Updates: placards, shins, bunnies, Oh my!

This isn't an important blog post; I'm just trying to get myself tired enough so I ignore my feet/legs. Tomorrow I apply for my California ID, which means I'm also getting my disabled parking placard. Woo hoo! That only took four months. : P

Soon we will be able to park in metered parking for free, park in commercial/private parking lots, as well as all the handicapped spots. I'm not 100% sure about the commercial parking spots, but either way I am satisfied with the idea of being able to park in a handicapped spot. Getting the wheelchair around to the passenger side door in a regular spot is a nightmare.

Other news
Funny thing happened the other day. I was stuck on a sidewalk outside a movie theater, the crowd was meandering at a snails pace when this tard-mo, who looked at me with almost a smirk, stepped out in front of me. Moving around in a wheelchair is not like walking in more aspects then just the wheels factor. You can't just duck to the side of a person when they do idiotic, rude shit like that. You probably can avoid them if you have grace and great ability maneuvering a wheelchair, but I lack those qualities, so I bumped into the guy. I of course apologized. After all, i didn't mean to bump him, even though it was an accident he brought on himself. Jacob even apologized, though he hadn't been involved in the 'incident'.

Naturally, being San Francisco, this guy said "OooH My f***ing GAWD! Tear my f****ing shin apart!"

I was amazed that bumping his shoe tore his shin apart. Anyway, there's no possibility that I did that guy any harm, though he threw a hissy fit that could only be excusable if I had torn his Achilles tendon. I would be embarrassed to be seen whining over being bumped by a chick in a wheelchair, but thats just me.

I swore something back to him as I rolled off, because I'm from New York, and swearing is as natural to me as breathing or tipping. (I try very hard to keep my broadcast clean. I know I fail (often) but I do try.)

In other news, my life has been quite boring lately. Days are filled with television, exercising, and reading political news so I can hold a conversation with Jacob. I was thinking about picking up a hobby, but what could I do? Almost everything I can think of either involves walking or using my hands, which hurt terribly now, though I have been taking breaks in typing this. I cannot read books like I used to. I would like to broadcast more often, but frankly I'm pissy lately, and my anger and computers doesnt mix well, so I need to avoid infuriating situations. Such as, getting "broadcast stopped" ten seconds after I hit "start broadcast".

Jacob suggested singing lessons to ease my boredom, but how would I get there? Though I can push myself short distances, my stamina is gone. The longer I proceed, the more pronounced the pain gets. You could probably file this portion of the post under self pity. I'm normally not this glum, I'm just very tired. I wish I could get to sleep. Bleh! Anywho, I stole the above picture from icanhascheezburger.com, naturally. I don't like to steal things, I only like to bump angry prissy men with my wheelchair.

Ciao!

The most flattering thing EVER

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Diaries of an insomniac neuro-pants-y

Whenever people become disabled, temporarily or indefinitely, it is standard fare for friends and family to hear how desperately their loved one misses the things they can no longer do. I shared this same sort of sentiment a few days ago with my previous blog post. I still stand by what I said, and I don't look down on anyone who expresses similar emotions, but labeling this as regret is oversimplifying. It isn't just that I miss what I can no longer do, or what I never attempted doing. For the first time since junior high, I fear doing things alone. Moreover, this isn't going to the cafeteria alone after all my friends had moved on to high school, its simple everyday things. I cannot move on my own beyond 12 feet without feeling like I am peeling away the skin on my hands. I'm afraid to bathe without Jacob at least in the next room. If I run out of sandwich meat, I'm hopeless. I cannot boil water without the fear of scalding myself, and I seriously love macaroni and cheese. Plus, we don't have a microwave, so I can't even swing easy mac.

My point is that regret about things not attempted or accomplished isn't the only motivation for the sadness that afflicts the disabled; it's also the fear that holds us back from doing things that we actually can do. I have driven a car that set on fire, I have run from the police on more occasions than I will ever relay on the internet, and I beat the ever living __ out of a boy two years older than me when I was 10 (he made fun of my baby brother; no one messes with family). For someone who drove double the speed limit on an interstate in a muscle car, being afraid of getting stuck going to the mailbox makes me feel more than pathetic. It makes me feel worthless (at times! don't flood my email with letters of encouragement yet, please read on).

With that said, I have some news to relay. I stood up and walked for the first time since January 6th. I needed the aide of a cane and Jacob of course, and I didn't get very far, but I walked. WALKING! I nearly shouted THIS IS SPARTA!!!, but I managed to hold back. I could see things from the perspective of a Norah that has been gone for 3 full months. And wow, the bookshelf has collected some dust!

It was surreal the way that my perspective of just the apartment has been altered over these past months. As I stood wobbling on my cane, the bed, desk, and my wheelchair all seemed less massive and less intimidating. I could appreciate again the layout of the furniture that has served as a hinderance to my mobility these past three months.

I also regained pieces lost of my adulthood. Having to look up to everyone as though I were a child again, needing to be lifted or carried and, at my worst, being fed by others has caused some regression. I've hated myself in each of these circumstances, but with each step I took I erased portions of my self loathing. I looked at Jacob face to face, standing mostly on my own. I felt beautiful for the first time since I became ill.

I'm not ashamed to say that I haven't loved myself every single second of every single day. I graduated with honors from high school, after I had spent my senior year homeless. I was misdiagnosed with cancer two years ago and didn't shed a tear. I left behind a life I had spent four years building with only a few thousand dollars and a Buick to show for it, yet that was the beginning of the best times of my life. Barely walking away from my greatest heartbreak, losing my Camaro to an engine fire, only kept me out of work for a day. I've always been able to take care of myself (some areas I habitually slack off in, but who doesn't avoid the dentist?) but this has left me totally dependent. I have been physically as well as emotionally crippled these past months... and I more than understand anyone's mind breaking under the weight of it.

I now feel more comfortable allowing myself to stop believing that I caused this. I only started drinking a year and a half ago, and I've never even tried illegal drugs. This past year my primary method of transportation has been my Etnies, I've been eating healthier than nearly everyone I know, and my stress level has been greatly reduced (thanks to Jacob). For these past months, I scrutinized every choice I've made in the past six months. Each time a doctor asked if I had fallen recently of if I had had a bad infection, I doubted my own ability to remember my existence.

What is interesting is if a Vitamin D deficiency caused this, so many mystery symptoms I have experienced since junior high that can be explained.

Softening of bones: I have broken every toe, at least one finger, my wrist, probably a rib or two, and other things I'm surely forgetting. My collar bones aren't as smooth as they once were... this could be from unattended fractures, or it could be from softening of bones.

Low blood calcium levels: I constantly received lectures from doctors about my calcium levels. I always insisted I was drinking tons of milk, yet like a dentist they would nod and say "well, you should drink more".

Digestive problems: A few years ago I lost 30 pounds in one month, and I continued to lose weight. I had no appetite, and tried forcing myself to eat with nausea and other lovely bodily functions as side effects. At one point I was almost put on IV nutrients.

Breathing difficulties: As I stated in my last broadcast, I had to quit high school track due to mysterious breathing problems. I attributed this to the horrendous pollution in Arizona, but I never considered that my digestive problems also began at this same time.

Muscle coordination problems: Despite being a dancer as a little kid, I have been one of the most profound klutzes to ever walk the earth. In early December I threw out most of my high heeled shoes, as I had seemingly lost the ability to walk in them entirely. There was also this falling out of chair incident thing that happened once, but I don't remember much about that...cough.

Muscle cramps: You know that pansy that b*tches about runner's cramp or screams and grabs their leg in the middle of the pool? Yea, thats me.

Depression: Surprise, isn't that a side effect of everything these days? I have constructive depression solutions: repairing cars and eating chocolate. Needless to say, I've owned six cars since I turned 18.

Height: I've read a few articles regarding this, but its all very inconclusive. As you all may already know, my family is composed entirely of would be basketball players. My mother is six foot, my father six foot one, my older brothers are all over six foot two, and this inclination for being a lightening rod is nothing new in my family. My great grandmother was six foot one (compared to an average female height at that time of five foot two). My 16 year old brother is six foot three inches tall (I changed his diapers for pete's sake). My baby sister is now taller than me, and she isn't even thirteen and a half! I am five foot seven inches tall, despite my pediatrician in Brooklyn estimated my height would be six foot based on the bones in my wrist. Not knowing HOW I dropped the ball on this has plagued my mind for ages. This vitamin D deficiency may be the answer I wanted whenever my mother shook her head sadly at the sight of my stature.

Although my hands are getting worse (its taken me four hours to type this... pre-neuropathy I typed 90 wpm with 98% accuracy), my legs and feet are getting better. Instead of constant pain everywhere, I have constant tickling sensations. Vitamin D deficiency could be a sign of cancer, or all kinds of other lovely disorders, but I'm allowing myself to believe that I can be saved. I can believe that what I have can be directly attacked and resolved, which is fine with me. I can walk with that :)