I've secured a full-time job. Huzzah! And it's with dogs, too.

The three 12-hour night shifts in a row are a problem, though.

My insomnia works in my favour, but the fatigue and pain from hyperextending and locking joints, sore muscles, and chronic mild tendinitis makes for a long recovery. I'm on my feet most of the shift, and I'm not able to sit or lie down for more than an hour at a time. It's really wearing on my body, and my mind. I had a rough couple of days after I finished that last shift, and today, four days after my last shift, I'm finally feeling human - and I've only taken two installments of pain meds today. The first few days after the shifts, I was taking the maximum five installments, using ice and heat, exercising lightly to keep my joints moving, and sleeping as much as I could, and still being in too much pain to concentrate on anything other than police procedural dramas. And I get to start it all over again tonight.

However, I am really enjoying it. It's great working with dogs, and I can take Elliepup to work with me. She has a few friends there, and I think getting her exposed to excitement is helping her to become more tolerant of busy situations. Plus, the transit back and forth has made her a pro in her carrier.

I'm pleased to have a regular paycheque coming in, and soon I'll be able to start paying down my debt and my student loans. I'll be paying rent and my bills on my own, and, aside from the class I'm taking online (which my father generously offered to pay for), I'll be making it on my own. Doing all of that - feeling like an adult, finally - while having a bunch of permanent disabilities makes me feel good about myself. And that feeling, unfortunately, isn't one that I feel very often. So, I shall do my best to hold on to it, especially on the rough days.

I'm still applying for jobs in library and information sciences, as well as in the writing and editing fields. I've got a few hits in those, and they could lead to exciting places. Even if I don't get any further in those, for now, I'm pleased to have some interest from potential employers. This job market is abysmal, and I'm thrilled to have recognition from employers that my skills and experience just might be useful to them.

And really, on the toughest days, I curl up with some warm tea, some hounds, and my cat, and I try to imagine all of you out in the world, doing what you have to to get by.

What is it that you do to get through the tough days, friends? I'd love to know.

Bunnies and Coyotes and Beagles, oh my!

I feel privileged to welcome a foster beagle into my tiny, tiny home.

I've wanted to foster dogs ever since I found my dog, Ellie, being fostered at a friend's house. Sure, she wasn't my dog then (in fact, she was adopted be another family temporarily before joining my family), but I fell in love with the idea of fostering rescued dogs.

My Elliepup started it all.

Rescuing dogs from inadequate, and sometimes even cruel, environments is a rather romantic notion. Not everyone loves dogs, of course, but I haven't met a person who has said that rescuing dogs from neglectful or abusive humans is ridiculous or a waste of time.  Strangers on the street have been known to hug me when they find out that Ellie is a rescued dog.

But fostering? Bringing a neglected or abused dog who has no training - or worse, behavioural issues - into your home?

That seems extreme to some people. Isn't the pound is a perfectly reasonable place for dogs to live until they're adopted?

Well, yes. Many kennels are alright places for dogs who are awaiting forever homes. However, animal shelters are filled to the brim and most simply don't have room for any more dogs. Dogs are social animals and animal shelters can be stressful environments - the dogs are often better off in home environments than waiting in a kennel.

Since my Elliepup was a puppymill breeder, she had absolutely no socialization skills and didn't know how to interact with other dogs or people. She needed a loving home as soon as she could get one -- even if it was a temporary home until her permanent home (mine!) could be found. I wanted to be a part of that experience for dogs in need.

I also want another dog, but as I'm unable to financially commit to another dog right now, fostering is the perfect option for me. The rescue organization takes care of the vet bills, while I get the excitement of a new dog without the long-term commitment. I get to use and improve my dog psychology and training skills while also helping to save a dog.

Sure, it'll be difficult to say goodbye to the dogs I foster, but it'll mean that they're going to good homes. Plus, every dog I foster instead of adopt is another dog saved.

Both of these red dappled mini dachshunds were rescued from puppy mills!

So, Ellie and I have welcomed a beagle into our lives, for now, and we're loving it. Ellie is a bit annoyed that she has to share her beds (poor pup - she has, like,three, plus the laundry pile) but she's thoroughly enjoying the hound company on walks and having a warm body to snuggle up to.

How could someone not care for these dogs?

Finally, someone else is around who understands Ellie's love for sniffing and tracking. Ellie and the beagle, Alex, found a wild bunny hopping out of the hedge this morning, and they ran into a pair of coyotes on the street last night! They've also found many-a dead rodents, bits of rotting food, and discarded underthings. They're having a ball.


The beagle is learning really quickly and by the time he's adopted, he not only going to be a fantastic dog, but a well-mannered one too!

Alex, a newfie beagle, loves the CBC and is looking for a forever home!

Also, my buddy Zoe from A Giraffe in a Scarf fosters cats. She's such a great kitty mama. She often writes about her fostering experiences, and she always includes adorable photos of her snuggly feline brood.

If you're thinking of adopting an animal, please check out your local rescue organizations as well as the shelters in your area. You can often find breed-specific rescues (like the Beagle rescue I volunteer for) if you're interested in a specific breed of dog, bunny,  horse, or other animal.

Would you consider adopting from a rescue, or fostering?

Are You Okay?

I've written about my depression and my panic attacks.

Hell, I've written about them numerous times.
 
I've also written about the importance of a supportive partner and about my low self-esteem. I've also written about the exhaustion of being mentally unwell.

So, I am damn proud of my friend, Zoe, for writing about RUOK? Day. It takes a hell of a lot of courage to open up about that shit, especially when your blog is adorable and the go-to place for cute kitten photos, crafting, and general Aussie awesomenes.

Here's Zoe's brave post: http://agiraffeinascarf.wordpress.com/2011/09/15/are-you-ok/

Please, take the time to check it out. Someone you love, or someone you've never met, could be at risk for all kinds of awfulness, including self-harm and suicide. All they might need is for you to ask if they're okay.

That's all I needed.

It's not very much to ask, and it does save lives.

I lucked out with my diagnosis.

Sure, a diagnosis of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome isn’t particularly lucky, as it’s a chronic, progressive physical impairment marked by joint pain, dislocations, muscle spasms and neuropathy, and everything from swallowing difficulties to bladder problems. It also is often saddled with dysautonomia, which is modern doctor-speak for what used to be called “hysteria”; essentially, the autonomic system goes haywire. It can affect lots of other bodily systems that one might been thankful that their particular presentation of EDS had skipped over, resulting in low blood pressure, rapid or slow heart beat, dizziness, excessive thirst, and anxiety. Fun times, I know. (And I do know.)

No, having those rare diagnoses isn’t lucky. However, I came by them relatively easily, which is rather fortunate.

I have friends who have gone out of the country in order to be diagnosed and treated for their EDS and related ailments. I also have some friends who are currently fighting for the opportunities to be able to do so, since our Canadian health care system is great for many things, but treatment and funding for under-diagnosed rare genetic diseases are not some of them. I also have friends who came to their diagnoses after dealing with a hell of a lot more pain than I can even imagine, and I wish that their paths to diagnosis could have been easier for their bodies and their spirits.

I presented information on EDS to my General Practitioner. He, being a rather smart and compassionate obstetrician/gynecologist and family physician, understood that this was far beyond his knowledge base, so he offered to send me to a rheumatologist of my choosing. I chose one in the university town I was living in, despite knowing that my town needs at least another three family physicians, and that it certainly isn’t a hotspot for specialists either. I impatiently waited six months for the appointment. I went to the appointment, said very little;

“I’ve been experiencing joint and muscle pain that keeps me awake every night.”

“Yes, my brother is also known to be flexible. We call him Gumby.”

“Why yes, my mother does have arthritis. Yes, she did just have an MVP repaired. How did you guess?”

“Why yes, sleep apnea and swallowing difficulties do run in our family.”

And then was told that I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, and probably dysautonomia as well. The rheumatologist was very nice and tried to answer my questions. She suggested I attend the conference in Baltimore next fall, and, if funds allow, consider a pilgrimage, of sorts, to the United Kingdom, where there are lots of doctors who specialize in EDS. She said that I need to have genetic testing done before I consider having children. It will determine which type of EDS I have – mostly, though, it’s to rule out the super scary vascular type in which organs can rupture and awful things can suddenly threaten one’s life. I also need to have my heart monitored regularly to see if I have a mitral valve prolapse or blood  pressure problems. She ordered xrays of my neck, as she was curious about the lack of mobility in my shoulders and neck. Sure, it’s probably from my hypermobile shoulder blades jabbing into muscles and tendons in places where they shouldn’t, but I might also be missing a vertebrae or something, and it’ll be good to know. Just in case.  Or something.

So, all-in-all, a relatively easy road to a diagnosis that is more of a relief than anything else.

I hope all those of you out there that are searching for a diagnosis have a simple time of it as well. 

Good luck!

Packing it in

My father helped us ship some of our boxes today. We have also already taken a load of boxes to my mother's place for safe-keeping, since we can't afford to ship much. Upon returning to my house and saying goodbye just for now to my father, I promptly burst into tears. I broke my strict no crying! rule for moving. I curled up onto the bed with my partner and I allowed my dog on the bed just-this-once, and I sobbed. And when I was finished sobbing, I dried my eyes, and then I sobbed some more.

Peterborough, I really am going to miss you. All of you.

I will miss the people, first and foremost. I have made the greatest friends here. Seriously, the greatest. The sure, I just met you last week, but I'll go in late to work because you're having a panic attack and you can't get out of your house and I'm worried about you kinda friends.

I know the underemployed and underhoused by name. I also know the names of all of the dogs that visit the three closest dog parks. I still don't know why people come to Peterborough, aside from attending school here, but I do know why they stay - it feels like home. My partner has been affectionately nicknamed the mayor, since he seems to know everyone. He can't walk down one block without running into at least a half dozen people that he knows.

I know where to get the best deal on raw dog food and where to get awesome clothes for cheap. The servers at all of the downtown restaurants and at my favourite cafe know what I'm going to order before I do. I know which bookstores to go to for particular kinds of books. I know which grocery stores to go to for my favourite foods and for the cheapest prices. I know the operating hours of the fifteen closest convenience stores. I know 3km of walking trails, 8 parks, and more heritage buildings that I can count. I know the last four business attempts in a storefront before the local deli was successful.


In short, I know this town. And I love it. And I don't ever want to leave it.

I found the oldest part of Vancouver and a 100-year-old mansion to live in, in order to replicate my experience working and living in this old city of mine. I want to wake up, see an old radiator, and remember the awful year that the radiator in my third-floor attic room didn't work. I want to wash the original hardwood floors with cold water and gentle dish soap and remember lugging the mop and bucket up two flights of stairs at work and not feeling satisfied until the entire hardwood floor glistened, dust-free. I want to have tiny pieces of Peterborough with me, until I can come back.

 And I really hope that everyone I love will still be here.

On letting go.

I have been researching many things regarding my upcoming move to the other side of the country.

• apartments
• public transit
• air fare
• transporting the pets
• health coverage
• jobs
• furniture on the cheap
• hell, everything on the cheap

And, sure, we've packed up two large bins of stuff that we can get rid of (which we haven't actually removed from our apartment). I've been dragging my heels on selling a few extra items, though. I haven't been able to say goodbye to them yet, and, well, I don't want to say goodbye to anything or anyone. Selling a sewing machine, table and chairs, saddle, and typewriter, well.. that seems rather final.

I've only had 6 weeks to live in this apartment with my partner, and it feels too soon to say goodbye to this chapter of our life together. Yes, yes, we're moving together across the country, but, well, we're moving together across the country!

It's also looking like my partner is going to move back to BC before I do. He's going to look for an apartment for us, prepare for school, spend time with his sister, and, I don't know, whatever else he needs to do without me. I'm fine with flying alone - I've been doing it since I was a child - but saying goodbye to my family and not having him there to remind me of what I'm moving towards, rather than just what I'm moving away from? Uncool.

Sigh. I can't control everything. I've got to learn to let things go. I suppose it's easier to move when you're not loaded down with baggage.

I just wish I knew what great things await me.

Zebra Sleepover

I promised to write about the Zebra/bendy sleepover that I had with the Ontario group of friends with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. My friend, Nakki, already wrote a fantastic recap of the evening, so please, please, check it out.

It didn't matter that I haven't been diagnosed with EDS, or that I might never be diagnosed with EDS. For them, understanding, support, and a willingness to learn was enough.

It didn't matter that I only knew one person before I arrived at Tiffany's house for the sleepover. Hell, it didn't even matter that I had never spoken to Tiffany before showing up to her house to sleepover. I felt closer to these women than I do to most of my friends -- I felt like they were family. Tiffany and Michele, especially, felt like the big sisters that I never had (although Michele is tinier than I am. Heh.).

It didn't matter that we don't all have the same symptoms. There were women there with Classical EDS, Hypermobile EDS, and Vascular EDS, and it didn't matter that I don't know what type I might have, or even if I do have it.

It didn't matter that I preferred to sit on the floor rather than in a chair or on the sofa. It didn't matter that someone preferred to lie down. It didn't matter that someone had to stay hydrated via a feeding tube. It didn't matter that we had to shift positions every few minutes or have our joints crack and pop when we moved.

It didn't matter that we're not doctors or that we can't diagnose anything. We  could share our experiences about the medical system - we shared info on which doctors are great and which ones make our lives harder. We could also share our experiences of interacting with friends and family - we shared our fears, our disappointments, our triumphs, our anger, and most of all, our laughter.

Laughter really is the best medicine. We spent most of the evening and the next morning laughing, and the wee hours in between, too. I even cried - twice - as I was so touched by the energy in the room. It was an incredible experience, and it is one of the few things (along with the upcoming arrival of a niece or nephew) that makes me really consider not moving across the country.

Since the sleepover, three of my zebra friends have had hospital stays. One, that I felt particularly close to, kicked ass at recovering from a life-threatening condition. It was extremely scary there, for a little while. Well, it still is scary.

But we keep moving.

We stretch our overly stretchy ligaments, pop our crackly joints, we deal with the pain, and we keep moving.

Or we keep swimming, as Nakki says.