Come On Down!

Since Will is Mr. Fancy Web Designer, he revamped our wedding website so we can talk about stuff and life and things. And with double the authors, the idea is that maybe there will be double the posts!

So for my few faithful readers (hi Aleta, Colleen & Kath!), and for those that I don't know about, come on over to my new blog to keep up with the latest adventures: www.anneandwill.com.

I Used to Like Shots of Tequila on a Thursday Night

When I first got diagnosed with Crohn's, I went in for a four-hour IV treatment every eight weeks. I got a hefty dose of Benedryl first thing when I got there to prevent any reactions to the medicine and it knocked me out.

My mom was really curious about what went down in the old Ambulatory Surgery Unit at Boulder Community Hospital and wanted to go with me for one treatment. I didn't think it would be too much fun for her to watch me zonk out for four hours, but moms can be weird that way. She thought it was pretty fascinating.

My medicine options have come a long way in the last five years. For a while I gave myself a shot using an epi pen every two weeks, which I wasn't very good at doing. It wasn't even the needle that was scary - it was the clicking sound that the stupid pen made that freaked me out and made me misfire (multiple times). I eventually got the hang of it though. Now I'm on a medicine where a lovely nurse comes to the house to give me a shot every 4 weeks.

The medicine (Cimzia) arrives in an oh-so-eco-friendly over sized Styrofoam package complete with chemical ice packs and bubble wrap. There were a few months in there where I had to fight with my insurance company over medicine and was amazingly relieved to finally see my environmental hazard of a package arrive.

This medicine gets administered by a nurse who comes to the house. At first, I thought this was overkill. I did master the epi pen (eventually). Even knowing that the medicine needs to be mixed together using various needles to transfer from vial to vial to syringe, I thought I could handle it. What I couldn't handle is the hard jab required to get the shot into your skin. And since Cimzia is covering even the copay for my insurance in return for my opinion on the drug, I'm more than happy to have a mad chemist/nurse do the shot part. One less thing to worry about.

The nurse is always kind enough to remark on how little flab there is to pinch for the shot. I think her other patients must be huge, or that's just nice nurse small talk because there is more than enough to grab in my opinion. The jab usually doesn't hurt, but the medicine can sometimes sting. And at the end of the day, I have two little marks on my stomach that I cover with band aids and then watch with amazement as they bruise and then fade over the next week.

I just got a shot tonight - let's hope that it kicks in and coaxes my digestive system into behaving nicely going forward.

My Favorite Hobby

A study in Anne worrying about something

I always find it funny when folks perceive me as a go-with-the-flow, laid back person because that is not who lives in my head. I'm a complete worrier - just give me something to worry about and I'll find every last nuanced detail to explore. I must just have a very peaceful look on my face whilst I worry away.

My latest worry: Crohn's is kicking my ass this summer. I'm taking about 9 pills every night and getting monthly shots of Cimzia. And that's on a night when I'm not in pain. I've had about two good weeks since my doctor put me on a whole lot more Prednisone. Unfortunately for my face, Prednisone does more to make me break out than a heaping dose of hormones when I was a teenager.

So two weeks of a high dose of Prednisone and I'm feeling pretty good. And then last night I start feeling the same pain as before. The truth is, I used to power through the pain and try my best to not let Crohn's get in the way of life. I have things I want to do, and sitting around being sick is not on the to-do list.

I feel better today, but have to admit to being worried about what this means. Dr. Guts sent me in for screenings that aren't showing anything crazy wrong (inflammation and narrowing at a previous surgery site are par for my course). I drank a glass of wine the other night and ate some raw summer squash yesterday. That's honestly what probably set off the pain. I'm a horrible person for wanting to enjoy a few summery things.

I need to give up wine for reals. Not for a few weeks, or for awhile, but forever. I need to become one of those folks that is a pain in the ass about what I eat. And that makes me sad.

I'm worried about not knowing why things aren't improving, and worried about how to make it better, and worried about how to respond to all the folks who have helpful ideas on what to do to fix things, and worried about feeling completely overwhelmed by all those ideas. I have no idea what the solution is. I don't think my doctor has any idea. And I'm fighting a whole lot of inertia (aside from worrying) about what to do next.

I <3 You Paint

I love paint. It truly is the cheapest way to make a huge difference in a space.

Case in point:

Me, seething with hate for the ugly brick fireplace wall

Me, seething with hate for all the mortar lines that needed to be primed and painted by hand

Not shown, me, in love with the final color.

Once we put away the shop vac and paint accoutrements, the room will be completely beautiful. At some point soon, we're going to paint the rest of the walls a light shade of gray. But in the meantime, two full weekend days, a gallon and a half of primer, half a gallon of paint, and a few paint splatters in the hair equal new love for our living room.

Left Behind

The last time I bought a house, it was pristine the day I moved in. The guy I bought it from, Larry, called me a few times in the days before he moved out to see if I wanted to keep anything he was thinking of leaving behind. I didn't want his cooties despite his excellent taste in paint colors so I politely declined and moved into a junk-free house.

This house, however, has lots of prizes left behind. It is like one big treasure hunt - you never know what will greet you when you open up a closet door. I made a few giant donations to Goodwill when moving out of the old house, and I'm collecting lots more for a new humongous donation courtesy of the new house.

Here's a random sampling of what Will and I have found:

Half empty bag of cotton balls - why thanks for sharing these nifty soft things, I've never seen them before!

Cleaning supplies - ironic because I don't think they actually got used before we moved in. I kept the Mrs. Meyers cleaner & the laundry detergent and tossed the rest of the mostly used bottles.

Assorted kitchen stuff - my parents came up to help us on Sunday and I gave my dad the task of taking down the multiple paper towel dispensers and magnetic knife racks in the kitchen. Really, who needs paper towels in two different spots? In the same kitchen?

Super sweet lamp - this nifty little ditty was attached to the wall above my desk in the office. It had a pee-yellow metal lamp shade with a Norwegian type flower pattern on it. I couldn't concentrate on a conference call it was so distracting. 

Iron - perhaps original to the house, circa 1960. My dad thinks I should take it to an antique shop, my mom and I disagree.

Light bulbs - not in light fixtures, mind you. Just laying around the house, in the back of closet shelves, in the laundry room, on the kitchen counter top.

Coat racks - I love coats a little too much, but even I don't need more space than the coat closet allows.

Spiders - seriously wondering if the previous folks bred spiders for research and had an unfortunate escape episode. I'm normally a capture-the-spider-in-a-glass-and-release-it-outside girl, but I have to admit I've become jaded and I squished one last night.

Canadian coins - eh?

And that, my friends, is my assessment of the great moving adventure week 1. 

Totally Worth It

I was a pretty rule-abiding kid growing up. Getting into trouble never really held much appeal. I had some friends that loved to push the limits, though. My neighbor, Marcy, was one of those kids.

I spent the night at her house once and we decided to make her parents dinner. Marcy knew how to turn on the oven to cook our gourmet meal - which consisted of a plastic Sesame Street Big Bird. When the burning rubber aroma filled the house, Marcy's mom ran into the kitchen to see what was going on. I still remember her opening the oven door to the sight of a sagging Big Bird head and twisted, melting Big Bird body. It was gruesome and I was sent promptly home.

Another Marcy adventure involved another neighbor's house in the spring. They were out of town and Marcy was in charge of watering their garden for them. I went over to help her one afternoon. Her brother, Robby, tagged along and I'm guessing that if Robby was there, my brother, Mike, was there too. Given the natural state of the world as it relates to sibling relationships, there was some bickering going on.

The bickering turned into Marcy grabbing a snowball flower off a bush and throwing it at her brother, who grabbed another snowball flower and threw it back, resulting in a regular snowball fight. The puffs burst into a giant flower shower upon impact. Nothing sharp or cold to cause actual harm. The snowball fight ended only after every puff within reach of 6 and under kids had been removed from the bushes. The yard was littered with white flowers and we were all laughing hysterically at ourselves.

The neighbors weren't at all pleased when they returned home. We had to clean up their yard and apologize for our actions. But I got my first taste of thinking that it was totally worth it to get in trouble.

Old Pecos Trail

Will and I headed down to Santa Fe a few weekends ago. Will had never been and our friends, Brian & Amy, invited us to join them for the weekend. We had a great time, and Will even drank a margarita.

Anne & Will

Really, Will wanted a beverage with a salt rim and Brian and I ordered margaritas that were really weak. Amy didn't drink margaritas because, well, see photo below. We convinced Will he could handle a weak margarita, so he joined us for the second round - and the margaritas this time were wicked strong. He toughed it out and tried not to make too many funny faces while he choked it down. 

Will, Anne, Brian, Amy

(I never realized how much shorter I am than everyone else...)