Category: The Purse

Posted on

TMS Is The Happiest Place On Earth. Not. But Sorta.

Be ye not afraid. Askew wood Bow Tie o’ the Day is here to assure you that Hairs Thursday #14 will post this afternoon.

In these photos, you see me and Bow Tie and my TMS technician, Tenzin. Tenzin has made the treatments almost a pleasure to go through. She gets my humor and my fashion. And she is a hoot, herself. I will actually miss her.

One day at treatment, I noticed that if you turn my electromagnetic TMS coil on its side, it resembles Mickey Mouse ears– even more so when placed atop my TMS beanie. Tenzin humored me when I asked if she’d take the apparatus apart, so I could get a TIE O’ THE DAY selfie with the “ears.” She was ecstatic to do so. I handed her a prop bow tie I always carry with me in The Saddle Purse, in case I need it. She loved the whole set-up and was proud I thought enough of her to let her pose with her own borrowed Bow Tie o’ the Day.

Y’all know how I find significance and humor in coincidences. Of course, it’s happened again. I should have known the TMS equipment would have a component which resembles Mickey Mouse ears. My TMS doctor’s name? Dr. Mickey. How did I not notice this connection earlier? Coincidence? I think not.

34 TMS treatments down, 2 to go. Both are next week.

Posted on

A Purse With A Calling

My Socks o’ the Day herald Bow Ties o’ the Day. This is, as you’ll recall, my view from my TMS treatment chair. Bow-tied socks relax me. And The Saddle Purse does, as well.

My purse goes everywhere with me. It sees and does everything I see and do. It’s a saddle, and saddles are meant to travel. It is a true, new companion. I never forget I have it, and I am vigilant about its well-being. It’s like a toddler. I HAVE A TODDLER AGAIN! I let it be independent, but I keep it close, and I constantly keep my eye on it.

Yesterday, at my pain doc appointment, The Saddle Purse sat quietly in the exam room. Of course, Dr. Bow (my nickname for Dr. Bokat) noticed it, and I showed her its finer features. I am especially in purse-love with its tiny saddlebag. As I was leaving my appointment, Dr. Bow asked where I had purchased the purse. I told her I found it at SLC International Airport. I’m guessing she will probably buy the red version because she works at the U of U.

I have been a diligent bow tie/tie missionary for decades. Despite never owning a purse until I turned 55, the one I bought– after it called to me– has converted me to its mission. It is the one and only true purse upon the face of the earth. Apparently, I have now been called to be a saddle purse missionary– without even trying.

NOTE: The highlight of my pain doc appointment was not actually The Saddle Purse’s mesmerizing of Dr. Bow. Nope, the highlight for me was telling Dr. Bow I no longer need the amount of pain medication I’ve been taking. It is clear my pancreas surgery helped my pain situation so very much. It’s been almost a year since the operation, and I feel close to completely healed from the surgery itself.

I’m glad Suzanne made me have the surgery. And she really did FORCE me to be gutted. Seriously, she locked me out of the house and told me she wouldn’t let me back in until after I finally had the surgery I should have had years ago. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But not by much.

Posted on

Too, Too Tired

Bow Tie o’ the Day sits in the TMS reception area with me and my droopy eyelids. You know all those naps you wouldn’t take when you were a kid? I now regret not napping every chance I was told to. I think I wouldn’t have to take naps all the time now, if I had just closed my eyes as a kid. I do like my naps, but I have things to do. I don’t want to “have to” nap– as an adult.

I also wish I had eaten ALL the food off ALL the dinner plates that were put on ALL the kitchen tables in front of me when I was a kid. I gotta watch what I eat at this point in my life. As a child, I could have eaten anything and burned it off immediately, and my arteries were clear as could be. But no! Kids have to be stubborn. “Hey, parent! You want me to eat this yummy cheeseburger? Even though I want to eat it, I refuse to do so. For no good reason, except to get on your nerves, I refuse to eat.” I know I’m not the only one who did this. What were we thinking?

The TMS treatment most certainly jolts me awake. The woman behind me in the second photo is my TMS technician, Tenzin. She gets my electromagnetic coil started at the right intensity and for the correct amount of time, then she drinks her coffee and watches me go through my session. She’s like my own personal lifeguard. She makes sure I do not go into seizures during treatment. Zapping awake the brain’s mood area– good. Having seizures– bad. I don’t worry about it. Tenzin knows what she’s doing.

Tenzin is as chapped as I am that somebody rearranged the furniture in the TMS room without our approval. There used to be a chair just a few feet away from my feet, where I could put The Purse and keep my eye on it during my treatment. But early one morning, Tenzin and I walked into the room and the chair was gone! Also, these two recliners were moved to the far side of the room. The Purse now has to sit in a recliner so far away from me I can hardly see its saddle on the horizon. I need binoculars. Tenzin can no longer see it at all from her desk. I have to squint so hard to make The Purse come into focus from so far away that I think I might yet have a seizure from which Tenzin, my personal lifeguard, must rescue me.

22 TMS treatments down, 14 to go.

Posted on

Cinco De Bison

We celebrated Cinco de Mayo yesterday by participating in nothing resembling a Cinco de Mayo festivity. (You might remember Skitter had already cracked open her piñata a couple of weeks ago, cuz she couldn’t wait any longer.) Mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day helped us pack up the car for an afternoon excursion. We loaded up Diet Coke, water, and bug spray. And we loaded up Skitter. We did not load up The Saddle Purse. Off we drove to Antelope Island– which I always call Cantaloupe Island, convinced someone somewhere someday will think it’s funny.

We stopped at the beach as soon as we got on the island. The lake is so low that we had to walk at least 1/4 mile from the real beach to get to the water. It was the first time Skitter had walked on sand, and it was the first time she had seen a lake. She did well, despite her fear. She did not venture into the water. I think she actually had fun, even though she stuck to my legs the entire adventure.

Our beach-hangin’ did not last long at all. We were at war with the brine flies. We found ourselves in the midst of a near-Biblical true pestilence. We were outnumbered, and our bug spray was no match for the brine flies’ superior weapons of annoyance. They were ultimately the victors. Surrender can be a wise and glorious thing sometimes. When we got home I discovered brine fly bites across my forehead where my hatband had been, and poor Skitter had bites inside her ears.

We spent most of our Cantaloupe Island trip in the car, and we had a fine time. The afternoon was bright. The drive was pretty. We drove the island’s roads, checking out the bigly bison and a few antelope. I met a bison and a deer, and they each wanted a turn wearing Bow Tie o’ the Day. I obliged.

 

 

Posted on

It’s Called TMS, Not PMS

Actually, the specific type of TMS I’m being administered is called rTMS– short for Repetitive Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation. At 7AM every weekday, I’m sitting like this in the treatment chair at the Treatment Resistant Mood Disorders Clinic, located in SLC at the U of U’s University Neuropsychiatric Institute . Even that early, and even for a medical treatment, I wear my trademark Neckwear o’ the Day. It reminds me exactly who I am, and it amuses the doctors, nurses, and technicians. The patients and staff in the waiting room are always more interested in The Purse though.

Some of you have expressed concern for me about doing rTMS. I hadn’t heard of it until two months ago. But rest assured, I did my research. It is a relatively new treatment for depression. It is a treatment which is only used in cases of depression where standard treatments have not worked. It is not generally used to treat bipolar individuals, but my wacko head lives mostly on the depressive side of my bipolarity. And that’s where I’ve been in quicksand for the last year. I needed to try something new.

So I am officially “treatment resistant” and I, therefore, qualify for rTMS. “Treatment resistant,” in terms of rTMS, means meds and/or therapy have not worked well enough to level out my mental situation, or to at least stabilize the moods.

Meds have always “worked” for me, sort of. Each med I’ve been prescribed has helped me stay more level to some degree– for a while, sometimes even for years, but it would eventually lose its effectiveness. When it quit working, my docs would switch me to a different anti-depressant or mood-leveler. Again, the drug would definitely help me, but not for the duration. In addition to taking meds, I have simultaneously been in some kind of talk therapy since I was diagnosed bipolar. Therapy has helped, but clearly not enough. I was 36 when I got my diagnosis, although I have no doubt I have been bipolar my entire life.

In future posts, I’ll write more specifically about my diagnosis; about what TMS is and how safe it is; about what it means to be bipolar; and about the idea of being “mentally ill”.

Posts about these topics and issues are tougher for me to write than I thought they would be. But I figure things out by writing about them, and I need to figure out this complex stuff. Stay tuned, as always.

16 TMS sessions down, 20 to go.

Posted on

Right Place, Right Time?

All through our thinking lives– especially during the tough moments– we sleuth around to find meaning in what we do, and in how we’ve decided to live. Pink Panther Tie o’ the Day (it’s just a squirt gun he’s packing) sometimes assists me in my sleuthing to figure out how it all fits together. I’m a puzzle piece, and so are you.

When I parked my car at the TMS clinic this morning, there was one parking place left– just for me. As I swung open my car door, I realized the cow Sloggers shoes I was wearing matched the car right next to mine. It’s not a paint color you commonly see on vehicles. In fact, I believe this is the only time I’ve seen this sea foam color on a car. [Trust me: the color is not light blue, it is sea foam.]

Anyhoo… You could call it a mere coincidence, and that’s probably all it was. It was just a car and a pair of garden shoes, sharing pigment. But what if this minuscule meeting of the colors was something more than coincidence?

That would actually help me out. You see, I’ve been feeling like my TMS treatments haven’t been accomplishing their purpose of jump starting the mood section of my brain, so I can level out my depression. I haven’t felt the change I expected to notice by this point in the series of treatments. I’ve been doubting. But what if the simple meeting of these off-beat colors is the universe trying to tell me I’m doing the right thing? Maybe it’s a sign I’m right where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly the right thing for my stoopid bipolarity. That might be stretching the idea of “signs,” but maybe it’s not. Maybe we should look less for bigly signs and answers, and look more at the small things we come across in our everyday existence. How is believing in the “messages” of small things a sacrilege?

In the final analysis, it doesn’t really matter if the universe is speaking to me, or if I’m speaking to myself– about the TMS treatments or the meaning of my life or whatever. If thinking I’ve experienced a profound encounter– whether I have or haven’t– gets me through a day, that’s a good thing. If it’s just made-up meaning but it makes me a better person, what’s wrong with that? What’s the problem if we all do that?

And do you know what? After today’s treatment ended its pounding– after I’d completely forgotten about the car/shoe thing– I felt the first twinge of peace and hope. I hadn’t even left my treatment chair yet. It was only a tiny blip of peace and hope, but it was there. I’m not making it up just to make this a better story. It happened.

Once I left the clinic building, I saw that the sea foam-colored car was gone. But I remembered it had been there. Its earlier presence meant something, if only to me. I carried my little ray of peace and hope home with me, and I’m thinking I’m one step closer to fitting myself–the puzzle piece I am– into the cosmic puzzle. How is your puzzle piece doing?

Posted on

Hairs Thursday #9

Mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day. Sasquatch Socks o’ the Day. And animal print Sloggers o’ the Day. The Hairs o’ the Day are doing the front-ponytail-through-a-backwards-baseball-cap thing.

[I haven’t quite finished writing the post I promised yesterday, about why TMS treatments are a good choice for me. It is coming.]

Posted on

The First Of Two Things

Check it out: I believe my shirt collar is a bigly bit too large, since my face fits in it. Tie o’ the Day is a lovely purple, silver, and gray kids’ tie. The sun was bright as could be outside this morning when I snapped the washed-out photo. I got to my appointment early and just hung around listening to tunes in the car– and taking washed-out TIE O’ THE DAY pictures. You can at least see the short length of Tie. Its colors pop out at ya in the photo of me and the TMS equipment. You know– if I flipped the electromagnetic gadget on its side, it would look like Mickey Mouse ears. I’ll try to capture a pic of that.

Behold! Sloggers o’ the Day are not my faves. I doubt My Saddle Purse is fond of them either. The shoes’ print design is not even close to my style. The design and colors remind me of Momo (my grandma Wright), whose style was always elegant and impeccable. But her style is not mine. I think I decided on these Sloggers simply because they make me think of her. That’s reason enough to wear them.

First today, I have a gripe. Our dryer died over the weekend. It was at least twenty years old when we inherited it, and it’s been one of the family for the past twenty years. Its efficient longevity is amazing, so it deserves to rest now in Dryer Heaven. I do not begrudge the dryer for giving up the ghost.

Suzanne did her consumer research and decided on the best new dryer for us. It is now bought and paid for, as they say. Unfortunately, it can’t be delivered and installed until next Friday. By that time, we will have lived without a dryer for TWO WHOLE WEEKS! That ain’t right. We are growing the dirty clothes piles to prove it. I can dry clothing on the deck if we get desperate, but that would result in a costly fine from the Homeowners Association. Perhaps we could use this unfortunate event as an excuse to buy more clothing, cuz you can already tell I don’t have enough to wear.

And second, …… I will save the second topic for my next post. Meanwhile, I assure you that my TMS treatments are safe. Worry not, friends! I will ‘splain to you why this is a good thing for me to try. 7down, 29 to go.


Posted on

Visiting Mom In Deltassippi A Couple Of Weeks Ago

M & M’s Bow Tie o’ the Day knows as well as anyone that a trip to see Mom at Millard Care and Rehab is a trip for Suzanne to see the other Mom also, as in MOM’S CRAFTS. Yup, Deltatucky is a two-mom town for Suzanne. I hang with Mom. Suzanne hangs with Mom AND the Mother of All Fabric Stores.

M & M’s Bow Tie also reminded me to deliver a very important gift for Mom. You see, every Easter season, when all the malted milk ball eggs show up in the stores, and the Peeps take their place alongside them in the Easter candy aisle, I buy Mom a bag of spiced jelly bean eggs. This year, when I thought about getting them for her, I figured I should skip it– since her blood sugar has been fiendishly high. I hoped she wouldn’t think about them this year. When I went to visit Mom a month ago, all she could talk about was the bag of spiced jelly beans I didn’t show up with. I wasn’t going to let that happen again, so on my last visit– a couple of weeks ago– I made triple-sure I delivered a bag o’ spiced jelly beans to her bedside.

Should I have given her such a sugary treat? Not really. But Mom is 88. She knows all about her high blood sugar. If she wants to risk eating a bag of Brach’s Spiced Jelly Beans so badly, she’s going to get ’em from me. I might be 55, but I am still Mom’s baby– and I do not say NO to my mother. Never have. Never will. My job is to spoil Mom. And I’m telling you right now: If Mom wants a six-pack of Budweiser to drink, a pipe to smoke, and a tin of Copenhagen to chew ‘n’ spit, I will get them for her. I will even barricade her door at MCR while she partakes of her vices, so she won’t get caught by her “guards” while she’s being bad.

BTW   When I was at MCR last time, I left Skitter with Mom in her room while I talked with a couple of family members in the hall near the facility’s entrance. Well, out of nowhere, here comes my pal, Katie, who takes such good care of Mom at MCR. Katie took one look at me and immediately said, “Oh, didn’t Skitter come down with you today?” I told her Skitter was in with Mom. And, without one more word to me, off Katie went to check it out I guess. Apparently, Katie was done with me. So I went back to the conversation I had been having with my people. Later, I looked for Katie throughout the day, but I couldn’t find her again before Suzanne and Skitter and I had to head back to the bigly city. I have always joked that it’s Skitter who MCR really likes to see show up, not me at all. Now– thanks to Katie– I know it’s not a joke. It’s true. Skitter is my ticket in. As long as I have her, I’ll be welcome at MCR. I hope.

[Note to Katie: I’m exaggerating that tiny story bigly, for the purpose of increasing chuckles. But I really did try to find you, and couldn’t.]

FYI   Yes, that’s Suzanne in one of the photos, showing Mom my purse. My purse gets around. I wonder if it “sleeps around,” as well.

Posted on

It’s Downright Shocking

Bow Tie o’ the Day “enjoyed” a round of electromagnetically attacking my Brain o’ the Day. 6 Down, 30 to go. I will make it. My skull might not, but I will.

Here I am with the electromagnetic coil stuck against my head. It looks like an innocent reading lamp, which it is certainly not. Each daily treatment lasts only twenty minutes, which doesn’t seem like a long time– until you understand it’s twenty minutes of painful pulses almost continually bombarding your noggin. I get a few seconds of rapidly repeating shocks, followed by fewer seconds of PAUSE, then back to the pulses, and so on. When the coil sends the shocks through my skull, it sounds exactly like a sewing machine needle going up and down. It feels like it too. See, you learn something from my posts every day.

And here are my Sloggers ankle-boots. I only have one pair. I’m not really an ankle-boot garden shoe kind of girl, I guess. Y’all seem to like my Sloggers, so I’ll show ’em to ya. I don’t know if any of my Sloggers like my treatments, but they’re going with me anyway. They can stare at my purse with me for twenty minutes.