Tales From the Infusion Clinic, Special Edition: The Sound of Fury, Part 1 of 4

CONTENT NOTE: Essentially, all the warnings and alerts for readers, especially those who feel they are in a precarious emotional and/or mental state. Bookmark this for later. Or never. Whenever is best for you. In this multi-part post I address various forms of domestic violence and reference other forms of violence. I get personal. I do not write about any abuses in graphic detail, but oftentimes the muted, even mundane details can be the most triggering. And I write about some lasting effects, including mental health/illness crises and self-harm. Take care of yourselves and thank you for reading.

Part I. Did you hear what I Heard?

The infusion clinic is often my touchstone on how those outside my immediate circle feel about current events. I just happened to go in and sit there, soaking up the hard-to-fully-comprehend juices for a couple hours, the day after George Floyd was murdered, when all of us with assorted chronic maladies brought together by varied infusion needs were still in denial. Most, myself included, couldn’t yet watch the whole 90-second clip being shown then and had no idea the fatal assault lasted over 9 minutes. We could barely say Mr. Floyd had been killed, much less murdered. White and Latina women in the clinic that day, including nursing staff, as most days.

Occasionally, there will be a Black or Asian or Indigenous person in the chairs. That’s primarily based on appearance and my assumptions. Mostly women, the occasional man. Again, just assuming. Could be trans. Non-binary. Intersex. Infusion clinic relationships are like those “single-serving” ones referenced in Fight Club. Except for the nursing staff. Although there’s been some turnover there. There are a couple nurses I quite miss. Ah, the comings and goings of medical personnel.

[Digression #1: One major oversight in Breaking Bad casting: no Native American medical personnel or support staff. In Albuquerque, New Mexico?! Really strains credulity.]

June First I went in for infusion, just hours after the decisions and awards were announced in the Johnny Depp defamation suit against ex-wife Amber Heard and her counter-suit. We all confessed to not watching the daily trial proceedings, available for live streaming.

“Not a fan of drunken pirates!”

“Yeah, no, but the first 2 movies were good!”

“Who’s got the time?”

“Who’s got the spoons?!”

“He’s so weird! But … I don’t know …”

“I do like the Scissorhands movie! Winona Ryder was so young!”

“Not a good idea for my mental health.” [That was from me]

Some had caught snippets here and there, but over the six weeks of the trial — 6 weeks, FFS! — even those of us who vowed to stay away could not avoid the barrage of sensationalistic press coverage and social media frenzy surrounding it.

Yes, truth be told, the others actually said “total circus” as in media circus instead of “barrage of … media frenzy.”

[Digression #2: As a lover of circus and a disabled/retired aerialist and teacher of circus arts, I object, as modern circuses are well-organized multi-level entertainments that have an overall astounding safety record, considering their activities. Especially if you look at the ones that don’t involve wild animals, which admittedly is the real stain on the modern circus reputation. That and exploitation of artists, the latter being a problem throughout the performing arts world. The elephant in the tent, as it were.]

[Digression #3: I miss # being primarily known as pound or number sign — or for extra geeky credit, octothorp — instead of nowadays first assuming it’s denoting a hashtag, something of fleeting significance on the World Wide Web. I’ll get over it.]

Back to Johnny v. Amber …

“So, Johnny won, right?”

“Pretty much. He gets 10 mil. And another 5 mil. Except he won’t get the 5 mil. Amber gets 2 mil.”

“They didn’t believe her.”

“Did you?”

“She pooped in his bed!” [Delivered as a stage whisper followed by restrained giggles]

“Um … did she, though?” [Me]

“I thought she said she did it as a prank.”

“I don’t … I don’t know … I think she said she didn’t do it. But …” [Not me, for the record, though such were my thoughts]*

*Confirmation: Amber Heard indeed denied having defecated in said bed.

Coming up … Part II. Dis Closure

Sandhill cranes in a field with speech bubbles denoting bits of conversation. "Move it flocks! Rez for 40 downfield! Damn! Where’s Craig?” “Who’s Craig?” “I’m so hungry I could eat Craig!” “Hold up, Celeste! Charlotte is way behind — again.” “Charlotte! Come over here by me!” “Uh, no thanks, Chad.” — I don’t know if all sandhill cranes have names beginning with C; this is just what I overheard that day! Obviously, Chad is a jerk.

There is no title

I’ve officially lost track of what I’ve actually posted and what I’ve let languish in my drafts folder and elsewhere. I am finishing what appears to be a 4-parter on domestic violence that started as a Tales from the Infusion clinic post on June 1st. I’m debating posting that biggun serially. Might discourage endless editing and encourage finishing…

Meanwhile, June 30th infusion clinic topics were a)Dogs and Fireworks and b)Patients and Infusion Copays. As to the latter, insurance companies are doing their usual shenanigans and claiming inflation is forcing them to burden patients with more than their fair share. So, many patients are canceling and going without. Was lonely last week. As to the former, we got both herbals and pharmaceuticals for the comfort of our canine pals!

Dog with pleading look. Text reads, “Happy July 6th! Please say you’re DONE with the LOUD NOISES for a while! Thanks!!” — Generously gave y’all an extra day to shoot off any stragglers! (No, Roo did not enjoy his “first” July 4th. He thinks firecrackers are not smart!)

ROOgele Recipe

Makes one unique, very sweet* and exuberant puppy dog!

Black puppy with white bib lying at threshold attentively — Our little Roogele at 8 weeks

Large black dog with white bib sitting on couch with toy squirrel in mouth — Our little Roogele at 8 weeks

Ingredients:

36% Australian Cattle Dog
13% German Shepherd
11% German Shorthaired Pointer
9% American Pit Bull Terrier
6% Golden Retriever
5% Australian Shepherd
4% Rottweiler
3% American Staffordshire Terrier
3% Siberian Husky
3% Chow Chow
2% Labrador Retriever
2% American Eskimo Dog
2% Chihuahua
1% Dalmatian

Triptych of two black dogs (small pug mix and shepherd+ mix) playing intimately. — Draymond and Roo in one of their many loving embraces, just this side of NSFW!

Mix and match the 14 breeds above to exact specifications, somehow, someway, over who knows how many generations. Abandon black pup with white bib at approximately 7 weeks of age. Season liberally with ticks. House at Albuququerque Westside shelter. Add parasitic infection for extra early hardship.

Head of black and white puppy cheek to cheek with driver. Puppy’s body unseen but appears to be wedged between driver’s back and car seat. — Young Roo’s concept of backseat driver needs work!

Bust of black and white dog inside SUV — Young Roo’s concept of backseat driver needs work!

At 8 weeks Rood Boy will look like an Australian shepherd mix of twice his age.** In a good home with proper nutrition, exercise, a plethora of toys, and a pughuahua playmate, he will grow exponentially and start looking like a … ? Um … I mean, maybe … By 5 months RooPert will have acquired various nicknames and will resemble a German shepherd crossed with a pointer in a fur tuxedo. With an extra long, white-tipped tail.

End of dog’s tail: black with white hairs at tip that look like a used paint brush. — Take care of your brushes!

Bed strewn with torn up tissues and dog toys and two black dogs amidst wreckage. — Take care of your brushes!

At very nearly 7 months, más o menos,^ Scooby-Roo won’t be fully cooked yet, but teething promises to be a thing of the past (Hallelujah!) and his growth rate will have slowed considerably. DNA test results from WisdomPanel.com will prove what a truly mixed blessing is Sir Roo Longtail! Endowed with a rich, deep bark and a comic falsetto, he will continue to develop into an excellent watchdog, despite (in tandem with? because of?) his devotion to playtime. His goofy demeanor may belie his intelligence: He will teach himself to fetch the newspaper and to open the back door via the lever handle. At times he will move with the grace of a fox. Other times … not so much.

Black puppy with white bib on back falling/sliding off dog bed in pursuit of toy. — Yes, it’s true. The Roo sleeps around!

Same puppy on same dog bed on back but obviously bigger. — Yes, it’s true. The Roo sleeps around!

At one year of age, Roo will have matured^^ into a long-legged, active, handsome, log-loving cuddle-monster exhibiting several shepherding, retrieving, and guarding instincts. He will stretch as a dancer and stand at the kitchen counter as if a human kid ready to help with the dishes. (If only!) He will be absolutely obsessed with his toy squirrels, which he will toss, catch, retrieve until a human cries, “No more!” He will relate to the high-def TV as an interactive device.

*Sweet in a loving sense. Do not eat! He will protect you! If you haven’t gone vegan amidst the zombie apocalypse, your doom is imminent!

**Truth by teeth be told!

^More or less. Approximately. Thereabouts. Close as makes no difference. As good as it gets based on the information we have.

^^Yeah, I said it and I’ll say it again: Matured! Matured, matured, matured! We estimated/decided on June 13th as Roo’s birthday.

Black and white puppy sitting with head cocked to the right looking at camera with irresistibly adorable look! — Just one more …

In the Merry Old Month of May

May is Lupus Awareness Month. May is also Myositis Awareness Month. Mental Health Awareness Month, too.

First is May Day (big to the Germans who raised me), plus our doggie Draymond’s birthday. On the Fourth everyone becomes a Star Wars parodist; May the Fourth be with you! Followed by Cinco de Mayo, on which day far too many Americans pronounce beers something very much like cervezas. Then there’s Mother’s Day, of course, and World Lupus Day a few days after that.

And about two weeks after that is the anniversary of when I took the plunge and bought the domain for this blog with high hopes — or maybe slightly elevated hopes — and various ideas and a plan of sorts. George Floyd’s murder was broadcast two days later, I think.

Black and white photograph of a cliff side. Digital pencil enhance shadows to create appearance of face with prominent nose, dark sunglasses, and neutral expression. — The Hills Have Sunglasses by DÅL|é

So, yeah, May is a busy month for me! I’m having a flare of my type of myositis (the best, most interesting type, obv) in honor of the occasion. I’m not being facetious. Well, I am about dermatomyositis being the best of the muscle-depleting autoimmune diseases, but not so much about the timing of this flare.

Events were set in motion last May from which I have yet to recover. We’d suffered so many losses at the end of 2019 and in 2020 — pets and people — and were enjoying a slight respite early 2021. We adopted a puppy. He chewed his way into our hearts for a month. Then he was stolen on May 5th. Never found. Many folks were supportive and sympathetic. Some, not. Some, really not. Because social media is truly bizarre. It can easily magnify both compassion and cruelty. A double-edged sword type thing. Reminds me of prednisone.

A creamy white puppy sits on a ramp with back to camera and adorable face looking over right shoulder at photographer. — Data, the Great Pyrenees-Saint Bernard puppy who wreaked joy on our lives April of 2021.

The day before that violation, we realized there was no way we could sell our unique, beautiful business property, the erstwhile AirDance ArtSpace, to the guy with the community art center idea, as we had hoped. We had a pretty good offer with a hitch from people wanting to relocate their church. Community didn’t really need another church in our opinion, but … We made a counteroffer, sans hitch. Like you do.

They accepted our counteroffer the day after puppy Data was stolen. Or same day? I don’t have the energy to look it up. Point is, we were locked in by May 6th. Rather long, confusing, ugly story, short; we closed nearly 4 months later on August 25th.

Building with mission style adobe façade surrounded by blame of snow. Under a minimalist clock are silver block letters which read “AIRDANCE ARTSPACE” — The one and only AirDance ArtSpace, November 2000-August 2021

And then there’s Mother’s Day and the ever-so triggering onslaught of ads on what to buy and do — and, I dare say, think and feel — to honor and cherish one’s maternal parent. I’ll try to write about my mother in another post soon. She died in 2004. Yes, I think about her quite a bit, even now, nearly 18 years later. She really hated Mother’s Day.

I have agonized over how to “make a comeback” to my blog. My drafts folder is full of rejects. My new motto is Good Enough. Let go of perfection. And super high standards. And other people’s standards. Not as easy as it may sound to some of you. I feel guilty for things I’ve dreamt about. For questionable acts other people have done over which I’ve had no control. At 59 years of age I still worry about getting/being in trouble!

I’m going to close out this post with a tale of my trip to the infusion clinic. I was a week overdue, which makes a noticeable difference for a drug given monthly. I’ve experienced various delays over the last several months, mostly due to shipping issues. The fallback is prednisone. And that’s a whole other epic saga of tears and compromises.

Closeup of four bright yellow flowers, open in broad cups, sit atop green succulent cactus. — Prickly pear cactus in bloom

To get to the clinic I had to get out of bed, brush my teeth, dress, eat a little something, take meds, get in the car. Monumental achievements! I gave myself pep talks; took short rest breaks between tasks. Balked at the thought of styling my hair. (But the winds of May currently dictate the style for all who dare outside. In other words, Mess is in! It’s good enough! Thanks, Wind!) My thighs barely propelled me up the ramp. By the time I reached the counter, I was done, my hands and shoulders complaining about using the rollator.

Here’s where it comes together. I was signing a form at check-in and asked for the date, just before realizing it was the Fourth. The staff member and I chuckled and said, “The Fourth. May the Fourth be with you!” at the same time, much to the delight of the waiting drug rep. Then I asked the year. And I meant it. Because even as I wrote 2022, my brain, exhausted by the symptoms of my active myositis, lupus, and mental illnesses, was not convinced all those two’s were in the right order. I did not want to get in trouble for putting the wrong date on an official form! Doubly so with medical insurance involved! But did I have the energy to get out my phone? Plus eyeglasses?! I just want to sit down before this nausea gets worse.

Large black dog with some white markings lies on side cuddling toy squirrels under chin. Looks endearingly at camera. — This is Roo, a young dog of many passions. He’s way into these squirrels! He likes them two at a time. Such a Gemini! (First birthday on 13 June)

Infusion helped, by the way. Along with slight uptick in prednisone. And a great deal of sleep, which, of course, led to a blinding migraine, causing me to cancel on a couple folks (or hubster did; literally blinding), which naturally intensified my feelings of guilt — as if I am in control of the many and varied factors that contribute to the courses of my still little understood and largely unpredictable diseases — and now I’m just talking to myself …

Maybe I’m always just talking to myself? Not sure. Whether yes or no, it’ll have to be Good Enough.

Small short-faced black dog considers/noses a small rectangular toy which reads #SPOILED — Draymond celebrates zer fourth birthday with a new squeaky toy! Spoiled is synonymous with deserving in our dear Dray’s dictionary!

Meme-oh-graphics and Meme Mentos

Stuff I’ve collected during my long dark journey of the psyche these last many taciturn months. I will reveal some of my top secret adventures in due course. Meanwhile, some stuff …

That last line from *Fight Club* just feels ever so apropos!

Late 2019 and into 2020 death seemed all around us and especially close by. Late 2021 into this year has been something of a sequel. Plus pandemic season 3. (Series 3 for you Brit types?) What to do?! Before, I’ve had things to do and energy with which to do them. But this time, I shut down. It’s not easy finding a new starter for a 59 year old model!

I have rhupus hands! Woohoo! When lupus affects the hands as does rheumatoid arthritis. (No, I did not buy this product.)

At times I still can’t believe how much Nixon administration we retained through Reagan, Bush I, Bush II, Trump. Or more accurately, always there in the shadows, maneuvering, dealing, etc?

Voicemail transcription reads, in part, “Yes, … this is Kathy with the brownie OK honey fear of elections” — What Kathy said was, “Bernalillo [burn-a-Leo] County Bureau of Elections” 😂 Sooo… is my voicemail transcription service racist, still unable to familiarize itself with the Spanish words of my county and my therapist’s office? Gotta say, “brownie OK honey fear of elections” is surreal comedy gold!

Much of the best parts of our fabulous state of New Mexico is ablaze this month of May. None of the fires are truly near us in Albuquerque, but I feel the devastation all the same.

Red convertible sports car distorted, lumpy, as if metal body swollen due to allergic reaction. Caption reads, “My face two weeks after starting prednisone again.” — My face will never be the same after repeated forays into the Danger ‘Sone! (Source: r/lupus)

Yoda seen reclining with eyes closed. Text reads, “Once I got lupus I finally understood the scene where Yoda gets so tired of life’s bullshit he just dies.” — My face will never be the same after repeated forays into the Danger ‘Sone! (Source: r/lupus)

When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Because it’s their time to shine, to get going, do their thing. Right there in the name. They’ve been waiting, the tough have. Laid in supplies. Got the proper tires, presumably. Meanwhile, the tender can just take a break — yes?!

Moon in pale golden light about 2/3 risen over gently sloped hillside, silhouetting desert scrub — March’s Worm Moon rising over the Sandia Mountains. *Aka* Sleepy Moon, Moon of the Winds, Chaste Moon, Windy Moon and in Southern Hemisphere, Harvest Moon, Corn Moon. Photo by Jeff Hartzer.