Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

Hurricane Dennis, Anxiety & Effexor, Fashion Show News, Obsrvng Vet Surgery, Nutty Weather Reporters

I really feel for anyone living in the path of Hurricane Dennis. Our friend Annina has been through so much. You really should read her story about choosing to hole up and wait out the last one. It sure made for some thrilling reading, poor lamby-pie. She's had to pack up everything, including her fish, and is trying to find somewhere safer to go to.

I've been watching CNN, as usual, even though Scott suggested I take a break from upsetting news tonight, (I was supposed to go out with him to a music party and then to watch Bill Mumy and his band, the Jenerators, play at Rusty's Surf Ranch, a club on the pier that Scott is considering for his CD release party, but I was just too worn out to do it), at least until I've adjusted to this lower dose of Effexor. I feel so anxious. It's this scary, pit of your stomach, panicky feeling, and it was especially awful today as I was driving to my Mom's house to meet Anne-Marie to help her load up her car with the hundred or so vintage dresses we'd culled from my collection of my Grandmother's and Mother's dresses.

The fashion show is scheduled for November 6 with a mini-preview to follow an American Cinematheque showing of Breakfast at Tiffany's at the Egyptian theatre on July 29. I'm going to do a presentation of some kind next Thursday in front of the board. I imagine this will be the gals who are in charge of organizing the annual fashion show for the Art Deco Society and the Los Angeles Conservancy. I'm so excited about this, and a little scared, and the one person I have to thank for all of this is my old high school friend Mary. I wonder how she is. How are you Mary?

Anyway I was trying to fill you in on how I've been feeling now that I've decided to taper down to the next lowest dose of these damned antidepressants. Hell, I'd like to get off of them all together, but the last time I did that, I was such a wreck and I just simply couldn't weather the constant sobbing. I really wonder how my life would have turned out if I'd never begun taking this. I totally support anyone who feels they need antidepressants, I'm not trying to denigrate these medications, I just need to know if they're right for me. I have spoken with so many people, and have more than a few good friends who were just paralyzed with depression, crippling, suicidal depression, who are now doing so much better on medication. But I honestly don't know if I've improved or worsened on these. I know I certainly gained a mountain of weight while taking them, and since increasing the dosage about six months ago I've put on a whopping twenty pounds. More important than even the weight gain, which as you know I am terrified of, having been through everything I've had to go through in order to lose over a hundred pounds, there's the complacency, agoraphobia, memory loss, spacyness, and the loss of desire. I had hoped that increasing the dosage would make things better, but instead it's just made me not care. But enough of this. I'm just going to have to weather, (Heh, weather), the nasty side-effects; the headaches, the moodiness, the tears I've kept down for so long, the weird electrical brain surges, (Heh, surge -- sorry, I can't help myself, I do this automatically without even being aware of it, ask Scott, I do this all the time), and this squeezing brain feeling I get, as if my brain itself is hungry for the medication.

Bear with me for a while here while I figure this all out will you? Who knows, maybe I'm better off mellow and sleepy -- life feels a bit too prickly, intense, and painful like this -- although I would have had to go and pick the week I had to put my oldest cat to sleep, my Mother and her secretary freaked out and overreacted about money, evil people bombed London and Iraq and another hurricane has come roaring up the coast of Florida : ( It could be worse, honestly, I know how lucky we all are to be living here in California, well, as long as "The Big One" doesn't come along and shake us into the sea, knock wood.

I miss Buki. I love him so much. I can't believe I am never going to kiss his scabby little face ever again. I used to kiss him ever day. I loved grabbing his face and kissing and kissing and kissing him. I got to hold him for a really long time before we put him to sleep -- God, how I hate that expression. He was so weak and cold and hurting, I knew I had to let him go, but it's always such torture -- having to make these kinds of decisions, bleh, sadness. I can't wait until I start to have Buki dreams. I wish he'd hurry up and come visit me. He must be really busy in heaven. I'm sure I'll see him soon.

On a happier note, Ruck, (the little grey kitten -- now a big grey cat -- who's picture you can see towards the bottom of my info page), and I have been having fun playing fetch with a green plastic ball with a bell in it. He'll bring it from wherever he left it last and sit next to me picking it up and dropping it, batting it around and shaking the little bell until he gets my attention, then we'll play catch and fetch. Ruck is Sparkle's son. I taught Sparkle to fetch and Sparkle taught Ruck. Isn't that cool? I've also taught Malibu, but Ruck is so much better at it, that poor Mali feels intimidated and won't play when Ruck is around. Ruck is so good at this that most of the time, like three out of four tosses, he'll simply leap into the air and catch the ball between his paws, then land and hand it right back to me. It's hard to challenge him. I have to throw it really high and aim for the farthest corners of the room.

Gory Animal Surgery Description Warning. Our vet, my friend Gary, got hurt the other day, when he dropped these sharp metal rods and accidentally impaled his ankle on one, poor, poor man. I like him so much I want to do something to make it better, but what can I do? He called me and told me about it yesterday. It happened right after I left. He had invited me in to talk to him while he was doing surgery on a dog with a terrible compound fracture, and then after I left, he was cleaning up, dropped the rods, and one of them went through his ankle. He wound up having to go to the emergency room and is using a cane now to get around, poor guy.

I've assisted vets before, but it's been a while, so I haven't seen graphic surgery like this, other than on the television, in a long time. It was kind of shocking. Gary was standing there in his gown with his mask and gloves on, and he was covered with blood. It was so...red. He was standing over this poor dog, (a shepherd I think -- I couldn't tell because he was covered with draping and the only thing sticking out was his leg), whose leg had just snapped in two. I could see everything, it was really gory, but surprisingly not as bloody as you'd think, I guess he'd clamped off the veins. He had these metal rods, and he was trying to select the one that would be the best fit for this poor doggies leg, to act as a kind of replacement bone, I think. He'd look up and talk to me and then look down and work and then look up again. Then he'd take out this drill and there'd be this loud whirring sound and I just had to look away.

It was all just so basic and matter-of-fact, you know? I must have thought these surgeries were happening in some magic, sacred way, on some vet-planet, (Instead of in these little rooms at the back of the hospital, where people like me are chatting away with the doctors and nurses), because it was a little shocking to see how simple and kind of human and fallible the whole thing seemed. I was honored to be trusted enough to be invited back to talk to him while he was operating, and it was exciting to watch, if a little overwhelming, but I think I would rather imagine our animal's surgeries happening in a more TV traditional kind of setting. End Surgery Details.

Yesterday I had these sharp pains in my calf and I was a wee bit obsessed about this for a little while. One of the most dangerous things that can happen to those of us who have had weight loss surgery is preceded by leg pain, particularly in your calf. My friend Eygie almost died about six months ago when she had a pulmonary embolism. Only about fifteen percent of the people who get this survive. God, I'm glad she's okay. I love Eygie. Anyway, in my case, I'm pretty sure it's just leg cramps because I had gone for a super strenuous and long bike ride with Beau the night before. Everything just seems so much scarier to me now. I called my Mom to get her advice and she's just so blase about everything. She said, "Oh don't you have any of the Hyland's leg cramp quinine pills? (My Grandfather founded Hyland's and Standard Homeopathic and they have some amazing remedies, particularly the teething pills.) Take some of those. You'll be fine. I have to go, I'm really into my book." And then she hung up on me. Weeeee...

These wacky news reporters; I imagine they live for wild-weather events like this so they can do stupid, risky things with their lives like standing with their backs to the ocean and leaning into category four hurricane winds with coconuts whizzing by their heads. He showed this poor snake who had huddled up against his hotel room door the night before. It was so pretty -- orange and yellow -- so bright. I hope they didn't hurt it. But what could they have done with it? Short of having Jeff Corwin there to tell them what kind of snake it was, how would they know if it was venomous or not. Even so, I hope they helped it get to someplace safe. See what I mean about my being too sensitive, I'm actually sitting here worrying about this snake, considering calling CNN to see if it got away safely. Do you think I could do that? I wonder how many other nutty people like me have called in asking about this snake -- probably just some snake loving herpetologist and me.

Okay, I'm done. Be safe everyone. Send some prayers and positive thoughts to Annina and any of our LJ friends in the path of the storm. (Who else here lives near there?)

Big loving hugs,

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