Hypo-Hell, Fibro-Fog and Puppy-Pee

I’m officially severely hypothyroid now. Normal levels: .470-5.010, I am at 92!!! As my DBFFAF (Dr. BFF Angel-Face) says: “Your brain is screaming at your absent thyroid PRODUCE!! PRODUCE!!!”. Poor Kinzi brain, raddled by blond, old, cancer and now screaming at things that aren’t there. Really not a good time to be reading the far-lefts and rights of political blogs, mish? ;D (that was a Palin wink, just to make Mohanned , Hani and Hareega crazy, since my comment for them at QP didn’t show. Guys, you have created a monster in introducing me to HuffPo, who has introduced me to all the far-right players. Muhaha!)

Here is a cost-saving blood-work tip: skip Med-Labs. Yea, the med-techs are cute and the offices lovely, but they gave me an estimate for blood-sucking the latest vampire hemotology at 114JD. Choke, gag. I decided to go in house at the National Center for Endo: 80JD, and they discounted it to 64JD. The girls are just as sweet as Med-Labs, and the gal who took my blood used a very cool two-pipe attachment to the needle to fill all the vials needed for my pre-nuke testing.

BUT, I am SO thankful!! People are praying for me for strength, and it is truly supernatural. The resident I see before I see Dr. A looked really alarmed, did a bunch of little function tests, wondering why I was so ok at 92!!! I did gain three kilos, so I am not completely symptom-free. It takes me a month at Aunt Jane’s with bags of Hershey’s kisses to gain that.

But looking ok being this tired has it’s draw-backs. I’m doing nearly nothing but reading and writing all day, to be as normal as possible when the 3pm hurricane hits. My wunnerful family thinks I am fine, when I am expending all effort to make evenings normal. If mom is standing, why do I need to help? I keep threatening to go lay down to remind them that I am busy stimulating cancer growth and am VERY tired. Heh-heh, THEY have discovered hypo-hell: mom can still blast (in a lower octave) when they don’t listen, clean-up the puppy-pee, dad forgets to tell her he invited Arab men for lunch and the WHOLE house is sheh’luub from puppy-training. What is he thinking? He is thinking that if I am standing , I must be ok.

Did I tell you I am my husband’s secretary? Yes, he does his own emails, but I write and research for him regularly. Especially now, as he has been working hard on his final paper for his social marketing course on: preventing so-called honor killing. What, you say? Well, it was my idea, he was looking for a local topic with lots of research and got caught up in the movement, and came up with some really inventive ways to promote behavorial/societal change. I’ll post more about that later. But it means I am working for my favorite human on a topic I care about, thank You Lord, so I forgive him for the surprise luncheon. They are gracious men, give me the American pass, and are so grateful that Blondie is a docile quiet, won’t-tear-your-neck-off kindof dog that they stay for HOURS. Sigh. Make your own tea, hon, I am laying down.

Back to my DBFFFAF. I am learning more about identifying in the physical sufferings of others through hypo-hell, and one of those is Angel-Face, who suffers from fibromyalgia. The woman has done more in her lifetime than six lesser women do in one. She was in her residency pregnant with her second child, a toddler at home, and her husband in seminary. To me, pregnant with a toddler was as close as I got to overworked and I got Hashimoto’s disease, a sort-of auto-immune disorder. But Angel-Face, she got fibromyalgia almost to the degree she got her energizer Bunny-Army. She aches, is stiff, and in the mornings, we joke about her ‘Fibro-Fog’, which is when super-efficient, barely 35year old busy brunettes start thinking like post middle-aged blondes without their caffeine. A SERIOUS auto-immune disorder. So in my hypo-hell, God is teaching me more about how Fibro-Fog is affecting my dear friend. I pray for her daily.

Remember how I said my vet kindly didn’t verbalize his thoughts that I was insane to want a puppy when I am severely hypo? Well, he was SO right!!! WHAT was I thinking? Did I think that if I was a good mommy and prayed for the right puppy for my kounouz while fighting cancer, that said puppy would act like a well-trained child?

Duh. Double Duh. AND, why in the world would I believe Blondie’s former owner that she had the 500JD dog’s best interest at heart for ‘room to play’?? NO!!! God bless that woman for this gift of a dog, but ahem, I Know The Truth Now.  This puppy slept on beds, napped on salon furniture, kept three Philippinas cleaning up after and lived a charmed life before life with me. This dog ran her own show, and had the whole household, except Yummy the Pug, wrapped about her paw.

The dog won’t pee outside! The first few days, she touched dirt with her paw and SHOOK IT OFF!! OK, I do need to be thankful, she does not do #2 in the house now, she got that one after three days. But now, my days are filled with observing the drinking and whining habits of my darling dog for signs she will ’stealth-pee’ behind my back.

Good news: we don’t have to recycle Al Waseet anymore. It comes in very handy. Hope none of you advertise in it. Bad news to follow, as I need to go get get Little Kinz from her favorite play-date.

Hah, but as everyone of my readers has learned, I have never completed a Part II to a Part I. Maybe for this content, it is a better thing. ;D