to legally drive I will need to have another field test done – this is for the Secretary of State for when I renew my license – which happens to be this year. But, my awesome doctor did a little field of his own and came to the conclusion that I can drive! YES! I can have full driving privileges – no restrictions. I will never be able to get a chauffer’s license or drive an 18-wheeler and I will never be able to be fighter pilot in the Navy – but I can live with that as long as I can go to Target without having to check someone else’s schedule!

Just like when I got my license for the first time, my mom was hesitant to let me drive. But I grabbed my key and did a little dance in the parking structure and then I drove to work. It was a little weird at first – but it felt GREAT. I missed my radio and my sunroof and I missed my foot against the pedal. I missed it all.

So what do I do that first night? I had no plans, but I did contemplate driving to Ohio just because I could. But I just hung out at home and looked at MY car parked on MY street knowing I could go anywhere and do anything – I have my freedom back. No more waiting on a ride.

(July 16, 2009)

Maybe Today is the Day

I’m about to get all philosophical on your ass:

Every morning when I wake up I lay in bed for a few moments and I think. I think maybe today is the day. Maybe today is the day I open my eyes and I can see everything clearly. Maybe today I will open my eyes and see straight lines and full words. Maybe I will see people coming up next to me or extending their hand for a handshake. Maybe today I will be able to walk outside in the sunlight without wincing from the harsh light. Maybe today I will be able to see something small I dropped on the floor or someone sitting across the room and know who they are. Maybe today is the day a miracle happens and I can see – everything – clearly – like I used to. Maybe today is the day.

And I open my eyes. And the first thing I see is my ceiling fan. And the first thing I notice is the jagged lines of the otherwise smooth blades. I rub my eyes and look again. Jagged lines. I close my right eye. Jagged lines and a screen – just like the night before. I close my left eye. Like looking through water – just like the night before. I open both eyes and stare at my ceiling. I can see it – which is good. But the white paint looks a little dark, like… like looking through a screen or a veil.

I look straight ahead and I put my hands out to the sides of my head and I wiggle my fingers. Do I see them? Honestly, I am not sure. It is hard to tell if you see your fingers wiggling when you know you are wiggling your fingers. Wiggle is a weird word. I put my fingers right under my eyes. I can see my finger under my right eye – the watery eye – but not the left.

If someone were to see me right now they would think I was out of my mind – maybe I am.

So today is not the day, but I am improving – slowly – and I know it. And I know it is going to take time, but that isn’t going to stop me from thinking maybe today is the day. One day I will wake up and see – maybe not as well or as much as I did before this ordeal, but it will be better. The veil will be lifted and the water will evaporate and the lines… well, hopefully they smooth themselves out. But in the meantime, it’s time to get up and go to the gym and go to work and not think about it. Not think about today not being the day and not think about when that day will come, but instead remember where I was just under 3 months ago and where I am now.

So maybe today is going to be a different kind of day. Maybe today is the day I make someone laugh or inspire someone or make a difference. Maybe today is the day I make myself laugh, inspire myself or make a difference. Simply put today is A day and I going to make the most of it.

(July 13, 2009)

Take Me Drunk I’m Home

I remember the first time I got really drunk off of beer in a bar. I was 19 years old and I used a terrible fake ID to get into a micro brewery to see a band play in Rochester Hills, MI. I remember at the end of the night talking to one of the guys in the band and the room behind him spinning. I asked my friend – who was 23 – what was going on and she explained that I had the spins. I was the happiest drunk in the world. I cannot remember the last time I felt such pure joy as I did that first time I got drunk in a bar. And then I told my friend to take me drunk I’m home. That night may have the start a beautiful – yet at times troubled – relationship between me and beer.

But at some point you grow up and get responsible and things happen – like sick and have a life-changing surgery. And as Pearl Jam says, “I ain’t changed, but I know I ain’t the same.” As of July 11, 2009 I have had 1 beer in the past 3 months. It has been almost 3 months since the last time I smoked. I have gone blind, had surgery, regained most of my vision, lost weight, gotten over an addiction to pain pills, returned to work – a lot has happened.

But I miss my “old” life. I miss being all wild and crazy (sometimes) and being the life of the party (other times). I miss going out to the bars and drinking and for the first time since I quit, I miss smoking. Well, not really, but a little... I miss the act of it. I miss the spins.

With that said, I was really looking forward to this weekend. There were a number of social events all weekend and I decided that this was it, this was going to be the weekend that Amy slowly makes her return to… well, to life.

Unfortunately, one of the side effects of my medication is that it makes carbonated beverages taste metallic – and that is how the last beer I had tasted – metallic. I was also under doctors orders to stay away from wine and I do not do hard liquor, so beer was it for me, no matter how it tasted. And I was determined to have more than one beer this weekend.

Friday night included several stops at several locations and I managed to choke down 2 beers. I was a little disappointed with my first showing, but there was still Saturday night…

I headed over to my co-worker’s good old fashion house party. I had ever intention of leaving these by 10:30… that is until I actually got there. It was like, what surgery? What vision impairment? What metallic taste? The beer tasted good – the way beer should taste – so of course I just kept on drinking it! And then the games started. A little beer pong, where I dominated. My partner commented on my eye sight telling me to mention to my doctor how good I was at sinking the ping pong balls in the beer cups – I agreed. And of course there was flip cup. I stayed and I played and partied it up!

I didn’t get home until 2AM and I felt great. Finally I was able to take advantage of my inability to drive! Finally I felt like myself – my old self - again! I felt that pure joy I felt way back when I first got drunk at that brewery in Rochester Hills. I was drunk. And sure enough when I went to bed, I had the spins. It made me very very happy. I managed to slur to myself, “Oh the spins! How I have missed you! Welcome back!”

The next day I paid for it though… I blame my medication, mostly. I know, for the most part, my limits and I will, for the most part, stick to them. But it’s nice to know that I can go out, have a good time, have a life, actually survive, and someone will be there to take me drunk, I’m home.

(July 11, 2009)

Peripheral Vision: You Don’t Know What You Got ‘til it’s Gone

I have a peripheral vision FAIL. When your optic nerves swell (papilledema) your peripheral vision is the first to go. Unfortunately, there is no way to repair swollen optic nerves. It is literally a game of wait and see. Wait and see if the swelling subsides and the vision returns to normal. This can take days, weeks, or even months. I am 9 weeks in. It could be a few more months before anyone knows if my vision will be fully restored and if there is permanent damage. If there is permanent damage, it will most likely be to my peripheral vision. Hopefully it won’t be as noticeable as it is at this point. Peripheral vision is important – trust me. Not just for driving, but for every day activities. And I am learning this more and more as I am get out and about more and more. Here are a few example of how my peripheral vision has caused me to FAIL.

While driving with Amanda we approached an intersection where we were to turn right. Only Amanda wasn’t turning. After vowing to not comment or criticize Amanda’s driving (see post Parked Cars vs. Moving Violations) I said nothing and then saw the biker in front of the car – whoops. Did not see that coming! Something I probably would have seen had I had peripheral vision. So I can see why it is important for driving. Bikers have the right of way FAIL.

I got a ride into work with a co-worker on my second day back and we stopped at Starbucks. Since I am not a coffee drinker, I had to take a minute to check out the menu. My co-worker, James, was standing next to me and asked what I was getting. I mentioned a smoothie and then I paused. James walked away and I kept talking – finally looking over and noticing that James was long gone. Conversation FAIL. Without the peripheral vision you cannot see when people standing directly next you leave your side, thus making you look like an ass in the middle of Starbucks.

The same is true when walking side by side with someone or a group of people. If someone deviates, I most likely will just keep walking – and have. Walking FAIL.

In addition to the peripheral vision, I have little vision below my eyes as well. For example, look straight ahead and put your hands on your keyboard. You can still see your hands, right? I don’t. I can’t even see the ball of my nose – something I have seen my entire life. It’s a little odd. I kind of miss it. So imagine this, you are at an event being introduced to your sister’s boyfriend’s parents, being the cordial person that you are, you are making eye contact and smiling as your sister introduces you. If, while looking straight ahead you can’t see your hands on a keyboard how on earth are you going to see someone putting their hand out for a handshake? Introduction FAIL.

This is a great story. I was downtown for City Fest with the older sister and a friend. We were standing around chatting and I was, of course, telling a story. All of a sudden I looked down and there is an arm in front of my chest – grazing my boob. Now, they are large, I understand this and I am used to them being grazed, touched, brushed and in some instances, punched, but WTF? I look over there is this dude is standing next to me, WTF? I look around for a minute in complete bewilderment and awe and after a few moments he walks away. WTF was that? My sister, Jennie, starts laughing and says, “You had no idea he was there did you?” Um, no. So she explained that this guy came up to my right and was trying to give something to my friend who was standing to my left – thus reaching across me to get to her. I, of course, saw none of this. NONE OF IT. Warding off creepy homeless guy FAIL.

So now I have found myself adjusting in ways to make up for this lack in my vision. Walking slightly behind so I can see you, looking around me at all times so I know who is where and what is going on. This feeling is weird and challenging. Especially because I am not upset about it. Don’t get me wrong, there are moments of frustration and hopelessness, but those are only moments and they are brief. I am just adjusting and taking this on and dealing with it. I’m not sure if it is something I will ever get used to. I don’t think I want to get used to it. But as of right now, it is something I am going to deal with and when I get caught talking to myself in the middle of Starbucks because I didn’t see you walk away I am going to laugh about it – because let’s face it, FAIL can be kinda funny.

(July 5, 2009)

Look for a Minute Through My Eyes

I am notorious for jumbling my words when I talk. Something I think faster than I speak – hard to believe, I know. I am usually very articulate, but something I just get so darn excited! I do the same thing when I type – I have a tendency to leave out important words. I have also been known to transpose the first letter of 2 words. For example, it is not uncommon for me to say “Lakob and Jisa” when I mean to say, “Jakob and Lisa.” As if it wasn’t bad enough to speak and write like I'm drunk, now I read like I am drunk...

At 9 weeks after surgery my eyes were still pretty messed up. It’s hard to explain, but I will try. I have edema in my right eye – which means there is fluid in my retina. This is annoying. It’s like looking through water – all the time. The central vision in my left eye is OK – which makes up for the right. Though I do have dark spots still. When I say dark spots, I mean it is like looking through a screen. Not blurry, necessarily, just not right. Lines are not straight – they are jagged. This is not something glasses can fix. For the most part I can see. Reading is doable, but a little trying. For example, here is a sentence:

The cat jumped over the moon.

Yes, this is my current reading level… This is how I see the sentence:

Th ct jumed ovr thm on.

Weird, huh? Luckily, the mind sees what it wants to see – and what it knows - so while it might take me a little longer to read, I can, for all intents and purposes, read words. It gets a little difficult when looking at numbers. Because my mind doesn’t know what a phone number is supposed to be, for example. It takes a little patience and a lot of eye movement to read a phone number – or my back account balance. But luckily my account balance isn’t 10 digits… Or unluckily. I’m not sure which at this point…

But the most significant thing I am lacking is my peripheral vision – of which I have none. Sit down at your desk at work and look straight ahead and you’ll notice “out of the corner of your eye” your coworkers on either side of you. I do not see this. I do not have a “corner of my eye.” Well, I do, but it’s more in the front. This is the main reason I cannot drive. Apparently you have to see 90 degrees in each eye to drive. I don’t know about you, but I do not remember ANYONE checking this at the DMV when I got my license. Of course, I didn’t go to the DMV, I went to the Secretary of State Office because that is where we go in Michigan, but I digress. Now sit at your computer and look straight ahead and you’ll notice your hands on your keyboard. I, sadly, do not see mine. I also cannot see the tip of my nose – something I have been looking at for most of my life – and I kind of miss it.

Tomorrow I will post about some instances when peripheral vision is good to have. But for now, forgive any typos, I’m not the best reader.

(July 2, 2009)

Back to Life, Back to Reality, Back to Work

When Amanda was in the second grade – and I was in the sixth grade – she contracted mono. She had it bad, too. Thinking back on it now, I feel really bad for her. Back then, though, I was thoroughly jealous. I rarely got sick when I was kid, most of the time I faked it. And in true “Scamy” fashion, I faked mono too. Actually, I tried to get mono by sitting really close to Amanda and I tried to get her to breath on me. I may have gone so far as to drink out of her water glass. And because Amanda had been sick, I knew the symptoms and since I felt fine, I faked them. My mom took me into the doctor and I prayed the test would come back positive so I wouldn’t have to go to school for a few weeks. It came back negative. But because Amanda had been sick, the doctor said it was likely I had mono, too. And so in the sixth grade I faked mono and got out of school for a few weeks.

After a few weeks off of school, I returned. And after 10 weeks off of work, I returned. I was happy to come back to work. I was pretty bored at home. I was feeling better, but couldn’t go anywhere or do anything, there wasn’t much going on in my life besides getting over an addition to pain killers - and besides once you are off those, the TV stops talking back to you.

I was nervous, too. Like the first day of school. Who I am going to sit next to – while I was out my team moved to a different part of the building. Are people going to be happy to see me? What am I going to do all day? How am I going to get through 2500 emails? How am I going to get through the day with my eye sight not at 100%? How am I going to get through the day without a nap? How am I going to get through the day without watching Ellen?

But it was great. My team welcomed me back with open arms. My desk – which was still packed in a box from the move – displayed pictures stolen and printed from my Facebook page, there were balloons and someone brought bagels for the team. In the afternoon there was a Costco cake. It was chocolate – which is so un-American (inside joke, as there was a misunderstanding about how I actually don’t like chocolate cake), but it was delicious nonetheless.

My boss told me this day was my “Welcome back tour.” The head of our Talent team told me I was like the graduated senior returning to high school to tell everyone what it’s like in college.

So I spent my day talking – talking more than I had in the past 10 weeks. I deleted all but 3 emails. I met with my boss about my course of action to get back up to speed and I fooled around on Facebook – a lot. Oh, and I left early. It probably wasn’t the most productive day, but it was a start.

It was official, I was back. And as much as I may complain and bitch and moan about work - I was happy to be there. I was happy to be anywhere but my couch, really. But I did miss it. I missed my friends and my co-workers. I missed doing things and feeling accomplished at the end of the day. I even missed a couple of my clients – but don’t tell them that. I was back. Back to life, back to reality, back to work. And something tells me I won’t be faking mono anytime soon - but I promise nothing.

(July 1, 2009)

Good Days and Bad

At some point in high school a friend of mine threw a small surprise party for a friend of ours. It was in her basement and like most high school girls having a party in a basement we were being pretty obnoxious. Someone thought it would be a good idea to pretend to slip and fall down the stairs. We, of course, found this to be hilarious. I am pretty sure at one point, while pretending to slip down a few steps and attempting to make it look real, I peed my pants a little. Little did I know…

Little did I know that 10 plus (wow) years later I would have a similar incident, only it wasn’t for a laugh, it was for serious.

When you are recovering from a major surgery, you have good days and bad days. There are days when you know you are going to be okay and everything is going to get better and there are days when you are sure you will never return from the depths of hell. They were few and far between, but I had these days.

The last two weeks on disability before returning to work were a bit tumultuous. I was getting over an addiction to pain killers and side effects from my other medications were rearing their ugly heads.

One of the medications I was on in particular was giving me a really hard time. I was anxious and nervous all the same time. I was a bit depressed and I felt like a crying at the drop of a hat (which made watching Ellen give away money to needy people on her show really really heart wrenching for me) – and I am not a person who cries at the drop of a hat. And there were a few other side effects that I will not get into details about, but let’s just say I spent a lot of time in the bathroom.

With limited eye sight – especially at night, getting from my bed – upstairs - to the bathroom – downstairs can be tricky. I relied heavily on my keen sense of direction and counting skills to get myself there. 3 stairs, turn, 10 stairs and straight ahead to the toilet. Simple, right? Well, most of the time it was. But there was one night in particular when it wasn’t so simple and I miscounted. I missed the last three steps and bam I was down. I woke Amanda from a dead sleep as I was sprawled out at the bottom of stairs. “I miscounted,” I told her as she helped me up. She asked if I was okay. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I said.

Looking back on it now, it probably would have been pretty funny. But at the time it wasn’t. I was concerned that I had dislodged my shunt – which was, and is, a possibility. And I really really needed to go to the bathroom.

This is what I would consider to be a bad day – or night. But those didn’t happen too often, thank God. It wasn’t so much that I slipped down a few stairs in the dead of night, it was that I had to get up in the dead of night in the first place. If I am getting up in the dead of night it better be for a good reason – like to catch a plane or start a road trip. And if I have to slide down my last three steps it better to get a laugh and not because I miscounted.

It’s All Fun and Games until Someone Gets Addicted to Pain Killers

I used to love Flintstone vitamins. Loved them. I couldn’t wait for my mom to give me one every morning. I liked the orange ones the best. As a matter of fact, I remember once climbing on the counter, grabbing the bottle of vitamins and hiding behind a recliner in our family room to chomp on a few orange ones – you know, as if they were candy.

I can’t remember when my mom weaned us off the vitamins, but I am sure it came with a fight.

5 weeks after my surgery I met with my neurologist. Like I did every time I met with one of my doctors, I ran through the lengthy list of medications I was taking, the dosage and the frequency in which I took them. When I got to the pain pills, my doctor was appalled. “You’re still taking those?” Yes, I told him. Though at this point, I didn’t need the lower dosage of Oxycontin as often. “You need to stop take those. Those are highly addictive, who prescribed those to you?” Appalled. Okay, I said, I’ll stop taking them. Only you can’t just stop taking a highly addictive narcotic. I had to wean myself off them. And then the most exciting thing since the surgery happened to me...

Each pill was cut in half. So instead of ingesting one 20mg pill twice daily, I was to take half a pill twice daily for half a week and then half a pill once daily for half week. The first half wasn’t too bad, though I did notice a bit of a difference in my body – it is hard to explain, but I just felt a little off.

The 2nd half of the week is when things really started to get exciting! I couldn’t sleep. I was irritable. I was anxious. I tossed and turned at night. My napping throughout the day quickly ended. I woke up earlier. My arms and legs felt restless – to the point where I had to sit on my hands. I had this feeling once before – the first time I quit smoking (when I didn’t have the aid of morphine to help me through it). And that is when I updated my Facebook status: “Amy Ruud is addicted to pain killers.”

I was going through withdrawal. 6 weeks on pain meds and my body was hooked. Funny how that happens. Coming off of the pain pills all sorts of other things started happening with my body – reactions to the other medications I was on, mostly. Reactions I wanted no part of. But I was happy to come off of the pain pills. After all, I was due to return to work in a couple of weeks. And the pills – while they helped with the pain – made me sleep all the time. And there wasn’t much going on in my life. I was either sleeping or eating or watching TV all day long. I had nothing to talk about with my friends other than the advancements in my vision and what song Ellen danced to that day. So while it’s all fun and games until someone gets addicted to pain killers – at least I had something else to talk about now besides the fat dude on the Today Show.

(June 16, 2009)

Don’t Sell Your Pain Meds

I was a pretty sassy child. I am sure this comes as a shock to no one. And when I was young, about 5 years old as a matter of fact, I approached my father, looked him dead in his eyes and said, “Dad, I have a proposition for you.” My dad, undoubtedly, got a big kick out of it. I am not sure what I was proposing to him, but I am sure it had something to do with exchanging money for something – perhaps good behavior or a promise to go to bed on time. Or maybe I promised to keep my mouth shut for 5 minutes for a dollar. This exchange of money for goods and services has never been lost on me. In grade school it was not uncommon for me to garner goods from my mom’s work (she worked, at that time, for a rep for Wet ‘N Wild makeup) and resell it to kids at school. I sold everything from eye shadow and lip liner to the girls to temporary tattoos to the boys. I was a sassy – and entrepreneurial - child.

I have carried these skills with me into adulthood. Selling everything from CDs and DVDs to high profile concert tickets on eBay, for example. My family soon gave me a new nickname – Scamy - a combination of “Amy” and “scam.” Not that I was scamming anyone, necessarily, but because I knew how to… work the system.

About a month after my surgery and I was feeling pretty good. The pain pills were really helping and I was able to move around a little easier - I was even getting out of the house more. After going to a Coldplay concert, I decided it was entirely possible for me to head out to the bar to say good bye to a co-worker who was leaving the company. For the most part, this was one of my first really social events. I was actually going out... to see a slew of my co-workers and friends... at a bar. This was a big step.

My sister was going to be there – my security blanket - and she was going to make sure I didn’t freak out and end up crying in a corner. This may be one of the only reasons why my mom was more than happy to drive me there. Yes, my mother drove me to the bar. Yes, it is odd when your mother drives you to the bar, in case you were wondering. I invited her in, but she declined. My mother is too classy for dive bars. Before I stepped out of the comforts of my mother’s presence and into a smokey pub my mother asked if I would be okay. “Yes, mom, I’ll be fine. I brought a pain pill just in case something starts hurting.” And then she said it. The line I would repeat a dozen times before my mom would be picking me up from the bar (which is equally as odd – especially when you are sober and fully aware that your mother is picking you up from a bar). She said, in all seriousness, “Amy, don’t sell your pain pills.”

I laughed. I laughed because I needed those pills and I had a limited supply. I laughed because I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get refills forever on those things. I laughed because I knew I could take the money and pay my medical bills – which were not as astronomical as some may think, thanks in large part to my amazing medical insurance from work. I laughed because I knew, without a doubt in my mind, that someone in that bar would surely buy those pills if I offered them. And I laughed because, if strapped enough, I would have considered selling them - and she knew it. I laughed and then assured my mother that, as tempting as it was, Scamy would not sell her pain pills.

So I went into the bar and I didn't freak out, I didn't end up in the corner crying. It was weird being back in a smokey bar and not smoking or drinking, but I was okay and I was glad to see so many familiar faces. Things were starting to look up - way up - for me and this would only be the beginning of getting back to some semblance of a normal life. And while I didn't need that pain pill I brought with me, I didn't sell it either - just like my mom told me not to.

(June 4, 2009)

Don't Stand Where You Puke: Amy Goes to a Concert

I am no stranger to concerts. I’ve been to hundreds of concerts since my first concert when I was 14 (Lollapalooza 1995). During one summer I went to a total of 32 concerts. I love everything about concerts. First, you can’t beat live music – there is nothing like it. The music flows through your body and makes your soul shake (okay, it might be the baselines, but whatever). The people watching is top notch. And they are just fun! I once went to see Rusted Root – back in my hippy days. My friends and I did a a little tailgating in the parking lot for a few hours before the show and we were nice and toasted when the concert finally started.

If you have never heard Rusted Root – go check them out now. Lots of unique instruments, hand drums, guitars, flowy skirts and people dancing around as if it were the 60s. Hippy music. So there we were: a big group of us dancing around the main walkway at our local outdoor music venue without a care in the world and then it hit me. The booze hit me… hard. I learned up against a wall and put my head down towards my knees. One of my friends came to me and asked if I was okay. No, I was not okay. She asked if I needed to throw up. And just like that scene in the movie Parenthood I said yes, turned my head a bit and puked. Right next to where I stood. “Not right here,” my friend said, “I meant in the bathroom!” Oh, whoops. “Okay, well, let’s move so we aren’t standing right in it.” So we moved about 2 feet to the right. It wasn’t long before someone came and stood next to us and I politely tapped the young hippy man without a shirt on and said, “You don’t want to stand there. Some guy over there just puked where you’re standing.”

Yes, concerts are fun. And the week before I ended up in the hospital I got to see the soulful Ray LaMontagne and about a month after my surgery I was supposed to see Coldplay. I am not a huge fan of Coldplay, but they are good and I have never seen them before so I was really looking forward to show. And I was confident that a month after the surgery I would okay to go. I asked my doctors to be sure and they gave me the go ahead.

So on June 2, 2009 I got to see Coldplay at that same outdoor music venue I had puked in 10 years prior. But this time, I had feeling, was going to be a bit… different. I had lawn tickets, which meant I was going to have to sit on an incline on the ground. This was not going to fly, so I called the venue and inquired about “disabled seating.” I may or may not have said something along the lines of “My daughter had back surgery and I am still deciding if she can go, what can you do for her?” when I called, but whatever. They were very accommodating and I was able to park in VIP (fancy that!) and sit in a chair behind the regular reserved seating. At one point during the show, the band made their way to a mini stage 10 feet behind us to perform a few songs – so we had great seats!

Now, I have been to hundred of concerts, seen hundred of live shows but I have never had an experience quite like this one. I found myself suddenly nervous around the crowd of people. Scared I was going to lose my friend in the sea of people and have to curl into a ball and rock myself into my happy place. And the music was loud. So loud in fact that I had to wear earplugs. And the stage lights were bright. So bright in fact that I had to wear my sunglasses. So there I was looking like a complete ass hole in my disabled seating wearing earplugs and sunglasses drinking my water and sitting for every other song. The only similarities between this show and the Rusted Root show from 10 years ago was that I felt like puking the entire time – but not because of booze, because of nerves and anxiety.

While I would never dream of getting to a concert late or leaving a concert early, we did both. While I would never even think twice about going to a concert, I was suddenly second guessing myself. Something so simple something I had done – and enjoyed – hundreds of times and I was suddenly that person everyone wonders why even bothered to show up.

But the concert was great – Coldplay was awesome and in the end I am glad I went. After all, I had been stuck in my house for weeks at this point. But mostly I am glad I didn’t puke where I stood or feel the need to blame it on someone else.

Parked Cars vs. Moving Violations

It’s no secret that I love to drive. And if you know me at all, you know a bit about my driving history. If you don’t know or you need a refresher – here are some highlights. I have been pulled over more times than I can count. If I had to guess, I would have to say I am in the high 30s by now. I have been pulled over for everything from running stop signs and red lights to illegal turns. But mostly I have been pulled over for speeding and once for speeding in a construction zone. I have lost track of how many tickets I have received – I have fought all of them and some have even been dismissed completely. (I can offer you advice on how to get out of a ticket either on the scene or at court – I have done both successfully... more than once). I’ve been pulled over at all hours of the day and night, in different states, with and without friends and family in the car, with and without my license, even. At one point in time I had a total of 8 points on my record – all for various violations – my insurance was $480 A MONTH and the company threatened to drop me. I have been in 2 major accidents within a year where I totaled my car each time (one was not my fault, the other one was). When I got my new car the second time, I was pulled over 2 hours later for going 15 over. But ask anyone – especially Amanda – and they will tell you that I am actually a very good driver. Ask my friend Celia (who was in the car for one of those accidents) and she will tell you I should not sing in the car. And if I am coming across as proud of my driving mishaps, it’s because I am.

I have a love have relationship with driving – I love to drive and the roads hate me. Or at least the cops do. But not being able to drive was probably one of the hardest things I had to endure during my recovery. Driving, to me, is like freedom. So to taking that away was like taking away my freedom. Patrick Henry said, “Give me liberty or give me death.” And I say, “Give me the car keys or I’m not going.”

I love driving so much I even like to drive when I am the passenger – which of course drives everyone crazy (pun intended). Every time I got in the car with someone – my mom, my sister, whomever – I got nervous. They are going too slow or too fast, they are not stopping soon enough, they are breaking too hard, they are waiting too long to merge or merging too soon, they can turn on red but they aren’t. I was even starting to annoy myself.

About 5 weeks after surgery Amanda was kind enough to drive me to a house warming party about 30 miles from here – so a nice long drive on the expressway. Now, Amanda has confessed to me more than once that I make her a nervous driver, probably because of all of my comments and criticisms. So there we were on the expressway and there I was critiquing her about something and there she was snapping at me.

I am pretty sure she something along the lines of “How many tickets have I gotten? And how many have you gotten?” Touche. She had me there. Amanda had never gotten a ticket, pretty sure she had never been pulled over. And she was doing me a favor by chauffeuring my ass all around town. And there I was freaking out about not stopping soon enough or a car trying to cut her off or something stupid and trivial like that.

So I made a promise to myself. I would not say another word about her driving – and I haven’t. Amanda is a really good driver. And while she has never received a moving violation, she does have a penchant for hitting parked cars in parking lots. So while I vowed to not say another word about her driving habits on the road, parking lots were still open game for comments and criticisms.

At Least the Drugs Are Good

When I got my wisdom teeth pulled, I was not knocked out, I was given nitrous oxide – the gas. This was the first time I had ever been given the gas and I was told the gas was… enjoyable. Sitting in the chair, the nurse put what looked like a fake pig’s nose with tubes on either side over my nose and told me to breath normal and she left the room. As soon as her white Ked clad feet were out of sight, I started inhaling as if my life depended on it. Deep deep breathes. The room got fuzzy, my body was tingly and I was feeling… good. By the time the nurse got back in the room I am pretty sure I had a goofy smile on my face and I wouldn’t be surprised if my eyes were half closed.

I was wearing my college sweatshirt – which is known for its school of dentistry – and the nurse started asking me about what I was studying and how I was doing and basically all the things you don’t want to talk about as nitrous is pumping through your body. So I turned to the nurse and I said, “You’re ruining this for me.” And she smiled, patted me on the shoulder and responded, “Honey, that’s the point.” At least for a while there, the drugs were good.

While I was in the hospital I had discovered that I didn’t like Vicodin – it made me sick. So some doctor decided to send me home with 2 separate doses of Oxycontin. Yeah. I was to take a 20mg pill twice daily and a 5mg pill every 4 hours as needed.

And they were needed. I can see why people get addicted to pain pills. I wasn’t crushing and snorting them, so I wasn’t getting high or anything, I took them as instructed. And they just made everything… okay. They made everything… normal. They made everything… not hurt. And they made me sleepy.

I was taking a slew of other pills as well, and I will later find out that the pain pills masked the side effects from the other drugs. Now, I am not a closet pill popper and I am not addicted to pain pills (anymore – but we’ll save that for a future post), but I can certainly see how someone can become addicted to these things.

And sure there were side effects from the pain pills. I wasn’t gaining weight, but I wasn’t losing weight either – and I was barely eating, so theoretically I should have lost weight. And some other side effects I am sure you do not want to hear about. So there was a downside to them. But the good far outweighed the bad.

So just like being stuck in the dentist chair about to get a few teeth ripped out of their sockets, I was stuck in my house, spending my days either watching TV or sleeping – but hey, at least the drugs were good.

My Life is so Scheduled it Could be Listed on the TV Guide Channel

I used to watch the TV Guide Channel. Seriously, I did. Even before the TV Guide Channel had TV shows and convinced Melissa and Joan Rivers to host red carpet events for them. I used to watch the old school scrolling TV Guide Channel and I used to get really excited when it reached the end of the half hour and the little bar with the new hour and a half of time slots would push the old times up and out. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I am talking about. I used to watch it as a kid during the day when there was nothing else on TV. Seriously. This may be where my infatuation of infomercials comes from. Or my love of TV in general. Or my obsession with schedules.

As a lover of TV and an avid TV watcher, spending at least 6 weeks recovering from surgery on my couch seemed like a dream come true and as a someone who is extremely scheduled and has OCD tendencies, it wasn’t long before I developed a schedule so regimented the TV Guide Channel could have added me to their listings.

Generally speaking, daytime TV is terrible, but there are a few gems here and there. And thank WOW Cable for movie channels and OnDemand! Between my scheduled medications, nap times and TV lineup – my days were packed! Here is what a typical weekday looked like for me:

7/7:30AM – Wake up and move to the couch. Eat breakfast with Matt, Meredith, Ann and Al – also known as the anchors of the Today Show. Pop a few pills.

9AM – Nap time! The Today Show is most likely replaying most of what they covered in the first 2 hours.

10AM – Mid morning snack and pop more pills. Watch Ellen. I love Ellen. I want to dance like Ellen.

11AM – Rachel Ray sucks. Tune into the Price is Right – which is not the same with Drew Carey and those weirdo glasses, so I will most likely doze off for another hour.

Noon – Local news depresses me too much, so why not enjoy lunch while watching Family Feud with the dude who played J. Peterman from Seinfeld? Survey says… YES!

12:30 – Lunch time is spent with my mom, and she loves Jeopardy and I like to pretend like I am smart, so Jeopardy it is!

1PM – I watch the first 10 minutes of Days of Our Lives and although I haven’t watched it in years, I did watch it for the majority of my life, so I pretty much know exactly what is going on. The rest of the hour is spent napping.

2PM – Afternoon snack and more pills! Check out the movie channels. Hopefully something cheesy and fantastic is on – like Bring It On or Never Been Kissed. If not, I tune into the crazy ass Kathy Lee and Hoda.

3PM – Check the movie channels again. If I am desperate, OnDemand – which doesn’t come in HD and I am HD snob, so this is a last resort.

4PM – If I am watching a movie, I will continuing watching. If not, it’s nap time!

5PM – Dinner is washed down with more pills while watching reruns of Scrubs.

6PM – 8PM – I flip between episodes of Scrubs, Seinfeld, and Family Guy while chatting it up with my mom and getting all the ePrize gossip from Amanda.

8PM – There is always something on during prime time – whether it be a show or a movie, but you can bet I am watching it! And most of time, I am in and out of sleep while it is on. After all, I haven’t taken a nap in, like, 4 hours.

10PM – More pills and head off to bed. Good night TV Land – it was nice spending time with you today.

Don’t judge me. I can tell you are judging me. You need to remember that my eyes were too bad to read and my TV is 50 inches of HD goodness. I tried books on tape, but it put me to sleep. Once my eyes got a little better, I got on the computer more and eventually caught up on some reading (my Rolling Stone and Entertainment Weekly’s really started to pile up there!). Oh and I may have signed up for Netflix. I wish I could tell you I rented educational and thought provoking documentaries, but it was mostly romantic and gross out comedies. Again, you are judging me aren’t you? If we learned anything form this post it’s that Amy loves her TV and you could bounce a quarter off that schedule it’s so tight – and that is something that at least the TV Guide Channel would love.

Welcome to the New Site!

Friends,

Welcome to the new site. For those of you who have subscribed to the RSS feed on the last blog, please subscribe here. You can also become a follower. Please do this as I always had a secret wish to be a leader of a cult (or a madame in a burlesque house, but this is neither the time nor the place to start that venture).

I have moved all of my previous posts and comments to this site - so nothing has been lost. If you have not read them already, check out some of my letters. I am told they are funny. More of those will come in future posts - as well as other funny type stuffs.

The old blog will be left up for a little over a week and then the old URL will redirect to this site.

Thanks for reading and thanks for all of your support - I really appreciate it. I have some pretty exciting stuff I am working on right now and some great ideas for the future. The adventure is just beginning and thanks for coming along for the ride. And just think, you'll be able to say, "I knew Amy when..."

Best,

Amy

Relearning How to Live

Up until a few years ago I was anything but a morning person. I was a night owl. I stayed up until all hours of the night, could barely drag myself out of bed and often times functioned on little to no sleep. My mother tells me I had been this way since I was a baby. When I was in high school, it was not uncommon for me to wake up 10 minutes before I had to leave the house – and a mere 15 minutes before classes started – which was just enough time to throw on my uniform of a button down shirt and plaid pleated skirt, brush my teeth, pull my hair into a pony tail and pray I hit all the green lights in order to make it to school in 7 minutes. This was actually an improvement from my early years of school when my mom would literally dress me while I was still asleep so I wouldn’t miss the bus – my mom must’ve hated me… or loved me… a lot.

And then a few years ago, I learned that I could not continue living this way. I had to drag my own ass out of bed, I had to get to work on time – a phone call from my mom on why I was late was not going to cut it in the real world. I learned to go to bed at a reasonable hour most nights, get up early to work out, shower, eat breakfast and get to work… early. It took a while to get used to this new way of living, but hey, no one every said change was easy.

After temporarily losing my eyesight and having a pretty major surgery, change in inevitable. Adjustments needed to be made. I found myself having to relearn how to do everyday tasks. I found myself relearning how to live.

Sleeping – something I have never had a problem with and something I have enjoyed since infancy – became a choir. I found myself sleeping on my side (normally I am a stomach sleeper), being careful with my movements so I wouldn’t rip out my staples or dislodge the shunt inside my body. In the first few weeks, while my mom stayed with me, I would often call for her in the middle of the night for me more pain medication or even help me to the bathroom. There I was, in my late 20s (shudder) calling for my mom in the middle of the night.

And when you are spending most of your time either in bed or lying on a couch, standing for long periods of time can seem like torture. I’ve heard of Chinese water torture before but I must admit I am not entirely sure what it entails. I can only imagine it is something like my first time showering post surgery. With hot water gushing down on me, my senses seemed to be heightened. Every drop of water felt like a tiny needle. The water was loud and it hurt my ears. The light in the bathroom was bright. And I was even more aware of my incisions then when I slept. I felt like the steam was constricting my airwaves and I was pretty sure I was going to collapse right then and there. The last thing I wanted to do was call for my mom in the middle of my shower. We had already gotten very personal in the hospital, I wasn’t going to let it get any further than that.

My walking – when I did walk - was slow and calculated. I could barely see where I was going and I must have looked drunk to most people with my constant weaving. And I could feel the shunt in my side, tugging slightly. My doctor would later tell me this was normal. To which I would tell him – I wouldn’t say “normal.” Expected maybe, but certainly not “normal.” There is nothing normal about feeling a foreign object inside your body.

Even interacting with people changed slightly. Can I joke with them about my condition? Can I tell them I puked on a nurse? Or that I can only get through my day by popping pills every few hours? Do I sound upbeat and happy? Or sad and depressed? I had been talking about condition and my recovery so much – what else was there to talk about? And do people really want to hear about it?

There may have been a moment or two where I thought I would never be able to shower without having a panic attack or sleep through the night without thinking I was doing severe internal damage, but eventually I learned – just like I had a few years ago – that I could not and would not have to live my life this way. And sleeping, showering, walking and talking would all get easier. And I would relearn how to live and no longer need to call on my mom in the middle of the night.

What the Hell Happened to Amy Anyway – Circle Back and Follow Up

For those of you who are confused as to my current status or for those of you who are new to my blog and have no idea what is going on or for those of you who just like to read what I write – this is for you!

In my line of business we use a lot of buzz words like “circle back,” “follow up,” “touch base” and even the ever popular “under a bus.” If you have ever seen me do stand up, I have come up with funny and some what accurate definitions for this corporate jargon. (If you have not seen me do stand up – look for me hitting the stage again in a couple of months – I promise!) At the risk of over using these buzz words outside of the workplace and at the risk of “overusing” quotation marks where quotation marks are “not needed,” I wanted to take a moment to “circle back” with you all on a few things and provide a “status update” as to where I was, where I am and where I would like to be with my condition.

Some of you have seen me around town – doing things like drinking and driving – separately of course, not at the same time and are unclear as to how I can be fresh off of surgery, not showering or wearing pants and yet playing beer pong or dancing at a Dave Matthews Band concert.

The facts are these:

These posts were written not as they were happening, but shortly thereafter. Many of them at the same time and I am just now posting them – one a day until I catch up with myself.

I expect to be posting in “real time” in the next few weeks – probably not every day, but close to it.

Once I catch up with myself, I will be posting not only on my recovery and the challenges I am facing moving to the next step, but getting to the good stuff as well – Writing letters (see the first few posts I did if you want to know what the letters are about), maybe some movie reviews and some new comedy type material – like how I annoy and scare my neighbors – complete with photos.

I started writing posts as they were happening when I returned to work on July 1, 2009. So those posts will be a little more “fresh” since they were written as they happened. When I post them, I will include a “Written on” date.

Here is a quick timeline for you:

End of Feb 2009 – I got a headache. Like, a really really bad headache and they were happening daily. It was around this time I realized that these headaches were not normal and I set up an appointment with my doctor.

March 16, 2009 – Met with my doctor who seemed unconcerned with my headaches but ordered blood tests and an MRI.

March 23, 2009 – First time I realized MRIs are like giant techno music machines. First time I ever removed the piercing I have in that little piece of my ear that protects the hole.

March 30, 2009 – Doctor tells me the MRI and blood tests are all normal. To which I said, “Great! But I am not normal.” Doctor diagnosis’s me with migraines.

For the next 2 weeks, I start to get worse. Headaches are worse and the pain has moved to my upper shoulders and back. Ringing in my ears starts. My vision graying out when I stand or bend over gets worse.

April 10, 2009 – Meet with my eye doctor and go over symptoms. He immediately diagnosis’s me with pseudotumor cerebri (also known as intracranial hypertension).

At this point, I can still see pretty well, though my vision field test shows blind spots in my peripheral vision.

April 13, 2009 – Meet with neurologist who orders a second MRI and a spinal tap.

April 14, 2009 – Second MRI completed. Had to refrain from bringing glow sticks and a pacifier with me.

April 16, 2009 – First spinal tap. First time I saw my brain fluid.

April 18, 2009 – I now have blurry and double vision and decided to stop driving. Amanda becomes my chauffeur.

April 20, 2009 – Neurologist calls me back and concurs with diagnosis of pseudotumor cerebri and prescribes a medication for me. I explain my vision issues and the doctor tells me to take the pills and that I’ll be fine.

Noon April 22, 2009 – I go home early from work because I do not feel well – bad reaction to the drugs. Last day of work – unbeknownst to me – for 10 weeks.

April 23, 2009 – Admitted to the ER because I could not keep anything “down” (that’s the nice of way saying I was puking my brains out for 24 hours straight).

April 24, 2009 – Released from the hospital. Told the doctors my vision was worse, they told me to keep taking the pills.

That weekend my vision got even worse, to the point where all I could see were shapes and light and dark.

April 28, 2009 – Go back to the eye doctor who tells me I need to go directly to the hospital for surgery to relieve pressure that is being put on my brain and my optic nerves – causing my “blindness.”

April 29, 2009 – I have surgery. A shunt is placed in my lower back at the base of my spine. The shunt drains fluid from my brain, down my spine, around my side and deposits the fluid into my abdomen. I have 3 incisions from the surgery and about 40 staples.

I am now in the hospital where I throw up on a nurse, am convinced my roommate is trying to kill me, don’t like the food and am doped up on all sorts of drugs.

May 2, 2009 – I am released from the hospital and head home.

At this point the headaches are pretty much gone, so is the ringing in my ears and my vision is already starting to improve.

May 4, 2009 – First follow up with eye doctors – miraculous improvement.

May 8, 2009 – I have my staples removed by something that actually looks like a staple remover – weird.

Over the next few weeks I am at home recovering. My days are spent either in bed or laying on the couch. I am going to see at least one of my three doctors about once a week. I am on all sorts of drugs and eating very little. Friends and family are visiting with me and I am relearning how to live a normal life. All of this will come up in future posts.

July 1, 2009 – I return to work after being gone for 10 weeks. I have 25000 emails. I erase all but 3 of them.

My eye sight is better, but not 100% recovered. I still have blind spots in my peripheral vision and some dark spots, but it is manageable.

July 16, 2009 – I am given the all clear to start driving again. My eye doctor informs me that the swelling of my optics is completely gone and he expects my sight to continue to get better – though slowly – over the next 9 months.

Today – July 30, 2009 – Things are good. I am getting back into the routine of life. I am going out – without freaking out – I am working and even working out again, and of course I am back to some of my old hijinx. Physically I feel really good, though I have some aches and pains here and there. My vision is still recovering, though everyday I think it is getting better and better. Or I am just getting used to it.

My recovery – of my eyes especially – is going to be long. I need to be patient and I need to focus on getting myself physically healthy – which will help my condition overall as well as my vision.

So there you have it – there is my “status update” for you. Feel free to “follow up” with me in person if you want to discuss it any further. Otherwise, I will continue to post something daily and eventually we’ll all be at the same place in time.

In the meantime, thanks for reading and be sure to keep reading. I will try and keep things light and airy and funny.

And look for a new site design coming soon! Yay improvements!

Curiosity Doesn’t Always Kill the Cat… Or Shred Your Fingers

When I was in the fourth grade curiosity got the best of me. I wish I could say this was the first and the last time, but it wasn’t and i won't be. Anyway, my curiosity about the inner workings of an uncovered manual pencil sharpener got the best of me and a couple of my fingers. I will spare you the gory details, but let’s just say my teacher freaked out at the amount of blood pouring out my fingers as she abandoned the rest of the classroom and rushed me down the hall to the bathroom yelling, “Why on earth would you stick your fingers in the pencil sharpener!?” Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day with my hand above my head in the principal’s office – which was also the nurse’s office, only we didn’t really have a nurse. Two of my fingers were torn to shreds and I was slightly disappointed they didn’t look more like a pencils once the bleeding stopped. It didn’t take long for my fingers to heal and I have no scars from that experience – except maybe an irrational fear of uncovered manual pencil sharpeners. There are two points to this story – yes,sometimes my stories have a point or two. There is nothing wrong with curiosity – just be careful where you stick your fingers; and wounds – scrapes, bumps, bruises – heal. Most of the time, pretty quickly. The same is true of surgery incisions,headaches, ringing in the ears, palsy and swollen optic nerves.

During my first week home from the hospital, I had follow up appointments with my doctors. I was only home for 3 days before I saw my eye doctor in his office for the first time. I was still on copious amounts of drugs and not moving very quickly, so leaving the house was a bit of challenge. And I was pleased when I didn’t have to put on real pants, which, as you know, I believe are totally overrated, but I digress.

Once we were seen by my doctors – I had more than one because they all wanted to hang out with me... Well, maybe because they were astounded at my condition and how severe it was. But once we were seen by my doctors I was told that there had been “Miraculous improvement.” My headaches were pretty much gone, the whooshing sound in my head was gone, the palsy was gone and the swelling of my optic nerves was subsiding. The doctor actually said “Miraculous improvement.” I think it was at this point that I knew – like, really knew – that I was going to be okay and that I would eventually be back to normal – well, as normal as I can be, anyway.

And I guess curiosity got the best of my parents too, who at one point during the appointment pulled out what seemed like a shopping list for a small army bu twas actually a list of questions for the doctor. Looks like Big Jon has been on the Internet lately, Googling his little heart out about my condition and my recovery. My condition, to him, was like an uncovered pencil sharpener to me (I would like to thank those little vocab. books I had to fill out for years in school for that analogy). Luckily, my amazing doctor sat there patiently and answered all of my parent’s questions – all 187 questions. Apparently my doctor is much more patient than a pencil sharpener. At one point my dad asked if I had something specific – I don’t even remember what – and my doctor said yes, I did have signs of whatever it was he was asking about. My mom turned to my dad and said, “What is that again?” To which my dad answered, “I don’t know, but she has it.” Thank God with all the limitation with my eyes I still had the ability to roll them.

After my parents were done, my doctor turned to me and asked if I had any questions to which I said, “Um, no I think my parents covered everything – and then some.” It’s good to have curious and informed parents, I guess. I wouldn’t have thought to ask 90% of the questions they did – but put a cylinder of razorblades that move in a circle in front me and I have no problem sticking my fingers in. I am sure they didn’t need to ask 50% of the questions they did. But at the same time, I probably could have gotten a good idea as to how a pencil sharpener worked by looking at it as opposed to sticking my fingers in it, bu they, now I know.

"Real" Pants and Showering are Overrated: Amy Comes Home

On April 27, 2009 I was admitted to the hospital. On April 28, 2009 I had surgery and 4 days later on May 2, 2009 I went home. I was excited and nervous. Happy to be leaving the hospital, my crazy roommate, the terrible food, the bed alarms, the 2AM blood pressure checks, the smell of... sterile. Nervous to not have doctors checking in on me, nurses at the call of a button, drugs to be injected for instant relief, putting pants on again. But everyone felt it was time to go home. So armed with half dozen prescriptions for everything from Oxycontin to steroids, I went home.

I decided I wanted to stay at my house instead of shacking up with my parents during my recovery. After all, I have a 50 inch flat screen TV, every movie channel, countless DVDs and an over-sized super comfortable couch. I did have to ask Amanda to “parent proof” the house. Not that we had anything that bad in there, but still, you don’t want your mother to find anything… questionable.

It was also decided that I would not be sleeping in my bed – which is on the second floor of the house – but instead in Amanda’s room – on the main floor. My mom – at her request – slept on the couch... Yes,it is that comfortable. And we were one big happy family.

I was on a lot of drugs. Two different pain pills everyone 4 hours, steroids, and two other medications specifically for my condition. I was still in some pain and not quite “with it.” I basically slept and ate. When I wasn’t in my (sister’s) bed, I was on the couch. If I wasn’t in either of those places I was in the bathroom and that was about it. Everything I did was slow and delayed – including interacting with people. I didn’t move much. I was just kind of present. And I slept. A lot. Like, 18 hours a day. I was like a small child or cat. Except I don’t poop myself or lick myself clean – well, most of the time, anyway.

I also was never alone for very long in the first few weeks I was home. My mom had taken time off of work to stay with me. My dad came over and my older sister – who worked from home – stayed with me as well. Amanda even stayed home a few times to sit with me. A few friends came and saw me while I was recovering and I always felt bad I wasn’t more entertaining. Though, I am sure some of the things that came out of my mouth on all those drugs were probably entertaining.

There wasn’t much to be happy or excited about while I was home – except that I was home. But there was the fact that I wore sweat pants all the time – which is pretty much a dream come true for me. And I didn’t really shower much – I couldn’t quite muster up the energy to stand for that long. But when you are going from the bed, to the couch and back to bed with a few pit stops to the bathroom, there isn’t much need to wear real pants or wash yourself. Besides, real pants - the kinds with zippers and buttons and back pockets - and showering - the kinds with water and soap on a rope - are overrated. And I was more than happy to take comfort in that.

It Pays to Know the Nurse

Nurses are really great people. I know a few personally and they really are great people. The nurses I had during my hospital stay were all really amazing people – so kind and easy going – they always made sure I was comfortable even when I was in some of the most uncomfortable of situations.

What upsets me a little bit about my time in the hospital, my condition and my nurses is that I never got to actually see them. If I were to ever run into them I would have no idea who they were. I am sure I didn’t make much of an impression on my nurses – except maybe the one I puked on and even then probably not - but they made an impression on me.

We discovered that the nurse I had on my last day in the hospital went to high school with my younger sister. While she was more than accommodating before we discovered this fun fact, she was even more accommodating after. And this put me – who was nervous about leaving the secure - albeit nerve-racking – hospital environment and go home.

She went over all of my medications and answered all of my questions – even the ones that may have seemed repetitive or even dumb. And best of all, she gave me my last shot of morphine before leaving. This is something she technically wasn’t supposed to do, but it was going to be at least an hour before I would official leave and I was obviously in pain.

If I ran into her at the store later today – I would never know. The same is true for all of my nurse and even my doctors (with the exception of the doctors I would continuing seeing – pun intended - as I recovered ).

It took a while for me to officially leave the hospital, but when I finally did the fresh air felt nice, and it was off to home I went. I was happy and scared at the same time. Thank god for that last shot of morphine – I may have freaked out right then and there – I guess it really does pay to know the nurse.