Monday, October 26, 2009
Not to post two hypochondriac stories in a row, but Oh My Gosh, here we go again!
I am destined for drool and diapers.
My home page greeted me this morning with this startling headline:
Can you catch Alzheimer’s disease?
The article which you can read here, went on to say: Why yes, as a matter of fact. Yes, you can. You can catch Alzheimer's from... COLD SORES!
That's right, cold sores!
And I'm coming out of the closet right now to say I am a carrier of the herpes virus-the herpes of the lip kind of herpes, not the other, down-below kind of herpes.
Here's Katie Holmes with a cold sore, proving that even the beautiful people with beautiful, to-die-for shoes and clothing, get the ugly every once and awhile. (I picked Katie's picture because when I googled cold sores, I got images I did not want to subject your tender eyes to, Internet. I figured maybe Katie's prettiness would make the cold sore a little more attractive.)
And since I'm already confessing to that, I'll also tell you I have a terrible time with anti-perspirants keeping up with my sweat. (All of my sisters and I have the same sweat problem and I know they're so happy I'm broadcasting our sweaty problems over the world wide web.) I have the perspiration issues of a sumo wrestler. That is, until I discovered prescription strength Secret which is so powerful it has caused lumpy cysts under my arms from the complete blockage of my Sumo wrestler sweat. Aren't I painting you a pretty picture?
But, the point of it is, the aluminum-whatever in deodorant is also supposed to contribute to Alzheimer's. And I'm pretty sure prescription strength Secret has double the aluminum and therefore, Internet, I am so relegated to a life of velcro tennis shoes and dog tags explaining who to call if I happen to wander into your backyard.
And I'm coming out of the closet right now to say I am a carrier of the herpes virus-the herpes of the lip kind of herpes, not the other, down-below kind of herpes.
And since I'm already confessing to that, I'll also tell you I have a terrible time with anti-perspirants keeping up with my sweat. (All of my sisters and I have the same sweat problem and I know they're so happy I'm broadcasting our sweaty problems over the world wide web.) I have the perspiration issues of a sumo wrestler. That is, until I discovered prescription strength Secret which is so powerful it has caused lumpy cysts under my arms from the complete blockage of my Sumo wrestler sweat. Aren't I painting you a pretty picture?
I am really stressed out.
Now I know the reason behind why I wandered around my house yesterday for 20 minutes, looking for my sunglasses, which were, of course, on my head.
And this definitely explains why, when telling my hubby an important story about some event that has happened in my daily life, he always says, "Yeah, you just told me that story. In fact, you've told me this same story 5 times already."
I thought it was because I have a really small life and I'm running out of things to talk about to make me look semi-interesting.
It turns out it's the cold sores causing me to call my kids every name but their own.
I got the cold sore virus from the Odawg when she was the O-pup. Her entire life, she's had a habit of rubbing her nose and then sliding her hand down to her mouth. It drives me to complete distraction, especially being the germaphobe I am. But, her habit stuck and I firmly believe that's how she picked up the virus.
It wasn't long after her first sore popped up, that I felt the magic tingle.
The Odawg's are pretty tough. She has antiviral medication from her doc she takes when she feels that familiar tingle, which is often. Everything sets hers off: lack of sleep, illness, sunshine, cold. But, the meds have been a lifesaver for her. They reduce the cold sore's severity, sometimes to the point, where they don't pop out at all.
I myself get one- once, maybe twice a year and always after having a cold. And thus the name...cold sore. Boy, the cold sore naming people sure are genius!
This article goes on to say that one scientist has major proof that cold sores can start screwing with your brain like they do your lip and I had to hastily scan the article, squinting my eyes in terror as they talked about all this major proof. I tell you, I could feel my memory leaking away as I hurriedly read those words, hoping that the article would say at the end, like they so often do these days in salacious journalism: "JKaaayyy! Just a big ole' scare to get you to read my article."
But, not this writer guy, no. He was Mr. Doomsday all the way through. It seems not only does this one scientist have all this major proof, but none of the other scientists want to give her any validation for her work.
And If I've learned one thing, I've learned that these scientists are pretty divaish when it comes to being the one to make the big breakthrough on health and diseases and DNA and such. It's almost like they don't care about finding cures, they just care about being the breakthrough star. Don't believe me? Pick up the heavyweight doorstop of a novel called, "And The Band Played On."
It is the story of the discovery of Aids and the politics behind who was going to get credit for its discovery and all the coverups surrounding it. And the sad, sad, sad fact that while all the scientists were fighting over the rights to this discovery, blood banks were knowingly doling out infected blood and people were making choices that would eventually kill them, all because of the politics of a machine; dirty politics involving governments and blood banks and scientists.
It is one of the saddest, eye-openers I have ever read.
And so I know this scientist is for real when she says her work is trying to be stifled and now she's running out of funds and pretty soon her voice will be a whisper.
And in the meantime, I'm screwed.
I'm not worried about the Odawg. By the time she's old, everyone will have their own personal flying saucer and there'll be a pill to keep everyone from getting old, much less demented and old.
I've got to hurry and cram everything in while I'm able.
The Hubby and I were waiting for the kids to go away, so we could travel. I think we're going to have to do it now, while I can still remember the countries and the sights... and The Hubby.
I know why this is happening to me and since I've already confessed to the cold sore, I might as well tell you what a horrible person I am. It's Karma, that's what this whole cold sore/Alzheimer's discovery is. It's my, bite me in the butt, payback.
True Story: Several years ago when I only had two babies, my Hubby decided he wanted to take his Uncle to our famous Pirate Celebration in the big city around the bend from us.
My Hubby's Uncle is called just that, Uncle, because he's my Hubby's only one. He is a robust, little Italian man who is now a vigorous 85. He's a great guy and we love him dearly. At the time, he and his girlfriend of 40 years, (I am completely serious.) were interested in going to the pirate fest.
(He has recently broken up with his girlfriend of 40 years, but that's a story for another day. Suffice to say, these senior citizens definitely lead more exciting lives than me.)
And since the pirate fest is loud and there's tons of drunk people staggering through the streets and women are flashing their hooters at pirates and the pirates have real cannons that they're shooting off and it's just utter pirate mayhem, I told my Hubby to take the two fun-loving seniors and I'd stay home in the peace and cannonless quiet with the babies.
There was only one problem. Both Uncle and the girlfriend were the caretakers for their elderly mothers. The girlfriend's mom was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's and Nana, my hubby's grandma, hadn't started seeing creatures under the bed just yet. That came later towards the end of her life, her 101 years of life. But, she really couldn't hear or see too well, she had trouble walking due to her hips and she just really wasn't the kind to be flashing the pirates for beads, so I offered to keep the two ladies with me for the day.
They were sweet and they loved playing with the girls, but still it was a bit of work, caring for two babies and two elderly ladies. Towards the end of the day, I was getting tired and a little resentful of the pirate crew who had left me to go whoop it up in the streets.
Victoria, the baby, was getting end-of-the-day fussy and I was trying to do my best to keep her pacified. I picked up her squeaker toy and squeaked it at her, to try and calm her whines.
As soon as that little toy let out its squeak, that dear old lady in the beginning stages of her illness, jumped a little and announced, "Oh, Excuse Me!"
To which Nana answered, "You're excused, Dear. Do you need me to help you to the ladies room?"
To which the other woman answered, with a puzzled expression, "No, I don't think so."
I couldn't believe my luck.
Come onnnn! Truth be told, you know what you would do!
That's right, exactly what I did. I squeaked that little squeaker again.
And, much to my delighted amusement, she jumped again and said, "Excuse Me!"
And Nana replied, "I knew we shouldn't have stopped at McDonald's."
Oh, what a glorious time I had with that squeaker toy for the rest of the afternoon! It made my sacrificial day worth every squeak-filled moment.
At the time, since the little old ladies had no idea they were being punked, I thought there was no harm in it. I now know that bad behaviors do get rewarded in the very worst way.
I can only pray for kindness as my memory fades. But, I don't hold any high hopes. Have you met my family? Anyone who positions motion sensing air fresheners to douse their wife's head is so going to convince me that my Depends undergarment is really a lovely fashionable hat, instead.
Today's Do It Download: "1979" by the Smashing Pumpkins. Man, how I love this song. But, mainly because when the Alzheimer's goes down, I hope I have the mindset I did in 1979. In 1979, I was young and lovely. And I thought the world revolved around me and everything I said and did was shiny and brilliant. How wonderful it would be to be lost in that world, again. Hey, if I gotta go, why not go in a really happy state of delusion. That's all I'm sayin'.
Now I know the reason behind why I wandered around my house yesterday for 20 minutes, looking for my sunglasses, which were, of course, on my head.
And this definitely explains why, when telling my hubby an important story about some event that has happened in my daily life, he always says, "Yeah, you just told me that story. In fact, you've told me this same story 5 times already."
I thought it was because I have a really small life and I'm running out of things to talk about to make me look semi-interesting.
It turns out it's the cold sores causing me to call my kids every name but their own.
I got the cold sore virus from the Odawg when she was the O-pup. Her entire life, she's had a habit of rubbing her nose and then sliding her hand down to her mouth. It drives me to complete distraction, especially being the germaphobe I am. But, her habit stuck and I firmly believe that's how she picked up the virus.
It wasn't long after her first sore popped up, that I felt the magic tingle.
The Odawg's are pretty tough. She has antiviral medication from her doc she takes when she feels that familiar tingle, which is often. Everything sets hers off: lack of sleep, illness, sunshine, cold. But, the meds have been a lifesaver for her. They reduce the cold sore's severity, sometimes to the point, where they don't pop out at all.
I myself get one- once, maybe twice a year and always after having a cold. And thus the name...cold sore. Boy, the cold sore naming people sure are genius!
This article goes on to say that one scientist has major proof that cold sores can start screwing with your brain like they do your lip and I had to hastily scan the article, squinting my eyes in terror as they talked about all this major proof. I tell you, I could feel my memory leaking away as I hurriedly read those words, hoping that the article would say at the end, like they so often do these days in salacious journalism: "JKaaayyy! Just a big ole' scare to get you to read my article."
But, not this writer guy, no. He was Mr. Doomsday all the way through. It seems not only does this one scientist have all this major proof, but none of the other scientists want to give her any validation for her work.
And If I've learned one thing, I've learned that these scientists are pretty divaish when it comes to being the one to make the big breakthrough on health and diseases and DNA and such. It's almost like they don't care about finding cures, they just care about being the breakthrough star. Don't believe me? Pick up the heavyweight doorstop of a novel called, "And The Band Played On."
It is the story of the discovery of Aids and the politics behind who was going to get credit for its discovery and all the coverups surrounding it. And the sad, sad, sad fact that while all the scientists were fighting over the rights to this discovery, blood banks were knowingly doling out infected blood and people were making choices that would eventually kill them, all because of the politics of a machine; dirty politics involving governments and blood banks and scientists.
It is one of the saddest, eye-openers I have ever read.
And so I know this scientist is for real when she says her work is trying to be stifled and now she's running out of funds and pretty soon her voice will be a whisper.
And in the meantime, I'm screwed.
I'm not worried about the Odawg. By the time she's old, everyone will have their own personal flying saucer and there'll be a pill to keep everyone from getting old, much less demented and old.
I've got to hurry and cram everything in while I'm able.
The Hubby and I were waiting for the kids to go away, so we could travel. I think we're going to have to do it now, while I can still remember the countries and the sights... and The Hubby.
I know why this is happening to me and since I've already confessed to the cold sore, I might as well tell you what a horrible person I am. It's Karma, that's what this whole cold sore/Alzheimer's discovery is. It's my, bite me in the butt, payback.
True Story: Several years ago when I only had two babies, my Hubby decided he wanted to take his Uncle to our famous Pirate Celebration in the big city around the bend from us.
My Hubby's Uncle is called just that, Uncle, because he's my Hubby's only one. He is a robust, little Italian man who is now a vigorous 85. He's a great guy and we love him dearly. At the time, he and his girlfriend of 40 years, (I am completely serious.) were interested in going to the pirate fest.
(He has recently broken up with his girlfriend of 40 years, but that's a story for another day. Suffice to say, these senior citizens definitely lead more exciting lives than me.)
And since the pirate fest is loud and there's tons of drunk people staggering through the streets and women are flashing their hooters at pirates and the pirates have real cannons that they're shooting off and it's just utter pirate mayhem, I told my Hubby to take the two fun-loving seniors and I'd stay home in the peace and cannonless quiet with the babies.
There was only one problem. Both Uncle and the girlfriend were the caretakers for their elderly mothers. The girlfriend's mom was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's and Nana, my hubby's grandma, hadn't started seeing creatures under the bed just yet. That came later towards the end of her life, her 101 years of life. But, she really couldn't hear or see too well, she had trouble walking due to her hips and she just really wasn't the kind to be flashing the pirates for beads, so I offered to keep the two ladies with me for the day.
They were sweet and they loved playing with the girls, but still it was a bit of work, caring for two babies and two elderly ladies. Towards the end of the day, I was getting tired and a little resentful of the pirate crew who had left me to go whoop it up in the streets.
Victoria, the baby, was getting end-of-the-day fussy and I was trying to do my best to keep her pacified. I picked up her squeaker toy and squeaked it at her, to try and calm her whines.
As soon as that little toy let out its squeak, that dear old lady in the beginning stages of her illness, jumped a little and announced, "Oh, Excuse Me!"
To which Nana answered, "You're excused, Dear. Do you need me to help you to the ladies room?"
To which the other woman answered, with a puzzled expression, "No, I don't think so."
I couldn't believe my luck.
Come onnnn! Truth be told, you know what you would do!
That's right, exactly what I did. I squeaked that little squeaker again.
And, much to my delighted amusement, she jumped again and said, "Excuse Me!"
And Nana replied, "I knew we shouldn't have stopped at McDonald's."
Oh, what a glorious time I had with that squeaker toy for the rest of the afternoon! It made my sacrificial day worth every squeak-filled moment.
At the time, since the little old ladies had no idea they were being punked, I thought there was no harm in it. I now know that bad behaviors do get rewarded in the very worst way.
I can only pray for kindness as my memory fades. But, I don't hold any high hopes. Have you met my family? Anyone who positions motion sensing air fresheners to douse their wife's head is so going to convince me that my Depends undergarment is really a lovely fashionable hat, instead.
Today's Do It Download: "1979" by the Smashing Pumpkins. Man, how I love this song. But, mainly because when the Alzheimer's goes down, I hope I have the mindset I did in 1979. In 1979, I was young and lovely. And I thought the world revolved around me and everything I said and did was shiny and brilliant. How wonderful it would be to be lost in that world, again. Hey, if I gotta go, why not go in a really happy state of delusion. That's all I'm sayin'.
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1 comment:
I am loving going through your archives.
Just me and you, and I'm your captive audience.
So very wonderful.
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