Lisa's POZ Blog

Things have gone fairly downhill over the last few weeks. You can see that I haven't written much of anything since February. My son was in a nasty mva, his daughter was taken by DSS, and he has been living with me during the interim. Serenity went to foster care for a time, but has been living with my other son for the past month while Mike completes the ordered tasks. He gets to visit her once a week at the DSS offices, with supervision.

My whole world has been upended. This whole chain of events has affected me in more ways than I can effectively describe here. Things were much simpler when I only had myself and Sweetie to look out for. I could budget for enough meals out of my meager food stamps(155/mo.) to last me quite comfortably, and even have ebough for a small indulgence, like popsicles, or ice cream. Now I am running out of food before even half the month is gone by, and the few staples that I receive from the pantry are appreciated more than they used to be.
Just what does one do with three two pound bags of fine white corn meal? Not to complain, but I can't think of enough things to make that prospect sound attractive for more than one, or two days.

I have finally reached the lowest point of my existence. The apathy that accompanies stage 2 of Aids Dementia Complex is now quite pervasive. This is definately not depression, although the early stages are often confused with depression, and so I happily trod that road because of a long history of depression. This is different. My mood, and affect are completely within normal limits, but I just don't give a shit about anything.

My house is about to get up, and walk away, having dustbunnies bigger than Sweetie. She seems to navigate around them as any experienced slalom skier. I just wade through as though they were non-existent. I just don't care.
My personal hygiene has become an abomination. There is a mountain of laundry piled into the corner of my room that will soon rival my height. Wheeeeeeee who gives a shit?

No sirree bobbie! I am not depressed, I am pissed. I am mad as hell. I have been mad as hell for a couple of months now. Independant of the situation with my son that has compounded the problem.
You see, around the beginning of the year, I began a research project. I began reading articles, abstracts, and publications that addressed ADC. The more I read, the more angry I became.

I discovered that at the time of my departure from work, the very FMLA form that was submitted on myt behalf, contained the very criterium described for ADC stage1, and I soon realized that I have progressed to stage 2, whilst in the midst of being labeled depressed. Yes, there is a depression co-factor, I won't deny that, but the two are quite distinct.
Inability to concentrate, check. Loss of train of thought, check. Insomnia, check. I cannot tell you how many times I have participated in "brain fog" threads. Even going so far, as to attempt some conservative OTC remedies to see if i could gain relief. All for naught.
You see, I learned that the truth was, the damage was done way before I ever embarked on HAART. Despite the fact that I am on a drug or two that crosses the "blood brain barrier", it's too late. The damage is already done. The damage done was too far advanced, before I ever even started meds. The literature seems a bit encouraging, as it is often touted that because of the drugs that are known to cross that barrier, hope is ascribed to the fact that the viral effects can be held at bay. While I am still able to distinguish between the two, I am incredibly angry at the fact that if found early enough(or believed early enough) I may not be in the predicament I am.
Who knows? Who knew?

For a brief period of time, I was given a beautiful gift of love and caring. A tiny furry being who thrived with the love I could provide. It empowered me greatly, and helped me rejoin the human race, however briefly. This tiny squirrel who had been abandoned by his mother, as she would not risk two huge barking pitbulls to rescue her baby. His eyes were barely open, and he could not hold his own head up. I read, and researched. I learned how to guage his age, state of debvelopment, and physical/emotional needs.
He gave me hope to engage in the world at large again.

I have been a ferret mommy for quite some time now.
Sweetie developed a pancreatic tumor, that while common in ferrets, I had never experienced before. I read extensively about insulinomas, and found that, even with surgery, she would experience a recurrence, and I could never inflict that upon her. Her tumor was not palpable(could not feel it yet), and the appropriate treatment was to give her tiny doses of Prednisone, that would elevate her blood sugars sufficiently to keep her from experiencing the hideous "spells" that were the hallmarks of her disease onset. With the knowledge that she will inevitably succomb to this disease, I treat every day with her as a gift.

Every day with Tyke was a gift. Every day with Sweetie remains a gift. I am able to exist, and proscribe to an animal's perspective on this life. Today is today, and while I may hope for tomorrow, it is not a reality yet.

I would it were that I could think about tomorrow, and make plans. I wish I had forethought to anticipate the pitfalls ahead. I think I do on some days, but it is all forgotten before tomorrow gets here. Gosh, even the the whole ADC thing was an AHA moment. I have to keep going back to read it to remind myself.

I know. Long in the tooth. Lots of things being put forth. That is how my mind is working of late. I am having real difficulties living in both planes of existence. I gotta say so much more, but am verklemsch.......talk amongst yourselves