Nine Years (Madeleine Margaret Chen)

I wouldn't have missed it for the world,

Wouldn't have missed lovin' you girl

You make my whole life worthwhile

When you smile

I wouldn't have missed one memory

'Cause you mean that much to me

Sniff. Corny. Yeah. Can't help it.

Meredith's recital is tomorrow.

Delilah

I was reading my blog with a brain that seems to be actually working again instead of in a cymbalta haze and I forgot to explain that we don't have little Delilah yet.

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See, I first became a mother in 1990 when I adopted my poodle son Nicky. Sadly enough, he had inherited a terrible disease called Progressive Retinal Atrophy. He was blind by age 5.

There were no tests for PRA in 1990, but now there is. So Delilah is getting tested for it--at our expense--and we'll get her after the tests come back negative (I hope).

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PRA has wrecked havoc among minature poodle breeders over the past 30 years. While the lines that carry it are gradually being eliminated, DO NOT BUY A POODLE UNLESS THEY HAVE BEEN TESTED FOR IT. This company tests for it.

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Not only did Nicky lose his eyesight, but he lost his ability to tear up and his eyes were always fire engine red. I had to put drops in them until I finally had them removed. It didn't really affect the way he looked--I kept him cut so you couldn't really tell--but it was weird, having a dog with no eyes at all.

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Don't buy a poodle from a backyard breeder or a pet shop!! Unless one of your hobbies is Russian Roulette.

Zombie!

Blog? What blog?

Oh this. My beloved blog, into which I've been pouring my heart and soul for almost three years. And I finally got a check from Google!!! What a glorious day that was!!! (You have to earn at least $100 to do that. Took me 2 1/2 years).

I started taking the Cymbalta and at first all went well. My pain decreased quite a bit. My moods didn't miraculously improve, but since I've never had a brain chemistry depression disorder, I guess there wasn't much work to be done there. I did sort of look forward to prancing joyously around singing and distributing daisy petals, but instead I...

just.......didn't..........care........about...........anything..........

Now I had a little of that when I was on Paxil in 1995 for what was erroneously diagnosed as "panic disorder" which turned out to be nothing but "shortness of breath" (a fibro symptom). Paxil didn't do much for me one way or the other, except make me gain 30 pounds. But......I.....just.....didn't.......care.....until that horrid day when I tried on a bikini bathing suit in Myrtle Beach and sobbed for 5 hours straight and left my 20 year old bomber leather jacket in the store by mistake. (otoh, it was getting awful beat up looking).

So! Bring on the Cymbalta.

Next I noticed that I had no appetite. This was fine, I guess, as 9 pounds slithered off me without me even noticing. I'd get on the scales and see the decline and go, "oh. How nice" instead of joyously twirling through the fields sprinkling daisy petals.

Next I noticed that there was only TWO things that I could eat without getting sick. Peanut Butter & Banana sandwiches on whole wheat bread with organic honey for lunch/dinner and an egg for breakfast. One night Roger fixed a glorious filet mignon with pan-grilled asparagus and an hour later I felt terribly nauseous.

Then I started itching all over. Itch, itch, itch. Then I had to take about 8 benadryls to stop the itching.

Fine. I could deal with all of that except one little, tiny, itsy, bitsy problem...

I wanted to sleep all day every day and sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep and then about 10:00 at night I'd start with the insomnia and be up until 1-2 in the morning. One night I was up until sunrise. I tried taking the Cymbalta in the morning, evening, afternoon, etc. Nothing worked.

You'd be surprised to hear this, but my employer actually expects me to STAY AWAKE WHILE AT THE JOB. Unreasonable, sure, but they write the paychecks. I could not stay awake. Sure, I could drink coffee or diet coke for caffeine energy, but that just made my fibromyalgia flare and my muscles start to spasm, which kind of cancelled out the lack of pain from cymbalta.

Thursday I took my last cymbalta. The internet is filled with horror stories of cymbalta withdrawal, but so far....nothing. Nothing except I actually feel alive. Now I'm hoping I won't have any withdrawal symptoms, which would make you laugh hysterically if you google "cymbalta withdrawal" but so far...nothing.

I have a very, very strange body chemistry. I can drink until I pass out and wake up the next morning feeling invigorated. (Only done this about 6 times in my life). I quit Paxil cold turkey without any symptoms other than some transient dizziness and a tendency to sob at a Hallmark commercial. I quit Lyrica cold turkey without any symptoms whatsoever, but I had only been taking it for a month. I hope that I don't go through withdrawal.

But time will tell. I'll keep you up to date. I knew I was in trouble when I didn't feel like blogging. I always feel like writing. But it just seemed too....much....trouble.....

Oh and SUPER AWESOME GROOVY COOL NEWS. I got mapped for my fibromyalgia and it's going away! The guai is working!!!! My fibro deposits are breaking up and going away!!!

When that didn't make me flip out, I knew it was time to quit the Cymbalta.

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MONDAY NIGHT UPDATE: No Cymbalta since Thursday. No withdrawal symptoms at all. Nothing.

Alas, I still have fibro...it will probably take a few more years to clear completely--but definite progress is being made.

Meet Delilah

Sorry for the lack of posting. End of the year frenzy has begun--violin recitals, ballet recitals, extra practices, Madeleine has to do 10 pages of work each night to ready herself for the PAC test (Thanks, No Child Left Behind)....stomach flu, etc.

My mom had a toy poodle named Lucy. When she became unable to care for her, we thought we had a lock on her. But my sister, who bought her in the first place, has claimed her. She assures me that she's keeping her away from the three other dogs, two of whom would enjoy a Lucy snack. But the fever had taken hold and lo and behold, Carolina Poodle Rescue had the perfect dog!

She's a healthy little 14 month old girl toy. Loads of personality.

We visited her today. We're having huge fights over her name. Madeleine wants to name her "Jessica" but I hate the Carly Simon song "Jesse" so that's out. I suggested Sassy. No. I suggested Cara for her caramel covered paws. Her name at this point is Sally. Roger is all for keeping that. But I don't like it--no offense, any Sallys out there. I like Delilah.

Lord KNOWS I don't want any part of single motherhood of ANY beast, human or otherwise, but at least you do get to pick names. If we had a son, I wanted to name him Beauregard. "Beau" or "Bo" for short. Roger about had a seizure at the thought. Of course, he's a Yankee, and doesn't really understand anything about the Glorious South. Never mind that he's lived here for 47 years, once a Yankee, always a Yankee. Damn Yankees. (Just kidding, honey! Sort of) We'd probably still be calling a son "Kid", so I guess it's a good thing our baby making/adopting days are over with.