Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Competing Trials

From the urologist: "We are currently recruiting patients for a clinical research study involving the implantation of a small neurotransmitter device to treat urge urinary incontinence."

It sounds like the nerves leading to your bladder just get a boost, so it would be helpful for neurogenic bladder like mine, where the issue is nerve conduction. I don't know why it's a clinical trial: that article is two years old.

I think there is a rule that you can't be in two clinical trials at once. Otherwise, I would be all over this one.

TWIL: Clinical Trials Move Fast

I went in for a quick blood draw for the clinical trial and found they switched things up. Before, the real drug was the new formulation of Evusheld, and the placebo was the old-school Evusheld (the one useless against omicron), so they could show the increase in effectiveness. 

Evidently the government got involved and changed up the rules. It's now a cage match between  the new drug and salt water, at least for me. 

It doesn't matter anyway, because I know that just the act of taking even a placebo is beneficial, so just knowing you got salt water skews the results somewhat. 

I suppose this is the change in pace you get when you are battling a mutating virus.

Urologist

After three months of the oxybutynin, I give it a C minus. When I rely on it to give me total relief, it works quite well 50% of the time, while at the same time it only lets me digest the first 50% of lunch or dinner. I told the doctor I wanted to keep experimenting with it for a few more months.

I don't know if he expected that. When I went in the exam room a flexible bladder botox needle was waiting for me, as long as my shin, which alarmed me, until I noticed the label said it was adjustable. 

I know the bladder botox is the standard treatment for a neurogenic bladder, but the side effects are:

• Up to two days of "period cramps." 
• UTI symptoms. 

I could take the UTI, but TWO DAYS OF CRAMPS? What a nightmare.The needle could be six feet long and I would still be more afraid of the cramps.

I need to think about this some more. 

Trial Money

I get paid for this trial every time I visit the office, and I tell you, it makes me feel dirty. (Not so dirty that I'll donate the money to a cause.) The researcher who presents the checks keeps assuring me that it is in compensation for my time, but I spent far more time in the fingolimod / Gilenya trial and got no checks.

I want to feel virtuous and useful. And altruistic. However, as I told the researcher, I am cashing that check immediately. 

This led to a conversation about Jonas Salk not patenting the sun, and I had no idea that he couldn't have patented the polio vaccine even if he wanted to. (Because supposedly it wasn't unique enough. I guess like the covid vaccine, everyone was pitching in to find it.) 

And then that led to insulin. The insulin inventors said their drug belonged to the people years before Salk said the same about the polio vaccine, sold their patent to the university where they worked for a dollar, and then things fell apart from there.

Those patents started expiring recently, which might be why Biden's first ten drugs slated for price negotiations include diabetes drugs. 

I still like the stories of altruism, even if they are just stories. 

Trial Update

I'm all done with my preliminary visits for the clinical trial. Now I visit every other month and generally just give a blood sample.

Earlier this month I was concerned that this new XBB variant was going to kill off this trial the same way Omicron shut down Evusheld. As I thought, they were indeed mixing the new drug up in a petri dish with the strain du jour, and I got an email that said the drug doesn't hold up as well as they hoped against XBB.

They didn't mention it, but now we have BA.2.86 to contend with. Plus, any other variants we immune-compromised individuals will be blamed for whipping up. Still, it seems there is enough protection against Omicron to make my new drug useful.

Trial: Son of Spartacus

Well, I am well and truly in the clinical trial now. I started yesterday. I got three things.

1. I got a Covid test and a Covid antibody test and maybe a first dose of something that might protect me. 
2. I got a chance to be smug when someone asked me how my day was going. I answered, "I helped hundreds of thousands of people this morning."

   (I was underestimating. Alexa says there are ten million immunocompromised people in the United States alone.)

3. I got a check. There were no checks in the fingolimod/Gilenya trial. I am appalled. It makes me feel dirty. 

Drug Muddle

When I had two dogs, I never knew who fouled the house. It's the same with medication. 

I'm on antibiotics plus this new incontinence medicine, oxybutynin --- and I can't tell which is causing my side effects. Well, side effect. If I eat more than half a meal my stomach stops digesting  and then ... goes backward. I, shall we say, un-digest it. Indigestion is a side effect of the oxybutynin, or it might be nausea from the antibiotic. 

If it is the obybutynin, I can't figure the risk vs reward. I can't tell if it is helping my bladder, because I don't think a drug has been manufactured that can hold up against a croup cough. 

When the antibiotics are gone I've got a month-long window without any other unusual daily doses muddling up the equation before I see the urologist again. I hope that's enough time to make an informed decision.

Off the List

One nice thing about the prep for this clinical trial is that it gave me a chance to review the last 23 years of my medical history.

They asked me to document the start and stop dates of any condition I have had. I briefly considered not documenting the bi-polar diagnosis that I have never bought into.

After poring over every physical I realized that the hated diagnosis dropped off my record the last few years. It fell off my list of conditions ten years after they stopped the medicine. 

I suppose they figure if you go without the medicine ten years and don't go manic that maybe you weren't bi-polar after all? I'm not sure if that's what I did right, but I'm glad that label's gone.

I wrote it down anyway, just because it gave me a chance the use the "end date" field. Nice little bit of closure.

Update on My New Hobby

I think clinical trials all have a test you must pass to be deemed worthy. The Gilenya trial offered me an alternative drug in order to test my loyalty to science.

This new Evusheld trial is making me fill out paperwork to test my loyalty to science. I got my hands on my medical records, and now I have to summarize that data on five forms. 

Still, I can do that. Not so hard. It tests my ability to communicate and my tolerance to feeling like a piece of meat, both important qualities in a test subject. 

State of the Sickness

I felt for a while that I might have the croup forever. Like long covid, only long croup. But now I am improvimg.

Why do I suspect that I am better? I haven't taken cough medicine for days, and all I have is an occasional cough.

Sadly, my bladder is still wobbly, and the new medication cannot hold up to even an occasional croup cough.  (Picture a sign that says 0 days without accidents.)

Also, my uterus is still wobbly as well, and while the cough initially knocked my urges back to nothing, this last week the libido factory is back in production. It's up to working just a single shift, though. Not double capacity. Of course compared to a few months back it's working overtime. 

So, I figure this recovery lasted three times longer than it would usually, but I will be in fine form in a few days. Phew.

Again I Am Spartacus

Some of you may remember when I participated in the clinical trial for Gilenya, the first MS pill. (The saga starts here, back in 2007.) I was Spartacus, or at least Tony Curtis taking the hit for Spartacus, or at least an MS patient testing a drug that might help other MS patients. 

Ten or so years later that trial finished and it was a great experience for me. 

Well, some Facebook ad alerted me that there might be a Covid-related trial in the offing for the immunocompromised. I filled out the form and got a phone call from a charming Briton. (I took the chance to spell out my new drug, Mayzent, with a "zee as in ... zed.")

This trial is the Supernova trial, which will produce the next generation of monoclonal antibodies. That's the Evusheld I took last October -- only to be called days later with the news that it was useless because it didn't protect again Omicron. This trial tests a new version that does include the Omicron variant, and maybe the variant that's in China now.

During this trial there are only monthly visits to a nearby test center, plus the placebo is the previous old-school Evusheld, so even more protection against Alpha and Delta. 

I'm excited. Clinical trials are my favorite hobby. I hope I make it in.

Stupid Croup

Or rather, stupid human parainfluenza virus #1. That's the virus that causes croup. However, I find when I tell people I have parainfluenza they think I have something worse than influenza, oddly.

Croup is for babies. Babies with wee windpipes that can be narrowed by the croup. Supposedly adults have big yawning windpipes and can't get croup: they can just get the virus and cough. 

My windpipe feels very narrow, though.

Also, because fate is cruel, I have thrown my back out. 

It occurs to me that alcohol is good for a cough and good for back spasms and good for pelvic floor spasms, all of which I have. Time for a nightcap.

Croup, Again

Oh, good lord, I've caught the croup again. 

Last time I had to cancel a party. This time at least I have no parties planned. Well, except the party in my pants, which the croup is successfully suppressing. 

It was just my little cat cough until yesterday morning, when it deepened in tone and came from lower in my chest. The doctor says it's croup, parainfluenza, which is "going around." Skipping normal adults, attaching to me.

It is a comfort to know that I didn't catch it at the movie theater. The cough began the Thursday before. Can't think of where it came from.

Maybe the dentist! I can blame the dentist.

Portrait of the Blogger as a Young Man: Over?

I have not fluttered for three straight days. Can it be over? Have the spasms been quelled? 

I don't feel the constant pulse anymore. Now it's an intermittent pulse.

I am still unable to concentrate. Distraction was the first symptom to appear, so I suppose it's the last to go. 

The question, I suppose, will be: how do I react when I see men in person? 

Portrait of the Blogger as a Young Man: Perspective Edition

As you know, I am settling down just a little, in that one day in three is normal. On that day in three, men are mere men. Then for two days Satan occupies my lower torso, and every man looks as good as President Macron to me.

You know who else looks good to me on those days? Me. I know, because I've been staring at my face because I'm editing a video I was in. 

On the 'normal,' non-quivering day, it's an ordeal looking at myself, because I am a monster. But on the other two days, the days everyone else looks tasty, I, too, look tasty.

Take this grainy photo.

On the days I feel like a 60 year old woman, not a 20 year old man, I look at that image and think:

"My face is fat, my eyes are uneven, my hand is too big, my watch makes my wrist look fat, I'm jowly, I look like a man."

But on the days I am a-flutter, and everyone else looks spectacular, I look at that same photo, and think:

"My god, look how hot I am. Look how my wig sets off my eyes. Look at the graceful way my face is resting on my hand. Look at my narrow shoulders and my sly half-smile."

So, it's nice that I can use take my 20 year old male gaze and turn it on myself. I wish I could do that every single day, not just two out of three.

Portrait of the Blogger as a Young Man: Toy Review

Sex toy review. Because we haven't done that for a while.

So with this new increase in activity I was genuinely concerned about damaging my favorite body part. Worried I was wearing it down from a nub into a nothing. That's why I decided to try this Puff device, which employs a pull technique instead of a push. I suppose it uses a tiny, tiny vacuum? Like the box says, "This sucks." 

Pros: pull technique.

Cons: pull technique.

Picture a person employing the pull technique on you. Great. Kudos. Now picture this is the only technique they have. And they are relentless. Yes, they have five speeds, but still, one relentless move which they will not abandon. 

To be fair, I've used it four times, and I learned some techniques I can use to shake things up. It takes a little more skill with positioning than the old standbys. I have to put some effort into it. (Supposedly this model is the most ergonomic and easy to use.)

Still, would recommend. 

Portrait of the Blogger as a Young Man: Porn Twin

Porn (ethically-sourced, consensual and lord-so-out-of-character porn) seems to have odd effects on me. If it isn't making me sleepy from the repetition, it makes me nostalgic. "I remember that," I think,  "I remember doing that back in the day." 

I began to notice that one particular male porn star made me ... extra nostalgic.

"What is his appeal," I wondered, as I used the site tags to find all his videos.

And then I saw him make one particular move, and I said, "Oh, that's it. Gary did that same move. I love that move."

And now I have seen all of PornoDoppleganger's videos now, and I've told Gary he has porn star moves ("You mean porn stars have my moves.") 

And it's not just The Move, I noticed a few other similarities, and I bet you want to know which porn star now, don't you? Hah. Not a chance. I'll tell you anything about me, but that intimate peek at Gary is just going too far.

Limits. I have them! Not about me, about other people, but I have them.

Portrait of the Blogger as a Young Man: Freaky Friday Sunday

I am sorry to keep going on about this, but I feel obliged to share my experience now that I am living the plot of Freaky Friday. Only I'm not swapping bodies with my mom, but with the horniest 20 year old guy who ever horned. (You know, any time I thought of people with MS taking anti-spasmodic meds, I always thought their calves or arms were in spasm, not the tops of their reproductive systems down to the bottoms. This was absolutely not what I expected.)

This body-swap makes me want to go back in time and say to my teenage self, "Hey, remember when I came back that one time before to advise you that that arousing a teenage boy is not an remarkable accomplishment, and it doesn't mean he loves you? Well, I have more details. You aren't even part of the arousal process. You happen to be the woman in the room with him when he gets aroused because a change in barometric pressure triggers him -- on the off chance he isn't excited already. You've probably never been the catalyst that aroused any one, just the bystander."

(Well, unless you are French President Macron. Just as I typed the above nonsense he was on CNN at 2:30 p.m. Sunday afternoon. I noticed his hair has a touch of gold that complements his French blue eyes, and I made an involuntary guttural sound. If he winked at me I would collapse.)

And just as I typed that last, at 2:33, the drumbeat of desire stopped, and didn't start up again until ... 2:38. I did nothing with the five minute respite I had before the images began again, and then we were back to the chaos of body parts, and faces (hello, Emmanuel), and memories of being kissed. Such a contrast to a few months ago when I was a woman, when fantasies had plots and locales and perfectly selected costumes. Now there isn't even clever dialog, for god's sake.

One more word for my teenage self: if anyone calls you a tease, just leave. You have nothing to do with it.

Urologist Visit

I have been to this urologist before, in 2011, and the tests were rigorous waterboarding tests in which I was pumped full of fluids and asked to Kegel as if my life depended on it.

I did some quick Kegels out in the parking lot, just to warm up, and went in ready for the same routine. It started off with an easy ultrasound to see if I had any leftovers after I gave my sample. Mere teaspoons! A good start.

I was ready to be pumped full of fluid, but, because I came in armed with my existing high-tone pelvic floor diagnosis, and shared my sexual symptoms, we skipped right over any other tests. As I find so often with doctors, the answer is evident.

"Spasms," he said. "Everything is in spasm." Pelvic floor is not just clenched now but spasming, plus spastic bladder, spastic colon, and I can think of no better descriptor for my reproductive system that has been all a-flutter as of late. And then here I am adding in bonus spasms with all the orgasms, which makes everything spasm synchronously, so there's a lot of cleanup on aisle number one. 

So, with so many things making my abdomen rattle like Jiffy-Pop on a hot stove, there are a number of paths forward. 

• One, we could go back and have the biofeedback. Or as I called it, "biofeedback"-while-twisting-my-index-finger-upward to suggest the therapist's internal massage. (He threw in the up-finger gesture too the next time he mentioned it.) 
• Two, we could do bladder botox, which I would totally be up for, to relax the spasming muscle surrounding the bladder. Less leakage, lasts six months. Intriguing.
• Three, we could try pills to relax the same bladder muscle. "What do they cost," I asked, given that I recently spent hundreds on a bladder medication that didn't do a thing. Turns out the pills (Oxybutynin) are a cheaper, newer formula for Vesicare. Luckily I don't drink caffeine anymore, or I'd be more susceptible to the most notable side effect: hallucinations. 

It will only relax my bladder muscle, and I suppose my colon and reproductive system will just continue to jostle and bounce off my high tone pelvic floor like it's a trampoline.

So I see him again in three months. We shall see. I took a dose last night and it got me two extra hours of sleep. A good start.

TWIL: What it's Like

Gary didn't feel I should tell the urologist about my amped-up sex drive, but I thought it was germane.

That's how I presented it to the doctor. "So, since I made the appointment, I have a new symptom. Stop me if it's not germane, but ..." 

And then I looked him in the eye, but then I looked off to the side, and said, "... I usually just masturbate twice a month, and now it's twice a day." Then I looked at him again.

He said, "Soooo ... congratulations?" 

"No, it's awful. I think about every man I see. I can't get any work done. My company is still paying me but I'm so unproductive. It's wrong."

He leaned back and said happily, "You're a twenty year old guy!" He said it in a way that also expressed, "Finally, a woman knows what it feels like to be a twenty year old guy."

So, this week I learned what it's like to be a twenty year old guy. And if anyone is out there reading this who survived being a twenty year old guy, I salute you. Hats off to you, gentlemen. I don't know how you functioned in society. I'm sure it was hard. 

Tomorrow: the rest of the visit.

Rough

It's Sex Week here on the old blog. Yet another post about my current preoccupation. And really, I'm sorry. Because this time it's about porn. 

I think we all know the tradeoff between frequency and speed when it comes to a person's alone time. Now that I'm only giving myself mere hours of recovery time instead of weeks, it's just taking too much time, so I have turned to porn to move things along, for God's sake.

This is nice ladylike porn. "Porn by women" is the tag line. No really weird stuff. Lots of kissy stuff. Slow kissy stuff. Really really slow kissy stuff.

"Oh my god," I thought. "Pick up the pace."  Click. Ah, there are different categories. I bounced around the categories. Slow threesomes. Slow hot guys. 

However, The "Rough" category seemed -- at first -- to have a reasonable tempo. In fact, it all seemed very familiar. Women are repositioned, rotated, tossed in the air like pizza dough. You know. What I would call "sex."

"GARY!" I bellowed. "WHY DOES THE INTERNET SAY WE HAVE 'ROUGH' SEX?"

He just came into the room, head low in shame, then he pantomimed some rough sex and scuttled away.

So, who knew? I didn't. I don't have any other all-out lover for comparison purposes. I suppose Gary and I started out slow, with negotiations and polite requests, then we just transitioned into the soft version of the rough category. Wouldn't it be awful if I visited some crazy place like PornHub and found out that there's an arcane category for something else he's convinced me is normal? 

Increasingly Increasing

Since Monday's post, in which I detailed my suffering under the invisible leash that Satan has tethered to my pelvis, things have become worse.

One day my new twice-a-day habit failed to satisfy, and I bumped it up to thrice, and even so, I woke up from a bonus sex dream afterward. (It involved a gorgeous sienna satin ball gown that got very messy.) 

Clearly, I thought, urges beget urges, so I spent the next day denying myself. At the end of the day my palms were sweaty, my heart raced, and I lay in bed for an hour and just panted. But I persevered. I occupied myself planning for next week's visit to the urologist.

I wondered, "Haven't I complained about the incontinence before now? Didn't I go to the urologist before now? What happened with that?" 

Some research on this blog reminded me of an experience I had almost entirely forgotten: my visit to the physical therapist to resolve my previous incontinence issue.

I think I might be having another recurrence of the high-tone pelvic floor problem above, which, amazingly, I had almost completely forgotten. I don't know how it ties in to my increased drives, but it seems that if the floor is on high alert the rest would be affected as well.

We will find out later this week.

Increase

I am documenting here a change in the symptoms I have suffered as of late, so that later when I am diagnosed with a brain tumor I can point back to this post as the early signs of deterioration.

My appetites have now spread from my upper abdomen to my lower, specifically the region from my ovaries down to my labia. My brain gets constant pudendal messages that the blood level in that area is up to a degree that cannot be sustained. I can feel every corpuscle fluttering and pulsing. Habits that could be satisfied twice a month now demand my attention twice a day. Twice a day. Twice. If not, I find that there will be something like a yawn in my lower body that suddenly arcs my back and twists my hips toward whatever has provoked me.  

On the other hand, I can be assured this isn't happening.

TWIL: Mental Illness

Gary and I both read a horrifying article that suggested schizophrenia is an autoimmune disorder. I recommend it.

 

Paxlovid Plan

The CDC encourages me to have a Paxlovid plan.  Here is my initial plan. It is a bad plan.

If I leave the house, I will wear a mask and stay outdoors as much as possible, wash my hands, won't touch my face. 

When I return I won't wait for symptoms, I will take a test every day for five days after. 

If I get any extra lines and it is a weekday, I will first send Gary to a hotel with tests, and then I will start driving for the hospital where my GP and neurologist are and see who can take me first. 

Alternatively, I will go to the CVS website and fill out the form that qualifies me for the Paxlovid they are doling out there. (Deny everything but immunocompromised, and claim a symptom.) I truly hope I don't have to do this.

=====

Well, after all that I asked the neurologist what I should do, and his office said, "Get in touch with your GP." Well, it wasn't that cold: they gave me another number to call if I had trouble getting a prescription, and a number to call if I had any more questions, so I'm sure that will be helpful. 

And I'm glad I have somewhat of a plan. At least I won't be flailing around, terrified. I'll be on my phone while my remaining time on earth ticks away, terrified.

Well, actually I'm sure I'll be fine.

Latest Neuro Visit

Last week's visit to the neurologist provided some notable neurology news. 

• We are not putting our faith in Evusheld: it is gone. Paxlovid is the new great hope. Supposedly when you catch Covid (and you will) if you take pains to get on Paxlovid as soon as you can, then there's only a 10 percent chance you'll go in the hospital. As long as your baseline health is better than David Crosby's you should be fine.  
• The CDC still has not said if MS patients get to use up the scrap expired booster shots. 
• I should not be too concerned about dying from bile duct cancer like my brother, because they look at my liver numbers every six months. Of course, they looked at David's liver numbers for the last three years because he had ascending cholangitis. Well, and to be honest, he probably had cancer then and didn't tell me.
• There are other bladder treatments that fall in the spectrum between "expensive and useless" and bladder botox, so I now have the name of a bladder specialist. 
• Finally, according to the memory test I take every five years, my memory has improved by a few points. This will be news for my coworkers, who have just this week had to remind me of things that happened six months ago. 

ChatGPT

I've heard about ChatGPT, the Artificial intelligence bot that ate up the internet until September 2021. You can ask it questions and it will respond in kind. Ask intimate questions and get intimate responses. Ask medical questions, get medical responses.

I have steered clear of ChatGPT, because it's an unknown, and I keep my iPad far away from unknowns. Your website's security certificate is unknown? Goodbye. 

I was excited to sign up for a seminar on it at work, which was almost shut down when TeddyJ had the same reaction. "TeddyJ has not sufficiently investigated this technology." Can't even run a YouTube video showing it. 

Of course, I had to ask it about the blood test results. Very inconclusive. "Low levels of creatinine and protein in your blood can indicate a decrease in kidney function or kidney damage. However, the absence of protein in your urine suggests that your kidneys are not leaking protein, which is a positive sign."

After a few more questions it blamed the statin I've been taking to lower my cholesterol. That seems like a clear parallel to me. 

Everything was always bookended with "But of course, alway consult with a physician," which is not the type of thing you would expect from Skynet.

Weight

I was expecting to hear something about my weight at my physical, given that I think I've gained 15 pounds since the last time I weighed myself.

"You've gained 130 pounds since last October!" said the doctor.

"That can't be right." I said.

"Your weight last October was 120." 

My weight in grade school was 120. My weight when Gary and I were separated was 120. Not possible.

Possibilities:

• I said it wrong if asked last October. I routinely give my weight starting with a 1 when I mean to start with a 2. People always correct me. 
• I weighed 210 and someone transposed the numbers. I can see being 210, up 20 from my miraculous pre-covid 190. 220 is more likely. 

At any rate, the numbers got straightened out, I got credit for my 30 pound weight gain, and we went on to discuss the merits of cassava bread. 

In hours I got the results of my blood tests, and my sodium is high and my protein is low, but my kidneys are fine (no protein in my urine, even, if you were looking)..  I went on to play my favorite game of self-diagnosis. I landed on a brain lesion that is affecting my ability to absorb nutrients so I am over-eating to compensate for the lack of protein. 

It will be none of those things. I'd say it's my recently poor diet, but I've been jamming protein in my maw with every meal and snack. The only thing it might be is my liver, and I don't get liver tests until next week. 

Body Donation

Previously on Will Someone Take This Body, I discovered my body donation documents expired about a quarter of a century ago.

However, I had a plan. First I needed to contact Barnes downtown and see if I could re-up. I described the situation to the coordinator of body donation there and he replied that day. Evidently Drs. Trotter and Cross were running their own body donation operation out of their research center, and the normal body donation people couldn't access their records. 

I suspected that the doctors were long gone, but I obediently called the phone number and was connected with the Trotter MS Center at Washu. I immediately hung up and did the research, both doctors are deceased, but they named the MS center after Dr. Trotter. After a few rounds with their telephony system I determined the best way to ask my questions was to send them an actual letter in an envelope.

It's a pitiful little letter, an old lady pleading, "I have a spine for you  ... Don't you want my brain?" Well, not overtly, but all my edits sounded like "I will just take my central nervous system and go home if you don't want it."

Looks Like There's Another Shot on the Way

Well, if we listened to the World Health Organization, CVS would have additional Covid shots for the aged and immunocompromised right now.

But instead, the FDA is mulling over if they want to toss some over-ripe bivalent shots into the arms of the vulnerable, so we'll have to wait a few weeks.

I might have to wait even longer, because my card says I got a shot when I didn't. That's a little tiresome. However, it's nice to think that I could be a Covid raccoon, eating the booster refuse that no one else would take.

Well That Was Lucky

If ever anyone asks what I want to do with my body after I die, I always proselytize for full body donation. That's my plan.

The documents say to put me on the loading dock at Barnes Hospital downtown. After that, they can do what they want. I am told the medical students are very respectful, but truly I don't care. I might like to be a little disrespected.

However, the point is moot. I was looking at the documents today. Look at this stamped nonsense.

Approved in 1998, VOID one year later?

This thing has been void since 1999?

Seriously. Thank God I didn't die in the last 23 years. 

Bad Morning

Earlier this week, these dominos fell during a 2 hour window.

• I woke up and got ready for my dental appointment. I was more than ready to swap my temporary crown for a new one. My tooth and jaw hurt since the initial procedure early this month, and my only fear was an exposed nerve being painted with that unpleasant epoxy and then a new crown hammered on top of it. That led to ...
• A bout of nervous bowels  that stopped up my industrial strength Toto toilet. so I was late, and that led to ...
• Some dangerous skidding on the subdivision ice: once as I slid out of my driveway almost into the trash truck, once almost into the most recent street cement pour, once almost into traffic. That led to ...
• A slower than usual drive to the dentist, and that led to ...
• Me being SO late to the dentist that they announced me over the PA as having an appointment with Dr. "Rate," and given that I've never seen another dentist at this office I assume is code for "this woman is ten minutes Late." This led to ...
• A pretty up-tempo initial analysis, in which they discovered that though I said my swollen jaw was better, it was not good enough for poking. This led to ...
• Three shots of numbing agent and a long wait, plus some tears, which led to ...
• Another shot and a nuzzle from the support dog. And then, the nurse put forceps around the temporary cap, I jumped in pain, the cap stayed in the forceps, which led to ...
• The nerve being exposed. It didn't hurt, thank God, but what it did do was bleed copiously, which is evidently how a tooth behaves when a nerve is irreversibly inflamed, so I would need to have ...
• An immediate emergency root canal. (There. That's the last domino.)

This root canal was the express lane version of my previous root canal, in half the time, and at one sixth the cost (pending insurance). I think when I was in last week complaining about my jaw, it distracted me from any tooth pain. That time they banged on that bad tooth with all kinds of instruments, and the tooth didn't hurt at all compared to my jaw.

ANYWAY, now that the diagnosis is inflammation of a nerve in my head, of course I am worried that my brain is inflamed as well. Either the tooth nerve spread to my brain, or the brain inflammation spread to my tooth. Somehow I think that I’ll wake up tomorrow and my feet won't be tingling any more, and my back will be fine, and all my problems will have wandered up into my skull.

Or, alternatively, there could be more to go wrong with my teeth. The dentist's office is prepared for that. They put the temporary crown back on with the temporary epoxy, just so they can easily get to the tooth if SOMETHING ELSE GOES WRONG. In which case I will use the support dog as a canine shield and back out of the office and run to Mexico.

Evusheld is Out

Well, I was hoping that I would get another dose of the Evusheld antibodies before summer, especially because I thought any next dose might protect against Omicron and all the variants after. 

Nope. Looks like they're just giving up. Those new variants account for over 90% of new cases now, so Evusheld is off the market. 

The CDC shrugs their shoulders, and urges people to get tested if they’ve been exposed, and to take steps before they become ill to learn where they can access testing and treatments, which I read as, "be prepared to get sick."

However the article above ends with, "AstraZeneca, the maker of Evusheld, said in a statement that it is investigating the safety and efficacy of a 'next-generation long-acting antibody' to prevent Covid-19 among immune-compromised people." 

I think the Reuters version of the article ended with President Biden urging immune-suppressed people to stay inside and wash their hands, so I guess this vague promise from the drugmaker is more palatable than that.

It has been three years now with this nonsense. I am ready to go the chicken-pox infected lollipop route now. It seems I could go off my MS meds for a month, build up my immune system, then deliberately get Covid and get antibodies that way. Why? Why wouldn't that work?

Pileup: or, In Which an Old Lady Complains About Aches and Pains

I have shirked all responsibilities the last two work days and now I'll probably be ducking out on weekend responsibilities too. I've got four concurrent problems going on, ordered by when they showed up:

Tingly leg - Leg tingles in the morning. This stops about noon. This is standard issue MS stuff, predates any other problems, and frankly, expected after the stress in late October. Or, it could be a pinched nerve. 

Dizziness - This is also par for the MS course. BPPV, with the V for vertigo and one of the Ps  for positional. Everything starts to spin, I move my head, spinning stops.

Sore Jaw - Still sore after the cavity / crown. They did call to tell me my permanent crown was in a week early, and I laughed at the thought of hobbling in for more dental work. 

Sprained Back - This is the worst. I feel like garbage with this back problem. More precisely, I smell like garbage. Not like pee, which you would expect after the back problem. (Not that the back problem affects my bladder, but it does affect the speed at which I can make it to the bathroom.) No, I smell like fear, or stress, just an acrid odor. Perhaps that's a result of all the Tylenol I've been taking. 

The weirdest thing, and the reason I am tallying them, is that if one recedes another one intensifies. I suppose this is just a perception thing. Or maybe person has only so many pain receptors. But then, that doesn't align, because two of those things aren't pain related. But truly, if I calm my back pain my left leg tingles like mad that day. I randomly have either jaw pain or back pain at any one time. If I have neither it's great only the room spins every fifteen minutes.

I keep looking for connections. It all seems to happen on the left side! It could all be TMJ and stress! This is just me trying to make sense out of this aging nonsense, I'm sure. You know what would be great? If there was a covid variant with these four symptoms.

The good thing is that I have paid sick leave and a comfy firm chair and access to a number of streaming services. Prepare for a week of entertainment reviews.

In Which I am Reminded to avoid Temperature Extremes

Two facts to know:

• We have been under an extreme cold warning. I got down to negative 4 degrees Fahrenheit a few days ago.
• People with MS are supposed to avoid extremes of heat and cold, otherwise their MS symptoms will flare up.

I was reminded of this when I went outside at -4 degrees and I was not two steps off the porch before I peed all over myself, which is, yes, an MS symptom.

My thoughts:

• Glad this unending cough inspired me to start wearing bladder protection.
• How fast does it take for pee to freeze?

I was thinking of all those weather reporters who toss boiling water into frigid air and it instantly turns to snow. Happily, I did not end up with yellow snow down there. 

Covid Vaccine Eight / Not

I was listening to health officials urge the populace to get their boosters, and it occurred to me that I might be overdue for my next booster. And I am, by over a month.

Remember the days when I went the earliest day possible?  And here I am overdue. I think my natural need to avoid death has really dropped off now that I've had a sibling die. Seems pointless to watch my weight or alcohol intake. That's the only reason I can think of for spacing out on my shot: my post-David laissez-faire attitude about life and death.

So I quickly filled out the on-line questionnaire and lined up at the CVS yesterday afternoon. 

"Was your previous shot the bivalent shot?" they asked.

"Yes."

"Well, we can't give you another shot then, because the CDC hasn't given any guidance on that."

Frustrating, given that the on-line questionnaire asked that same bivalent question, I gave the same answer, was cleared, but now I was stalled.

So, they advised that I keep my eye on the CDC website to see if the policy changes and then try again.

Hmph. Another mark against CVS. I'm curious to see what Walgreens or the neurologist might do.

In Which I Become Invincible

The neurologist said, "Well, we're giving out Evusheld now, right down the hall." And then I knocked him down and trampled everyone between me and Covid immunity. 

Well, no, I did not, because I had to get registered, but I certainly gave him an enthusiastic yes. Yes to a treatment that will do for me what vaccines did for everybody else? Yeysyesyes.

The nurse in the infusion center where they kept the shots said they'd only been approved for use with my medicine for about a month. Then she pulled the curtains around my chair, and I started unbuttoning my blouse for better upper-arm access, and she said,"No, they go in your hips."

Interesting points:

• This nurse was too much of a lady to say "butt" or even "buttocks," but that's where the shots went.
• Yes, shots, two, one for antibody number one and then another for an entirely separate antibody.

I really thought it was odd that one shot went in one butt cheek ("hip") and the other went in the other side. Did they meet at my spine? Is there a rule about overloading a butt cheek?

• I felt no side effects, except for fifteen minutes in when I felt what I can only describe as "physical emptiness." I might have confused physical and emotional emptiness; if so that could have been the possible depression side effect. That was gone in five minutes. 
  
  
• The guy sitting next to me got it and wanted to be sure it was not the vaccine.
  "I'm not getting the vaccine, right?"
  "No sir. These are just the antibodies."
  "Good. I'm not getting that Covid shot."
  I really wanted to shiver violently and say, "Nurse, I feel weird, like my body is sending out satellite signals," but I did not.

So, two antibodies equals one butt-full of protection for the next 6 months. 

EDITED TO ADD;

Well, this post didn't even get published before variant BQ showed up. 

This from an article about the new variant, BQ: "The U.S. Food and Drug Administration also recently warned health care providers that Evusheld may not neutralize all variants of SARS-CoV-2."

Sigh. I went nowhere. I didn't even get to take my mask off.

Botox

So, the neurologist heard me when I said that the bladder incontinence medication only improved the situation about ten percent. He then mentioned the next option:

Bladder botox!

(I've already heard the joke about having a youthful, unwrinkled bladder.)

The way he described it, they put a shot of botox into your bladder muscle and it just slows everything down. You get a shot every six months. He also said that very rarely, things slow down to a point that ones bladder just stops, and then you might need to pop a catheter up there for a few weeks, but after that things resolve.

Evidently people have been doing this about ten years. I told him I could keep walking funny for about half a year still, and then after that I might try it. 

New MS-related News

MS people - This article discusses a new treatment for our cousin lupus.

"The therapy involves modifying a patient’s T cells, a key component of the immune system, and turning them into assassins to efficiently seek out a specific target in the body. In this case, the target is B cells—the immune cells that make antibodies in healthy people and self-attacking autoantibodies in people with lupus."

It's so poetic - turn the enemy against itself. Sow division. Foment discord.

Covid Card Odometer Rollover

Seventh shot. I went with Moderna this time, because why not? 

So elated I got to keep the old card. 

Many thanks to Dave at Blogography for sharing that the wait is only two months this time.