Departure day

With  uncharacteristically sublime timing and verbiage, I got us into a breakup conversation that was the kindest, most civil and caring one I’ve ever had. Hard to argue with the heart problems and needing to be where the doctors are a lot less likely to kill me by accident…

Two days later, it seems more like a stretch out than a break up, but I’m not sweating that. I can’t take any more chaos, stress or drama, so I’m going to let things stand. The love is there, so why kick it to the curb? The world needs more love — at least, mine does.

Given the year we meant to take to see if this would (or should) work out, it’s reasonable to take that time to figure out what shape this connection — with its own strange, resilient, unique strength — should really look like.

I’m getting a healing break with an old friend whose life includes just the right mix of rest and activity, good food and indulgence, solitude and society.

Meanwhile, J is going to wash my car inside and out, and pull everything out of it and put it into storage so I can sort it back in more rationally — as I’ve intended to for months. I didn’t even think of that, let alone hint, I swear! He just thought it up himself, to make my life nicer and more manageable.

I’ll bounce back to J’s in early February to get my stuff and get the last business sorted, then go to LA to see my doctor and find a place to stay that meets my needs for awhile — where he could come visit and try for some reality checks.

Anybody got a place in the warmer parts of the San Gabriel range for under $500/month? Where my lovely wolfish un-boyfriend can bring his considerably better-behaved dog? 🙂

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A bit of flow

All in all, a successful day, by rational markers…

  • Two huge problems taken care of at long distance (the combination of phone and internet is a wonderful thing). 
  •  J has a brother with him now, a good-hearted dude who totally has his back. Just the kind of person I want him to be seen with around town! 
  • I saw properties in, and did a reasonable checkout of, the nearest town covered by Craig’s List and within any version of my budget. 

It didn’t result in housing, but it did result in info and a certain amount of clarity…

Benefits: more than one color among its inhabitants, both middle-class and poor people, all the usual stores, houses reasonably recent and reasonably well-constructed (by California standards.)

Drawbacks: the classes are strictly segregated, and the gates and walls shut the poorer people IN. That’s just a bad sign… All the stores are big box; I think I saw one non-chain store in my whole tour. A town with shallow roots.

Fun bit: A scam claiming that a house worth $1400/mo is posted on craigslist as being rented at $550/mo; my email query got a fulsome reply from a “pediatrician” (who can’t even spell the word) who just moved to Florida, and might possibly go to Texas next, don’t worry, just fill out all this personal, identifying info and send the money and he’ll FedEx the key…

And if you believe that….

I  checked out the house, called the number on the sign, had a lovely chat with the receptionist for the real-life management company, and forwarded the email after informing her that a thoroughgoing scam like that really is a police matter. (It was at least the third call.)

Unfortunately, the bogus price was the only one I could really afford…

Given the way my credit got trashed by my descent into destitution a few years ago, and the problem with sublets (and therefore getting a roommate), I think this will take a lot of footwork.

I’ve always, always paid my rent. My bills go,

  1. Rent
  2. Warmth
  3. Phone
  4. Food
  5. Everything else

But try proving that, in an economy that means houses and harbors get bought and sold every time you turn around, and housing managers and harbormasters get moved and downsized even more often than retail clerks.

Which brings us to the next thing. I spoke of being out of the flow, nothing feeling right. Well, that seems to be shifting — all things being subject to change without notice, and not assuming I’m right or anything. But there is a blossoming of hope and possibility, and whatever brings it, I am truly grateful.

I have the thundering inward message to spend at least the next 18 hours on self-care. No running around until I have done so. No house-hunting until further notice.

This is painfully hard because I’m spending a lot per night (for me) and I want every day to be worth what I spend on it. That’s a bogus, above-the-neck, able-ist thing to say, though. I have to damn well take care of myself. Otherwise there is no worth, no day, no useful activity.

I got enough food for a couple days, detergent for dishes and laundry, and need nothing more that I can’t get within a short walk in this reasonable neighborhood from my safe, upper-story room.

Time to take care. There are far worse things!

with a tip of the hat to Zorba the Greek 😉
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Think zebra

This title has two meanings:

  • Medical students are often told, “When you hear hooves, think horse, not zebra.” This means that a set of symptoms is probably due to a common cause, not an uncommon one. Zebras are rare.
  • There was a popular book about chronic stress and fear that pointed out that, when prey animals like antelope or zebras are attacked, they get really upset; as soon as the attack is over and the predator is gone, they chill right out again. It suggested reacting like the zebra; respond fast, then relax when the threat is gone.
Zebra face
I have a rare disease — a real zebra.

One of its many effects is to hair-trigger my fear, because of the disruption of the autonomic nervous system that regulates the fight-or-flight response and everything that comes with it.

My bf and I are dealing with a crazy ex. It’s an unpleasant experience for anyone, but truly trippy for a former ER nurse (talk about comfortable under stress) who now has a CNS hotwired for the fight-or-flight response. I keep blinking to check whose life this is, anyway.

In between the bouts of crisis management, I’m doing my very best to “think zebra”, do a logical assessment, and chill right out again. One must function, after all.

The daffiness of CRPS-brain (especially one that has been overtaxed with a long trip and multiple moves) means that things I need to do occur to me bit by bit, not in a tidy list. However, I do make lists, and have the backup of good friends with relevant experience: I follow their advice promptly and to the letter.

All that’s left to do is keep on with my mental disciplines: meditation, contemplation, qi gong, and prayer. Studies show it works, though they’re vague as to why. Doesn’t matter what format or religion you meditate or pray in, as long as it’s sincere.

Makes perfect sense in quantum physics — but medicine is stuck in the 1600’s, with the radiant Sir Isaac and classical physics. Maybe it’ll catch up one day.

Meanwhile, here’s a zebra. Time to meditate and pray, then stop and chew grass.

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Metabolic moon dance

My digestion is not happy.

Between the stress of househunting (and the way that forces us into other families’ dreadful dramas), some really egregious motels, and too many things hanging fire for too long…

Plus taking that spirochete-assassinating, gut-grating antibiotic doxycycline for three weeks (19 days, actually; those last four pills, I almost vomited just looking at them)…

With a bit too much pain and dysautonomia for a little too long…

Amidst, of course, the infinitely complex metabolic moon dance of CRPS…

In consensus reality,
this is a shot of my old marina’s night lights…
but it’s a great visual metaphor for the body events of CRPS. Fling!
Image c.2008

… Well, things have been better.

They could be a great deal worse, but really, they could be rather better.

I haven’t been able to keep up my kale shakes, because the indigestion is too energy-sappingly unpleasant. My sweetie made a remark the other day that gave me a clue I want to pursue: don’t mix fruits and vegetables.

I used to know that.

I’m going to try berries with kefir and nut butter as the morning shake, and kale with avocado, cabbage and broth in the evening. (And, for the record, I’ve reconfirmed that organic berries are a lot less nauseating in this hotwired system.)

This assumes, of course, that I can get all the ingredients… Handle the blender… Have a place to plug it in… And somewhere to rinse it out afterwards… In the midst of homeless upheaval and chaos… Twice a day.

Editorial comment is useless. There are times when my natural wryness is wholly inadequate to real life.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

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Handling my hinges

I had a day off from driving around. After wonderfully quiet morning, I took a walk to the nearest park, half a mile away. The mistletoe was going like gangbusters:

It was shocking to realize how much the tendons in front of my hips had shortened. I had to use a bit of the washing-machine action through the hips, to get a stride more than a couple feet long.

That’s way too hard on the cartilage, so once the washing machine warmed me up enough to stretch without injury, I stretched enough to let me take a tolerable stride without grinding my knees.

There’s only so much my tendons will release, in one careful stretching period. There’s quite a bit of work ahead of me.

I really haven’t been taking position seriously enough: spending so much time driving is not just hard on the torso (which I have managed with better success) but it’s hard on everywhere you bend, especially when your body sucks at bouncing back.

Short tendons in the front of the hip pull your lower back out of alignment, dragging on the front of the spine. This is terrible, as anybody who has ever had the least little bit of low-back trouble can tell you.

The way CRPS makes your tissues less resilient means that a few good stretches will not do what they used to do, back in my 20s and 30s, when 10 min. of dedicated work would put me right back in trim. Like most athletic young adults, I had no idea how good I had it… 🙂

Taking care of my hinges now has to be part of my daily routine. Especially since the driving isn’t over yet. Stretching five or six times a day, like I do my neck, which I’m still losing ground on; walking absolutely every day, or at least six days out of seven. At least it will buy me time, until I come up with something more definitive.

I fight hard to keep CRPS out of my legs in terms of circulation and sensation. Not interested in losing them to any kind of laziness!

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The sheer activity of Epsom salt baths

Taking a day to rest has been just the thing.Now here’s what I mean when I say, “I took an Epsom bath…” And I’m sorry to say that getting images loaded will have to wait for another day, so use your imaginations for now 🙂

Nearly all motels have a bathtub. I consider this essential. They’re small, but adequate. With a swipe of cleanser and a quick rinse, I’ve found all of them usable so far.

I should add that baths are not essential to Epsom treatment for CRPS. Here are a couple of tricks I’ve used, with a degree of success which not only included the targeted limb but also improved CRPS for me generally:

  • I’ve immersed my arms in an Epsom solution in a sink or basin. This is great when I’m not up to a bath, but I’m too chilly to sit around with wet limbs. I lean into the basin, with sleeves all the way up, and slosh and slosh and just soak it up. I’ve found that not only does it help my arms, but the relief goes up through my shoulders, down my back, and even my feet feel better after doing this with my arms for 15 minutes or so, 20 minutes if I can stand there that long.
  • When the dysautonomia is being REALLY bratty, I sit with a basin of Epsom solution and a tea towel nearby, and simply wipe the bothersome limb, stroking from healthy area to painful/spasming/misbehaving area, with the same mental chants I describe below…

Both of these strategies work extremely well. Many of us are accustomed to sink baths, and it’s no harder than that — easier, because rinsing is optional.

Temperature – the first consideration

People with chronic CRPS have two substantial issues that affect bath temperature: wonky signals to the circulatory system, and screwy temperature regulation.

Hot baths are a thing of the past. They aren’t good to me any more.

I like a bath that’s just a few degrees warmer than the temperature that feels like nothing on your skin. That seems to provide the best results.

I find chlorine to be counterproductive, so I let it go first. I run the tub a little hot, with the fan on, and leave the room for 5-10 minutes until most of the chlorine dissipates. (This really works.) Then I adjust the temperature.

MgSO4, my ally

I’ve gone up to using about 2 pounds of Epsom salt for one bath. That’s about a third of the 6 pound bag, costing between $3.50 and $6.50, depending on where you buy them. I used to use a cup or two, but I really get better results with a stronger solution.

The process

Remember, this is about re-regulating and re-normalizing, so leaping into the bath and getting busy is the wrong thing to do!

Going one step at a time and persuading my body to stabilize at each point is how the process works.

So I take a couple minutes to just sink into it, let the mottling pattern on my lower body and arms fade, and get some circulation going to my overworked skin.

I brush over all my limbs with my hands, introducing them to the idea of tactile input, and how that should go. This is an important first step, because the touch of a hand wet with Epsom solution is softer than silk, and it’s important to start with the most positive possible sensations. This helps de-alarm your central nervous system as well as re-acquaint your skin with the world. This is supposed to start, and end, as a definitely positive experience. In between, there might be some work.

When working on such deep and challenging health issues, it’s important to set yourself up for success whenever possible!

Back to our bath.

Nearly all motels have washcloths with a nice scrubby texture. The soft kind that you get in the bath and body store feels to me like turgid gelatin, soaking up a lot of soap and doing very little in the way of exfoliation – which is what I used to use washcloths for.

Now, it’s all about renormalization – or, to use the standard allopathic medical term, desensitization.

Leave it to medicine to make returning to normal sound like something bad!

I start with the soles of my feet. If yours are too sensitive to touch, start where you can touch. Remember, set your body up for success. This second pass distinguishes between contact on the surface and underneath, which are two different sensory realms. The first thing I do is go underneath, to the tissues below the surface of my feet, in a gentle and encouraging way.

I hold the washcloth in my open hand, using a big, squishing gesture.

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With that big gesture, and a certain amount of gentle elbow grease, I reassure the soles of my feet that they’re doing fine. Once they start sending appropriate signals of touch and motion, I work around the foot and up my ankles.

Using the washcloth in one hand, and nothing in the other, I alternate strokes, soothing the frazzled burning sensation left by the terrycloth with the silkiness of Epsom water in my palm. The frazzled sensation eases off gradually.

I don’t just notice what the sensations are from my skin, I tell that part of me what the sensations ought to be:
It’s just terrycloth. There’s no burning here. It’s just terrycloth. It should feel pleasantly scrubby, nothing more.

Every now and then, I move the washcloth to a part of my body that still thinks terrycloth is just terrycloth, and give myself a brief demonstration. That seems to help.

Once the signals start calming down a bit, I can go deeper. My calves take a little extra care. I start on the left, and it feels like a hunk of plastic. I tell it to calm down – in firm, maternal, authoritative tones – and go squish my right calf instead. When my right calf and shin are sending nice, normal signals of terrycloth texture in motion, I go back to my left calf, reassuring it that you can be normal, you know perfectly well what that feels like, there you go, you can do it.

Firm, yet loving, maternal tones are hard to resist. It’s a great re-progamming tool for bringing your brain closer to normal.

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Eventually, my left calf loses that awful dense feeling and starts to feel like a leg again.

The next step is to address the surface sensations on up the rest of me.

I coach my skin not to send sparkling messages of hot and cold where the washcloth goes, but just the sensation of terrycloth rubbing moderately over skin, and that that’s okay and the right thing to do.

I work my way up my legs, paying attention to the major nerve path and the major muscle groups (always with big, squishy gestures, not too challenging, but very tissue-mobilizing.)

I go back to my knees a couple of times, where the main effort is to mobilize the circulation and draw away the swelling.

I work on my low back and hips until the inclination to spasm turns off. I tell them to take it easy, just let go, you’ll know when it’s time to contract, now settle down.

IMAGE:

Then I lean forward to dip my arms and work on them, with somewhat gentler gestures. Since I can’t remember just what normal sensation is there, I look for overall warmth and better mobility in my forearms, with touch signals as close to normal as we can get.

IMAGE:

Part of the idea, obviously, is not only to re-normalize my skin as much as possible, but to improve surface circulation, so that as much magnesium as possible can be taken up by the troubled tissues.

Once I have squishy-massaged my arms from fingertips to collarbones, I do a quick scrubby pass on my back (where I used to get symptoms, and don’t want anymore)…

And then I get the Calgon experience, lying back in a warm bath, feeling alive and remarkably well, with nothing to do but enjoy myself until the water cools.

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Speaking to my brain in a way it can’t ignore

Health professionals dress it up in fancy words, but this is what brain plasticity boils down to: our brains take in messages that are so simple and so primal they slide in below the level of words. The way to push back against that plasticity and make it go the way you want, is to address your brain in ways that are simple, primal, and slide in below the level of words – even if you use words at the time. Even in spoken exchanges, remember, 90% of the communication is nonverbal. This is true when we talk to ourselves, as well as others.

With enough persistence, and a persuasive enough message, the brain can be re-reshaped.

Since so much of CRPS’s maintenance relates to the brain having been reshaped in a distorted way, part of the task is to reshape it into a healthier structure.

Dr. S. V. Ramachandran’s work on mirror therapy and lens therapy for people with amputations and other limb pain problems led the way in brain plasticity work, highlighting the very powerful (and nonverbal) effect of visual input on brain remapping.

There are several other ways to do this, including forms of brain retraining such as hypnosis, biofeedback, meditation, specific and clear visualization of painless movement (which, if done clearly enough, can cause brain activity nearly identical to the real thing) – and, naturally, using tones of parental imperative with your own sensations.

Speaking to my body in tones of loving maternal authority, I find, is remarkably persuasive.

Why I start deep and work my way out

I find that it’s often easier to start with deep tissues and then address the surface issues. It sounds weird, but it’s often easier for me to get past the surface sensations when I’m reaching into the muscle and fascial layers, and then, when the deeper tissues are responsive and the blood is flowing through them again, it’s a lot easier and more productive to work out the surface sensations.

Conversely, if I start with the surface sensations, I may not get far enough to be able to dig in to release and mobilize the deeper tissues. Getting halfway through surface pain leaves my body a lot more sensitive to intrusions than just charging in and starting with the deeper tissues.

On the other hand, there are times when the surface simply has to be dealt with, or there’s no chance of getting to the deeper tissues. My left calf was like that when I first wrote this, though it has improved a lot since then.

YMMV. Each of us is different. That is part of what makes CRPS so interesting, and at the same time so darn hard to treat.

Physical issues

In mobilizing tissue, the washcloth provides traction against my skin, so I hardly have to use any hand strength at all. This is important, because if I had to rely on my grip to get hold of the tissues, this would be totally out of the question.

The water neutralizes a lot of gravity, so it’s easier to control a limb you’re massaging. I can squish the muscles with either one hand or two, boof them against the bone, and jostle them around.

I can mobilize a lot of tissue with very little effort, if I use a washcloth in the bath.

I figure I should spend at least a solid 20 min. in the tub, to absorb as much as possible of the magnesium, the warmth, and the chance to melt all the little knots out of my brain. It’s not a bad prescription. Not bad at all. There is always considerable improvement, and sometimes it makes me feel almost completely well.

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Not much scenery after dark

Usually, or at least so far, I’ve ended each day with some coherent sense of things. Not today!

Perhaps that’s because I spent several hours in the middle of it, struggling with a terrible wireless signal and time sensitive need to book a flight. My sweetie is flying out to meet me and help with the rest of the drive. How cool is that?

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The last-minute logistics have been horrible, but so far, with much persistence and lateral thinking, things are shaking out. Finding a safe place for his dog for a week was probably the most worrisome, but an online search turned up Canine Energetics.

I spoke with the owner, Sean, who struck me as extremely decent, sensible and accommodating. The facilities sounds like dog heaven. I have every faith in her ability to play well with others, and she’ll probably have as good a time as she can away from her human.

I pushed on for an hour past dark, and realized that somehow I’m almost (not quite) a whole day ahead of myself. This means I have time to pull the car apart, make it easier to manage getting what I need, and clear the entire front seat (including the foot well) for another person. Not a trivial task!

I also have a ton of paperwork to catch up on: finding a suitable ISP, nailing down the design for the website, and filing the paperwork for registering “CRPS: Art & Spirit” as a tax-exempt nonprofit. I’ve gotten much-needed logistical help, so at this point, the next tasks are approachable. I’m grateful for all the help I get, and the help I get for this project is more important still. We’re going to have a “gratitude” page, where we can publicly thank those who will let us, for the help they give 🙂

Now, all I need is a web geek who’s reasonably up-to-date on the technology and knows how to design an accessible page. Suggestions…?

Southern Illinois was exquisite. It’s so pretty and so shapely that I can’t wait until Hollywood discovers it as a shooting spot. I knew I couldn’t do justice to the shape of the land, so I cheated:

Somehow, at least along Interstate 70, Missouri isn’t quite as nice, and neither was Indiana. There’s definitely a difference.

Y’know, I feel a lot safer, noodling around by myself, than I did in the coastal Northeast or pretty much anywhere in California. I still keep my word to my sweetie, though: locking all the locks, no hitch-hikers, and — it still cracks me up, but I do it — be careful who I talk to. There’s so much more to human nature than what’s on the surface.

Off for Epsom bath. Incidentally, these are not a “Calgon, take me away!” kind of bath. But I think I’ll talk about that another time.

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Re-learning how to drive

I’m either half a day ahead of schedule or half a day behind, and I’m honestly not sure which. It’s roughly another 5 days to Denver, and with my sweetie’s troubles slowly and expensively resolving, it’s probably best not to try to rush, but to let things unfold.

Mind you, an hour’s reiki this morning might be helping me think that way.

Badly as I want to be there already, snuggled up to him and brainstorming, here I am …

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Between Richmond and Centerville, Indiana.

My room has a fog of mildew which stopped me on entering, but I paid before asking to see the room, so I’m stuck. I can’t remember where the AC power cord is for the car’s air filter, though I may have tossed it in a burst of mindless efficiency before leaving.

The window is wide open while I do laundry on the other side of town, so we’ll see if that makes enough difference. If I wake up brain-dead, I’m sure you’ll hear about it.

Despite good energy and good progress, I decided to reef it in and stop early tonight — largely because I’m out of long-sleeved shirts, and needed to save arm-time for dealing with that.

I stopped here, precisely, because I had mail forwarded here to me at General Delivery — a system that actually seems to work. It included my permanent Massachusetts driver’s  license (which might be handy after the temporary one expires) and a really lovely card from one of the really lovely people I’ve met on this trip. A wonderful cherry on top of a rather good day.

It occurred to me that I haven’t discussed  my accommodative strategies much. Here are a few things I’ve done, redone, and learned on the way:

Grabbing the wheel

Those of you who know CRPS well know that vibration is absolute hell, and a steering wheel is a big vibrating thing that’s made to press against the weakest, most pain-frazzled tendons in my entire body. So that had to be dealt with.

I’ve learned, from all my adventures with tools when I lived on the boat, that no amount of padding will make up for harsh hardware.  So buying a vehicle with the lowest possible level of wheel-vibration in the first place was a major consideration.

My car, Henrietta, is a Toyota truck:


… but it’s built on a Camry base:

This means it has a much more forgiving frame than trucks and truck-mounted SUVs (though it can still tow 5,000 pounds!) and it handles the road very gracefully.

I’ve learned through many years of athletics that gel provides the cushioning my body likes best. So that was the next thing to go on:

That’s extra-thick gel-padded bicycle wrap on the steering wheel.

(And, incidentally, that’s the driving grip I use half the time. Holding the cover, rather than the wheel, nearly eliminates vibration altogether, and it’s very easy to grab the wheel if I need to dodge.)

Years of nursing and my own experiences with increasingly, um… responsive skin have made me a HUGE fan of good wool. It breathes even when wet, pads even when squashed, and if you keep your eyes open, you can find wholesale prices on new sheepskin (– and get sturdy sweaters of cashmere, merino, or alpaca for $5-10 at the right Goodwill stores, but that’s another post.)

In Massachussetts, I live near the Sheepskin Outpost on the Mohawk Trail, and I lucked into a sale there. That got me:

– The steering wheel cover, to provide more padding and keep my hands off hot rubber;

– The seatbelt cover, to keep the edge of the belt off me and keep the skin on my shoulder and chest aired;

– The seat covers, which I wound up getting for half of wholesale, because they’d just bought the stock of a company that went out of business and had more inventory than they could afford to store.


Boy, did that ever work out for me!

Covering my can

This is about traveling with disability, so here’s some physical reality.

I started megadeath antibiotics a few days ago, and the first symptoms are making themselves felt. Kefir just isn’t enough to save my skin.

My very favorite brand. I’m getting nothing for saying so, but I’d like that to change 🙂

Also, I’ve really been having trouble getting the circulation in my left leg to behave.

Today, in the middle of my day, I had a brainstorm that would minimize the reduction of circulation to my legs and maximize airflow to my antibiotic-ravaged sit-down.

I swapped my underpants for my white silk long-john bottoms instead, and decided I could just wash out the silk each evening and hang-dry it overnight. Besides, the extra layer kept the chill from cutting into my leg every time I opened the door.

Tonight at 6:22 pm, my left leg is feeling better than it did at 2:22 pm, when I made the switch — despite a couple of hours in the car and far too little activity. Who knew such a little bit of material could make such a difference?

And I’m happy and relieved to say that the parts my undies have to cover are doing better, too. I had no idea that white silk was so healthful.

No more elastic around these legs. It’s too bad, because I’d just stocked up on undies. But of course, I got them on sale. It could have been worse.

Gratuitous toilet humor…

I stopped in a gas station that had the kind of bathroom I grew up thinking of as a gas station bathroom. It’s not chair-accessible (in fact, there’s hardly room for a standing person to turn around in) and the tile might be original with the building.

However, in a totally novel approach to graffiti, this gas station found a new use for the wrongest possible shade of brown paint:

There’s really nothing to add, is there?
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Into hot water.. then cold water.. then hot..

This is a bit odd and I haven’t heard anyone else with CRPS trying it, so I’m just tossing it out to show how weird things can be…

I’m cold intolerant. Absolutely can’t handle it. My body locks up and the pain goes all-body and through the roof.

Can’t take too much heat either; makes me weak and foggy, and can trigger POTS symptoms (in my case, that’s mostly nausea, bloating, dizziness, weakness, lethargy.)

My body temp drops so much when I sleep that I’m cold to the touch. A housemate woke me once when she touched me affectionately as I slept, then found I was so cold that she shook me awake — she wanted to be sure I wasn’t dying. That’s how cold I was.

My first massage therapist, a good friend of mine, insisted I try the hot/cold plunges at Harbin Hot Springs, which happen to be 47 F and 118 F.


I told him that was completely insane and did I need to explain dysautonomia again?

He kept at it, and I finally went there for a few days. I was in bad shape, one of those times when I think I’m not going to live for long because there’s so much that’s so wrong and there’s so little energy left. So there wasn’t much to lose, as far as I was concerned…

At least it’s not an ugly place.

Took two and a half days to work up to it, starting with cool bath/dry sauna, working up to going between intermediate baths, dipping in the really hot for moments, splashing arms then trunk with cold. Eventually I could go for the full plunge. I did 2 full exchanges, and was all right. In fact, I was pretty good. Felt crisp, not chewed.

I went back later and did at least 5 or 6 more (I lost count, truthfully.) By then, I could FEEL my hands and feet as I couldn’t remember having felt them before: exactly where and what and how they were — which was, keenly alive.

I had no pain, no pain anywhere at all, everything was the right color — only a much better shade than I’d seen in years, and my head felt as sparkly as a diamond.

I don’t like to sound over the top, but it was such a feeling of absolute, perfect, poised and healthy ecstasy that words simply fail in the face of that experience.

Being totally pain-free makes us CRPSers high, but this was more than that. Everything worked, from the tiniest microvessel to the least drop of chemical messenger. My cells sang with the bouyant joy of it.

I copyrighted this image… kinda cool. Think I’ll use it as a logo.

I went out to the main pool, actually enjoying the cold roughness of the path on my unharmed feet, and drifted into the “quiet zone”, that is, the temperate pool. Although it’s not etiquette to contact strangers there, an awful lot of people turned to look at me and smile the sweetest smiles. I can only imagine how radiantly happy I looked. I felt that I was glowing brightly enough to light the whole space.

According to my online research, there aren’t many hot springs that have contrast baths at all, let alone to that extreme degree. If they do, they’re awfully coy about it…

I have hopes of a particular roadside hot spring at Yellowstone National Park that runs into a chilly stream. In winter, which it nearly is, that could be worth trying, though it would take a bit of effort.

I’m not sure how slippery it is, what the currents are like, or what sort of work is involved to get from hot to cold. I do have to be mindful of physical damage, until I can really find that cure I’m convinced is just around some corner on my winding path.

We shall see what comes up. I know this is something to add to the repertoire, one of the ingredients to combine into a cure, or something like it.

One more piece of the puzzle… a twitchy, morphing, complex, incredibly irritating puzzle, but one I’m rather stuck with until further notice.

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