MissNikkiAnn Is Adamant (contains explicit language)

Dystonia

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F93z-6a36d8&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Oh, No! Not Another DYS: Dystonia

We believe that this illness is taking control of my knees: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zOmUgbKTlHQ&feature=youtube_gdata_player

MissNikkiAnn Wants YOU! Yes...YOU! (Spreecast.com)

*My Spreecast channel: www.spreecast.com/users/missnikkiann

Feel free to email me if interested: missnikkiannhelp@gmail.com

or...

Drop me a message on YouTube (MissNikkiAnn)

or...

DM me on twitter (MissNikkiAnn).

~MissNikkiAnn

"Mos"t "Def"initely A Dysautonomic Force Feed?

Just want to advocate for all of my fellow Dysautonomics who know all too well how J-tube (jejunostomy tube) feeding/testing feels.  I have had a few tests via j-tube, while I was fully awake.  I also have many Dysautonomia friends who receive all of their nutrition via J-tube.  And even more, I have young friends who know how to put in and take out their own tubes (not that difficult really).

What does this have to do with Mos Def and the Guantanamo Bay video?  The procedure in and of itself is not painful.  On the other hand, if you are an inmate who's been refusing oral eating, and you're chained to a chair--possibly thrashing about--this procedure/torture could be the hell you never dreamed of.

Now, what is MissNikkiAnn's overall objective (since it's no disrespect to the art that went into that compelling video), I want my curious readers to know that J-tubes are a regular thing for us Dysautonomics--just like accessing our own ports and administering our own infusions at home.  So take that information and imagine all of the other things that you don't about our lives with Dysautonomia.  If you see me in a store with my walker, that in no way means that I am okay.  The things that I have to do at home and at hospitals and doctor appointments will go unseen.  The best thing to do is to assume that you can never grasp it until you (or someone close to you) is going through it.

Last year I was informed that I will probably eventually need J-tube feeding.  And having had the J-tube procedure done many times for testing reasons, when my time comes, I will learn how to place and remove my J-tube, as I learned how to access my own port.

Funny how art can be interpreted--when I saw the video, I thought nothing of the inmates.  My thoughts were on how strong and amazing my J-tube friends are.  They shed no tears when showing us by video how they insert and remove their tubing.  That J-tube is saving their lives, as they are no longer able to take in nutrition by mouth.

That last thought reminds me of something God said to Neale Donald Walsch in Neale's Conversation with God book.  God told Neale to live.  God did not mean for him to go out there and live life to its fullest, he REALLY and literally meant for humankind to stop thinking that it takes death in order to live.

Sounds confusing, right?  It is so much easier to die than it is to live through human suffering, suffering that is a big and necessary component of the human existence.  We did not come here to live simple and uncomplicated lives (at least, not this time around).  We are here NOW in order to experience exactly what we are experiencing NOW.

Live.  Choose to breath and live.  Choose to endure all of the horrors until you find your way out of them.  And if you never find your way out of them, choose to allow that to be your wisdom, the kind of wisdom that most people will never experience.  Live.  Live through needles and infusions.  Live through feeding tubes and catheters and electronic implants that keep your heart and bladder and colon functioning until they no longer can.  Live to see artists like Mos Def utilize their talents for the cause of others.  Live to have empathy for war prisoners and the family that cares about them.

Live.  Live.  Live.  Even if you have to live from a bed, as my dysautonomic friends and I have to.  Because no matter what, the end WILL come.  You don't have to force it.  The reaper will pay us all a visit.  And just because I am ill, it does not mean that you will outlive me.  So live.  Live.  And live.

For those who are curious about the Mos Def and Guantanamo Bay references, here's the Mos Def video (and my thoughts are with all men--worldwide--who find themselves in prisons, enduring and trying to live):

Shockingly Surviving The Ledge

I woke feeling feeling sick and in need of loads of meds to calm the symptoms.  I got up to powder my nose and find the meds I so needed.  I passed Shock (our Robo Dwarf hamster, looks like a cotton ball/bunny rabbit) and decided to chat with her, she loves to chat--she's skittish as hell, but loves to chat.  I opened her cage so that she could sniff my hand and know it was me.  We chatted and then she did the thing that I didn't need at 3 AM, she jumped out of the cage.  Good thing I am calm with pets (not scaring them off like Sir does with his eagerness to hold and love on the fury, adorable creatures), because her cage his up high, away from any safe spots to land.  But I did some thinking and after about 3 minutes managed to entice her with a detachable part (which doubles as a traveling case) of her cage.  I know that Nasty Nancy (Nasty Nan or Nan) senses when there is a ledge and instinctively knows not to jump or walk off.  But Nan is a Chinese Dwarf and has a different innate sensibility, while Shock's kind are so skittish (even if they are calm and friendly) that they "skit" to their own demise (plus, what dumb ass would open the cage while it's on a high countertop, void of any safety nets under it?)--MissNikkiAnn raises her hand.

So Shock is alive and it is now 3:30 AM.  I will probably be pushing meds through the syringe until about 4:00 AM.  With this "free time" on my hands, I will be playing Kingdom Rush on my Chromebook.  I have completed the levels, but am now trying to get 3 stars for each of them.

That is all.

Orphanet: Pure autonomic failure

My illness (well, one of them)... Orphanet: Pure autonomic failure

MissNikkiAnn Live on Spreecast: "Difficult to be Miley Cyrus In America"

MissNikkiAnn's Live Spreecast -- MCAD: Funk, Soap and Scarves, Parts 1 and 2

MissNikkiAnn's Spreecast: My Body Wins

A Confession

I still have no clue who Justin Bieber is or how he gained his fame.  So as a woman who was born in the 70s and grew-up during the 80s pop culture scene of BET and MTV, I am (at this moment) trying to invest FIVE MINUTES into researching this guy.  My main goal is to listen to ONE song.  But even as I type this, I feel my interest waning (seriously. my illness has given my once-focused mind ADD.).

I am now starring at my screen, contemplating my:  "Chocolate is proof that God wants us to be happy" mug.

I now realize that chocolate as a skin tone is what I hope this mug is referring to.

Starring at the mug.

Thinking of Paula Deen's innate ability to say "nigger."

Hearing footsteps on this Sunday morning.

Sounds as if my mom is getting ready for church.

African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church.

Reminder as to why chocolate people had to establish churches for themselves.

Avoiding going to powder my nose because my illness is affecting my knees and I can barely convince them to bend.  And when they do bend (on their own will and time), the pain is fierce; and afterward, I am unable to get them to straighten out to stand.

My legs hate me.

Racist legs.

Restless legs.

The onset was acute and sudden.

Overnight.

Rheumatologist visit.

X-rays taken.

Physical therapy ordered.

Wait...

This Is What A Dysautonomic and MCAD* Mom Looks Like

Sir takes indoor swimming lessons.  So that should be a more tolerable environment for my illnesses, right?  Of course not!  I am allergic to chlorine.  I wear a mask and get Benadryl-Emergency Inhaler-Up'd to endure it all, which is 3 days a week.  And that heated pool, which makes the inside pool area feel like hot hell, is my enemy.  The pool is winning the battle.  I am fully bedridden today.  And still struggling to get the pain under control.
*MCAD (Mast Cell Activation Disorder)

Chronic Pain

I don't mind (anymore) that I NEVER have a pain-free day.  Hell, I don't even remember what that feels like.  My normal pain-level day is 3 and up (10 being dying (literally).  I was forced to come up with a scale after being asked a million times at the E.R.

My pain is up and rising.  I go to bed at a 5 (already medicated) and wake-up at a 7, which my meds will hopefully bring down to a 5.

The pain is all-consuming.  And my favorite high-level pain remedy is backordered (yup, med companies sometimes provide one sector with too many of a product, leaving pharmacies out on a limb. 
And I feel for my pharmacist every time he has to tell me that one of my pain meds is backordered, since he knows that I only request certain pain meds when my regular medicinal pain regime is not keeping up with the pain.  He sees the begging-for-relief in my eyes.  Just two days ago I was lying on his floor (yes, on the pharmacy floor).  My body had momentarily given up functioning properly (well, MY Dysautonomic "properly"). 

So I wait.  And wait some more. Trying not to lose my mind.  If it rises anymore, I will have to contact my doctor.  and for those not acquainted with the prescription-pain-relief phobia in America, be grateful, cause it probably means that you and yours are physically well and healthy.
Big Corporation and Big Government, please stop your paranoia.  Statistics show that only a small number of patients abuse/misuse/overuse their narcotic pain meds.  I am not on a narcotic pain med (which would be the best so that I wouldn't have to take FIVE non-narcotic (but strong!) pain meds instead of ONE! narcotic.

One of my favorite lines that an advisor spoke to Queen Elizabeth I during a difficult decision-making time for the Queen:

"A prince should be careful to not be afraid of his own shadow."

Another Dysfunctional Dysautonomic Spring and Summer

Dysautonomic Relief

I access my own port (putting the needle into my chest) and administer my own IV meds (which are way better and faster acting than oral meds, which is why drug addicts are willing to poke needles into their arms and other body parts).  I've got the IV pole and everything else that comes with the privilege of performing your own infusions (I even take it with me in the car if I need to leave the house). 

Did I mention that my walker (with a seat) is my best and constant companion?

For Those Who Have Emailed Me

First:  Thank You!  Since removing the comments option from the blog (which I decided lacked intimacy and mutual privacy); I have received lots of personal emails (you too can email me at missnikkiannhelp@gmail.com).  My readers are openly writing me about their lives and struggles.  I never imagined that anyone would actually take me on my word and contact me by email.

Now to the point of this post.  My goal is always to answer each email.  The problem with this lofty goal is that it does not take into account that I am a chronically ill single mom who's homeschooling her child (can you say "stressed?").  I am barely able to fill the job requirements of motherhood, being chronically/progrssively ill and homeschooling teacher.  And lots of days (every week!) I can only fill one: being ill.

Though I am eager to answer all of you, it may take some time.  But do know that eventually I do respond to all emails.

Thank you for sharing your life and stories with me.

I am holding a stressed-out stress ball.

Dysautonomic Behavior

It's how I roll.  And I work overtime.  No vacation days.  No holidays off.  I'm on the dysfunctional Dysautonomic grind.  All day.  Ev'ry day.  Catch up!

Chronically Aggressive

I have been living with my illnesses' most persistent and debilitating symptoms since 2009.  You would think that living with something 365 days a year would become routine and controllable.  But I assure you that it is not the case; especially when your illness is aggressive and progressive with no remission to come.  At some point each week I think that I am as sick as I can possibly get, then I get even sicker.

What is most annoying is that my symptoms guide what I will be able to accomplish in any given day.  It is near impossible to "make plans."  One week I am in the pattern of being my sickest during the morning hours; the next week it is during the night hours; the worst is when I get no relief at all in a week--and I am having that right now.  It makes me feel so insignificant when I can't do for my own son, when those who are caring for me have to make significant adjustments to their lives for the sake of my health.

This situation gets old but the illness never grows weary, it shows up right on time and loves to put in overtime hours.  Nothing I am taking is alleviating the pain and pre-syncope symptoms.  I've had my 3 intravenous infusions for the week and still my body is not able to moderate my blood pressure, it totally bottoms out when I go to stand, which means I am bedridden until it decides on what it wants to do next.  Me?  I wait.  And wait some more.  And it gets old.  And I am getting older.  And my son is getting older and responsible enough to do for himself when I cannot perform simple mom tasks.  And it gets old.  I wait.  And wait some more.

Ranted Ramblings on Disco Piss

The hamster is hiding in one of her loops.  I haven't known her long, but so far she seems to go there when Sir and I have frustrated the shit out of her.  I mean, I have good reason.  If she'd just stop shitting and pissing in her wheel then I could spend less money and time poking at her and trying to potty train a thing that  likes to piss, shit and run as a bathroom break.

And then my POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) symptoms have arrived right on schedule to remind me why I hate spring and friggin' summer, I am bedridden and my world is like an spinning disco ball with hints of some hallucinogenic hippie drug that makes spinning in circles after a long day AND night of drinking look like its bitch--I am up at 2:30 in the morning feeling hungover without the prerequisite of partying and drinking.

Did I mention that racism is rampant?

MNA Speaks: From Lent to Easter