First object up the nose!

After playing together all morning, I stepped away from Rosie for just a moment to get a little work done this afternoon. When I heard her crying, I went to investigate and found her covered in ink. Her entire mouth and nose were completely saturated with black ink, so I thought she had sucked on the marker and drawn on her face a bit. I scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom where I pointed out her face in the mirror. Rosie was enthralled with her black teeth, and we laughed about how silly she looked. But when it came time to clean off her face, she screamed every time I wiped her nose. As if I were watching an instant replay on tv, my mind flashed back to the original scene of the crime. I remembered seeing the marker next to her, but it was somehow missing the tip. I was increasingly horrified as I realized that the felt tip of the marker was still in her nose.

I collected my thoughts for a moment, before completely losing my head. I tried to get a good look up her nose but all I could see was a cascade of black ink. Her ink stained spit and snot was draining out of both sides of her nose and her mouth. I tried my best to pull out the tip, but my tweezers weren't wide enough to get a hold of it, and I was quite sure how aggressively I could try to get it out without hurting Rose. I plugged up the other side of her nose and asked her to blow, but it didn't do any good. I was now imagining the tip of the marker stuck millimeters from her brain like on the Simpsons, and struggling to keep my cool.

I decided to call the doctor, but could not find my phone anywhere. I then remembered watching Rosie toddle away with it earlier. After searching the house for the dumb phone and swearing to get a land line when all of this was over, I was soon left with no other option but to ask Rose what she did with it. I stared her in the face and repeated over and over as calmly as I could, "where is mommy's phone?!" She can usually find things, but not this time.

I ran to the computer, hoping that anyone was logged into chat and could call my phone. Luckily Genevieve was there, and received the most random IM from me, ever.
With the phone located (it was between the books on the bottom shelf downstairs) I called the doctor and whisked her down the street. Kris met us there and we proceeded to be completely embarrassed by her face full of ink.

When our normal pediatrician failed to pull out the marker tip, I felt a little better about myself. I had really tried to take care of this myself, for fear of being that crazy first time mom. Our Pediatrician went to grab the expert Puller-of-objects-out-of-children's-noses-er and he broke down laughing as soon as he caught sight of Rosie's face. He devised a plan that included a crazy hook tool and three of us to hold down the child. When he finally pulled the marker out of Rosie's nose, he asked if we wanted to keep it. Seriously.
Note: this picture was taken after trying to clean off her face twice.

Possible cure for MS could be one trial away - ABC 4.com - Salt Lake City, Utah News

Possible cure for MS could be one trial away - ABC 4.com - Salt Lake City, Utah News

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This sounds like potentially exciting news for everyone with autoimmune disorders, so I thought I would put up a link. Doctors at Johns Hopkins have found a way to "reset" the immune system and keep it from attacking the body. The problem is that they are struggling to find funding for the the last stage of trials. The patents on the drugs used have expired, so big pharma will have no part in funding this treatment which has so far CURED 90% of MS sufferers who have tried it.

In the ultimate David and Goliath narrative, a woman from Salt Lake has decided to raise the millions needed herself to help more people get this experimental treatment, and complete the trials in hopes of getting FDA approval. I decided to help, and recently asked her if I could make a pendant in her honor. She chose a phoenix for her design since a cure for MS would mean nothing short of rebirth.

Learn more about Michelle at CureForMS.org
You can donate there, or visit my Etsy Shop to pick up your own Phoenix pendant!

20 Years

It's here, friends. The 20th anniversary of the accident that got me into this entire mess is today. I have been rounding up for a while now... "20 years of pain," I would say to myself, but I knew it wasn't completely true. As if 19 years was really that much better.

As of yesterday, I'm back at work on the dumb book, I mean the wonderful book about the last 20 years of my life. I have been ignoring the book for quite some time, but going through those all-too familiar words yesterday reminded me of an amazing revelation that came from the writing process. So even if I don't sell the book, at least I have some peace, right? I realized that being in this much pain since I was 10 years old hardened my spirit just enough to face all the crap with my mom that was in store. When doctors accused me of lying about the pain, I had to develop an inordinate amount of self respect and self love so that I could continue to defend myself. When my mother lost her mind to mental illness and tried to take me with her, I was able to save myself. (The infamous) THEY say that most people never make it out of family situations like mine. And just look how functional I am!! So at least I have that going for me... which is nice.

But if given a choice, I would choose no pain at all. (duh!) This is why I have to offer props to science! Another RSD Blogger recently posted some exciting news that was published in Scientific American about Glia cells being responsible for chronic pain. The frustrating part, is that I have been asking for one of the medications that is supposed to suppress the Glial response for over a year now, with no luck. Anyway, this is the article if you're interested. http://www.rsds.org/2/library/article_archive/pop/Fields_ScientificAmerican.pdf

So that's where I'm at today. I'm tired. I'm tired of pain, and having it be a factor in every choice I make from walking the dog to having children. I'm sad about all of it, but pain has been such an integral part of my being for so long, I know that my life would be completely different today if I had never stepped in front of that car. It's a question for the ages I guess. Without the pain would I still be here with my amazing family, or would I be stuck in my mother's insane alternate reality. That's a way-homer...

A Sad Day

I knew this day was coming, friends. The day when I would be inspecting my pendants after they have already been fired and tumbled, and notice to my horror that I did not drill that all important hole for the jump ring.

It happened today. On all 12 pendants I fired last night. 12!

But I fixed it, and I thought I would attempt to share the wisdom I learned today with the next lost soul googling "forgot to drill hole in PMC before firing"

Though not as soft as the clay, silver is quite soft. It does not require much to drill a hole. In fact, the more speed or effort you put into it, the worse off you'll be. I had to purchase a 1.35 mm drill bit (I actually bought two in case one broke). I got it at my neighborhood jewelry supply store, but if you are not blessed with a store like Freshmans I bet you could just buy the smallest bit available at Home Depot. The bit did not fit in my flex shaft, so I also needed a collet pin. If you don't have a flex shaft, a regular drill should work if you can control the speed easily.
First make sure that you make a dent in the silver where you want the hole to be. I just used a regular hammer and nail. The dent will keep the drill bit from sliding all over your piece. When you're all set with the bit in place, start it spinning and run it through a chunk of beeswax to lubricate it. Then stop the motor. It doesn't take much wax, but it will help with the heat problem to be explained further down. Rest the tip in the dent and just barely start the motor. If you go too fast, the silver will get really hot, and de-anodize the steel. Then it won't be able to cut a thing. SLOWLY increase your speed until you see little curls of silver coming out of the hole. Keep it at this speed and hold the hand piece really straight, or you might break the bit. The slower you go, the faster it will drill the hole (and you won't wreck the bit by over-heating the silver). There you have it-- a hole!

We're afraid of losing this quality of care?

Let me say a few things about the standard of health care in America.

I have CRPS (Chronic Regional Pain Syndrome, formally called RSD). Granted it is not a well understood disease, but compared to when I was diagnosed 19 years ago to today, general knowledge about CRPS has increased by leaps and bounds. Some doctors even call themselves specialists.

I have seen these specialists. I have been to Johns Hopkins and Stanford- both supposedly offering the highest level of care. But it wasn't until a pesky pain I have been dealing with in my foot for years finally got out of control, that someone took a basic x-ray of my leg. My family doctor told me last night that I have such severe Osteoporosis in my left leg that I could break my foot just by walking around on it. This could have been useful information to have before now. I probably have a stress fracture in my tibia, but I won't know until the MRI tomorrow.

I knew from poking around on the internet that Osteoporosis was a common problem among people with CRPS/RSD, but I figured that if this was really a concern for me, one of the many doctors I have seen would have checked for it. I even had a terrible case of it right after my accident and shattered my ankle in three places because I was trying to keep up with my friends. I have told that story to every doctor I have seen about my leg, but none of them ever checked to see if the Osteoporosis was still a problem.

One dumb x-ray a long time ago could have spared me this pain, hassle, and possible surgery. I guess what I'm saying here is that YOU are in charge of your own health care. Be educated and ask about possible complications. I have always worried about offending my doctors by mentioning research I have found on the internet, but no longer.

Deep Thouhts Dripping in Polypropylene

For the last few weeks I have felt like my brain has been coated in plastic. With immense effort I can bend my thoughts through it, but if my efforts wane for even a moment, my thoughts are lost to me, and I end up on a freeway exit somewhere in Taylorsville, instead of my intended destination.

This is how I found myself last week suddenly approaching the entrance of a cemetery in Sandy which was several miles out of my way, and wondering if my car had actually driven there all by itself. I walked the rows with my daughter until we found the marker of my oldest and dearest friend for whom Rosie Alice is named. The stone bearing my friend's name was so much smaller than the one from my memory shaded with so much grief and guilt over time lost for petty reasons. Rosie and I picked the dandelions, made wishes, and cleared the grass clippings away. It was a nice visit, and I left feeling better than before I got there.

By the same turn of events, I was surprised to find myself driving up Big Cottonwood Canyon this evening at almost the same time my mother took the drive three years ago today. On October 2, 2006 my mother purposefully and violently ended her life somewhere in that canyon. For the first two years afterward I was barely able to drive past the mouth of the canyon. But today I felt happy to be there enjoying the colors, even though they were unfairly stunted by an early frost. When I turned around and started to drive Rosie and I back home, I was struck by the contrast of how my mother's body left the canyon that day, compared to my joie de vivre as I drove through the twists.

I feel like my plastic brain has an important message to convey through these unintentional visits: no matter how painful life can feel, with luck it is possible to turn around and return to a place of peace.

A Kiln Full

These are my orders from just the last few days! It's barely been two weeks and we've already raised over $300 for MDA/ALS Division. Thanks to everyone who has helped to spread the word.


Now I get to wait three hours for them to be done... it's going to be a long night.