Leaving On a Jet Plane

Tuesday arrived and saw me off. The genius that Jessica is, she brought her 4 year old with her and it really softened the sting of my leaving with my Mom.

And yes, I was prepared to go head to head with the TSA about my eyepatch. My eyeball, not some C4, is located under there! I went without the patch at home but had to wear it in public. Florescent lights made my vision so much worse. The barista at Starbucks and the TSA agent made funny pirate comments. And I got to board first, which I could have done anyway with my first class ticket.

Let's talk about first class for a moment. This was my first time and while the seat was definitely nicer, there is a certain level of comraderie in coach that first class is lacking. My seat neighbor never spoke to me, even though I tried to talk to him. And when the awesome flight attendant Fransisco with his super sexy gay latino accent asked me if I wanted drink, and I replied " Is there whiskey here?", he didn't even wait for Fransisco to reply, he cut in with "Of course, it's first class."

And since Alaska Air charged me $30 for being 6 lbs overweight with my luggage, I drank 3 of those complimentary bitches. That's right Mr. Uptight-First-Class-Businessman, your glamour pirate seatmate can drink 3 Jack Daniels ON THE ROCKS in an hour and a half. This is something that counts in the lower classes of coach. Suck it. He also rolled his eyes when I asked if he could grab my carry on for me. Um... clearly my peripheral vision is limited jerk. Do you want me to drop it on your head?

Anyway, yes I was drunk and dropping my carry on in the airport. I can only imagine the idiot I looked like to Chris when I finally found him at baggage claim. But I'm so glad to be reunited, even under these circumstances.

So here we are. We are living with Sharon, the lady that Chris is renting a room from. She happens to be Chef Paul's Mom from Anthony's. She is a pretty cool lady. I arrived down here with three suitcases of books and clothes. We have a bedroom where we sleep on the floor and all the other furniture is pink :) I had the manic break up moment where I cut off all my hair. I look like a first lady but I love it. I though I would have a panic attack when I saw all the hair on the floor but it turns out that even temporarily loosing your sight makes you not give a fuck about something like hair.

Chris set me up with a highly recommended doc down here, Dr. Vesna. I automatically loved her. She was an Opthamologist in Czechoslovakia before she came to the US and re-enrolled in med school. That is dedication. And I love a doc who wears knee high boots with her lab coat. And has a pink stethescope when she is not a pediatrican. She sent me to Dr. Kelly, the Opthamologist, who told me that there are several spots on my MRI and put me on a two week course of Prednisone.

But it all comes down to this. So far, no one can officially say to me "Yes, you have MS. You have ( insert type here) MS, and this is what we can do about it." Except the Neurologist. I have my first appointment with Dr. Germin, who is apparently the MS guru around here, on Feb. 6th. This was the earliest we can get in but we are willing to wait. He came highly recommended from other docs and Neurologists that Chris spoke to. So far it's just "Yes, this is what MS looks like in the brain. You need to go to the Neurologist."

So Feb. 6th is the day. The this is so-for-fucking-real day. It's the day when I find out if they need another MRI of my brain and spine this time ( UGH!) and the day when they will schedule the most conclusive test, THE SPINAL TAP (triple motherfucking ugh) or as they like to sugar coat this shit, The Lumbar Puncture. But Chris said they have to check my bands to know everything they need to know.

I will keep everything updated on this blog. Facebook makes it seeem so gossipy. I have lots more good stuff to write about too. 5 days with impaired vision will make even this smallest things seem like magic. And the one thing I learned in the last week is that mine are numbered. Statistically I will live 10 years less then the rest of you. And I only have about 15 -20 years before mine get really shitty. So the rest of my life starts now. There are no more " I have time to..." thoughts left in my head. I know I have a while before this becomes a real disabling issue, but I'm not counting on anything any more.

I'm going to see everything I possibly can before I maybe can't see anything any more. I'm going to eat everything I can before I can't tell people about the crazy shit I ate anymore. I'm going to touch everything I can while I still have use of my fingers, and arms, and hands. I'm going to run as much as I can while I can still use my legs (I'm so glad I lost enough weight already that I can actually run now). I'm going to enjoy every single facet of this crazy little world while I have time here. I'm going to hug all of you and tell you when I think you are being stupid everytime I possibly can. I'm going to stick my hands in the mud and drive off into the sunset and save all my breaths for marveling at artwork and babies and sunsets.