I think I mentioned that I had hip surgery last week. My recovery has been going pretty well. I’ve has a few mishaps. Last week, for example, I accidentally pulled on one of my sutures & it loosened. The next day1 I found out that it was barely staying in when went with my mom to physical therapy & asked Erin2 to check it out for me.3 While she went to find a band-aid, it worked its way the rest of the way out. Since then, that incision has had a little yellow discharge, which I’ve told the orthopedist’s team, but has done well otherwise. Everything has been goin well. The only hard part is a hard spot in my left arm.  Calling it a spot is a misnomer. It’s a hard, raised area stretching from my wrist to my elbow. It runs right along the vein that my IV from surgery was put in. Somehow they inflamed that entire segment of my vein. It’s a bit sore, red, and warm, but the family doctor thinks it’s just a little phlebitis.4 I should be okay.  It’s just a little bizarre for me to know exactly where the vein is now.  Thursday ↩A physical therapist who has worked with me for 3 or 4 years. ↩She’d once told me that they could check or even remove stitches. ↩Phlebitis is literally the inflammation of a vein. ↩

Baby, Now We’ve Got Hard Blood (Vessels)


I got catcalled less than 12 hours ago. It was the first time I’ve had “positive” comments yelled at me by a stranger. Just like when they were intentionally hateful, I almost started crying. I did start shaking. It felt the same as the hateful ones.  I’ve had body image issues since I was a little girl. I’ve dealt with bullies, emotional abuse, and sexual abuse. I’ve gotten harassment from strangers, online and offline, including abusive comments, rape threats, assault threats, and death threats against myself or family members. I’ve been told I was so ugly that I would never be loved by my grandfather and by total strangers. I’ve had acquaintances of my family tell me at my abusive grandfather’s funeral that I would be so pretty if I’d just lose the weight. I’ve been negatively compared to my gorgeous older cousin since I was little by other family members and, worst of all, myself. I’ve been called “earthquake” and “human manatee” and all sorts of other loathe some things. I’ve had grown men that I didn’t know tell rude things out of their cars at me when I was a preteen and a teenager. So when I say I’ve had experience with harassment, I mean it.  This felt exactly like that.  Maybe when the guy yelled into my car from his place of work that I was “looking good” and “gorgeous”, he thought that was nice. Maybe he meant it as a compliment. Maybe he thought I would appreciate it. It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t a compliment. I didn’t appreciate it.  I was in my car with my mother. I thought I was in a place where I wouldn’t have someone harassing me. I thought, for lack of a better term, that I was in a safe space. All of a sudden, this comment changed things. I couldn’t hide from this person. I couldn’t get away right then. I just had to sit there and let someone I didn’t know objectify and dehumanize me. I had no out. If someone asked him about it, he might not even have registered that the incident took place. It probably isn’t a blip on his radar. If he did, he might say it was the dress I was wearing. It was strapless and short. I wore it so the physical therapist could check an incision from hip surgery  that took place on Monday. I didn’t wear the dress to be noticed. I wore it because it’s practical and appropriate in warm weather.  Even if I’d worn it for more superficial reasons, he would have no right to reduce me to an object the way he did.  I don’t even know what this guy looks like. I didn’t try to look for him. I was more concerned with getting away from him in that moment. And it wouldn’t matter what he looks like anyway, except that I would know to avoid him if I ever saw him again.  I know there are people who would think I should feel grateful. Well, I’m not and I hope I never am. There are ways to compliment people that aren’t harmful. Those are the compliments I’ll feel grateful for. There are truly wonderful men out there who know how to compliment and not objectify or harass women. Men like that are the ones I’ll applaud for their behavior. I will not applaud being harassed, objectified, disrespected, or abused solely because some random guy doesn’t know how to behave properly.  Photo credit: weaverphoto via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC-ND

How a Total Stranger Stripped Me of My Humanity in ...   Recently updated!



In a little less than half an hour, it will be thirty-six hours before I have to be at the hospital for my hip injection. While I’m still worried about going through a general anesthetic, I’m more worried right now about who will be performing the procedure. Well, not exactly. To be more precise, I’m worried about who will be assisting. The nurse practitioner of the orthopedist I’m seeing for my hip is a guy I’ve known since I was 8 years old. We were in the same third grade class, sat at the same lunch table, and went to the same church. He was my third grade boyfriend’s best friend and my third grade best friend’s boyfriend. We used to joke, at our lunch table, about a lot of things we were too young to really understand. One of his and his best friend’s favorite jokes was that they wanted to put their “limousines” in the “garages” of my friend and me.1 Even though I know that he is a professional and is married, it’s very weird to think that he’ll be in the general vicinity of my “garage” on Monday morning. We’ve known one another for twenty-five years. I know his mother. He knows my mother. This whole thing is just very awkward for me, which is a little weird because if he was a total stranger, I would totally be okay with being naked in this scenario.23 But because I know him I feel all weird about all of this. It’s just weird. I’m not usually this freaked out about the nakedness part of procedures. If you don’t get it, think about it. I’ll give you a moment. ↩This isn’t about him being a guy. I was nervous when a high school friend had to put a catheter in me in the ER once. ↩Oddly, there are quite a few people I’m still acquainted with who have seen me naked at some point. Most were in dance with me. ↩

Of Limousines and Garages


Monday morning I have to be at the hospital for my hip injection. I’m scared and I don’t have many people to talk to about that. The person I wish I could talk to about it doesn’t want to talk to me. That may be making me worry more about this injection than I should.  Actually it has nothing to do with the anxiety related to the shot, but his lack of wanting to talk or do much of anything has been why I’ve cried five days this week. I just associate him with it because I thought he might want to know that I was undergoing general anesthesia for a shot to find out if I’ll need surgery. Finding out that he completely didn’t care just caused a lot of insecurity issues to raise up all of a sudden. Well, and they reminded me that I tend to care more about others than they care about me. I feel like there’s something fundamentally wrong with me and that’s why no one needs or wants to keep me around. I feel forgettable and ugly and stupid and broken and that no one could ever love me for any reason, and this just amplified all of that.  I don’t think anyone will miss me if anything does happen Monday or any other day. 

Amplified Tears



Alive and apparently allergic to morphine #selfie. I was given some post-op and, as with most other opioids in its class, had a reaction. This time it wasn’t just dizziness & chest pain from bronchospasm; there were also hives. I’ve taken two doses of Benadryl, including some at the Surgery Center, and albuterol. Still have some welts & trouble breathing. As for my hand/wrist, it hurts like an enculé. #wristsurgery #handsurgery #dequervainstenosynovitis #dequervain #dequervains #surgery #pain #wristpain #handpain #ginger #redhead #redhair #morphine #allergies #asthma #huntsvilleal #huntsville #alabama A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on May 30, 2017 at 11:03am PDT On May 30th, I had surgery for De Quervain’s Tenosynovitis. The orthopedist went in and snipped the tendon sheath to relieve the pressure & swelling in an injury caused by my father during an argument over a leaking air conditioner last summer. The surgery went well, but there was a bit of recovery room drama. After a shot of morphine, I quickly developed hives. That led to a dose of Benadryl, which was apparently a higher one than is usually needed at the Surgery Center for that sort of reaction. I was given a prescription from my orthopedist for Tylenol 3 and an ice pack and sent home within an hour after the surgery. That led to a little more drama. Tylenol 3 also led to hives, as well as overly talkative and feisty behavior. So after more Benadryl, I realized I needed to recover without pain medication. The dressing is off. It doesn’t look too terribly bad. It feels worse than it looks. Now, I get to put smaller bandages on it. Fun. #dequervainstenosynovitis #dequervain #dequervains #tendinitis #wristsurgery #thumbsurgery A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jun 1, 2017 at 10:13am PDT Besides using my hand too much and occasionally putting too much weight on my hand, my recovery went rather well. The bruises faded quickly and I didn’t have as much trouble with my incision this time as I did for my trigger thumb surgery in 2014. Slowly getting better. I’ve got another week before the stitches come out. #wristsurgery #dequervainstenosynovitis #dequervain #handsurgery #spoonie A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jun 6, 2017 at 4:13pm PDT Last week the stitches came out and my scar is very tiny. I swear my orthopedist could be a plastic surgeon. My mom and I have talked about that a few times. The incision is healing rather well. #wristsurgery #handsurgery #dequervain #dequervains #tendinitis #tendonitis A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jun 14, 2017 at 6:53pm PDT I’ve gotten back to driving since then, which isn’t very painful. Cooking, especially flipping, stirring, and breaking up ground beef, hurts like hell, but I try to keep going. The nurse practitioner said I’ll have pain & swelling for up to six months, so I guess that I just have to keep on trying until it stops giving me trouble. Pain is hard to work against. My shot for my hip is scheduled for June 26th and I’ll have to undergo general anesthesia. If my hip feels better after the shot, the orthopedist said he’ll be doing arthroscopic surgery on it. If it doesn’t, then he says the problem is not in my hip—he never listened when I told him my hip subluxates, so he doesn’t understand that I know my hip issue is a hip issue. I don’t want surgery, but I’d like to have a doctor who would listen when I talk. Maybe that’s expecting too much. I hope any fathers out there are having a Happy Father’s Day. I get the feeling that this holiday is going to always be extra depressing after my dad’s dementia has stripped him of his memories of being a dad and of being himself. Some days it seems like that outcome is approaching more quickly than others. I already feel like he’s sort of a stranger to me & that he’s not exactly someone I can ever feel safe around. I definitely hold back around him now. I can’t really be myself anymore, so this disease isn’t just making my dad “not my dad”, it’s morphing me into someone else. Someone who is even more quiet, scared, and sad than I was before…if that’s possible.

I Survived, So Does That Make Me a Survivor?


1
Well, that was fun. The entry posted before I had written anything. Oops. I guess that’s what happens when you write a blog entry at 2:30 AM.  Let’s see…what’s been going on lately?  I’ve completed 4 weeks of physical therapy. That’s all that will officially be done until after my next orthopedist visit. I’m supposed to work on weights & stuff at the Wellness Center. At my evaluation on Friday, my left hip had strengthened, but my right hip & my right knee had weakened.12 I also learned that my ankles are definitely weak.34 My left hip still has bursitis & weakness in the piriformis, and it’s still showing that there’s something wrong in the joint itself when they do the torturous impingement/labral tear test. And it just keeps on hurting & popping.5 I don’t know how the hip orthopedist will handle this news.  I got my hand/wrist checked out by the hand orthopedist6 almost two weeks ago. I have De Quervain’s Syndrome, which is basically tendinitis and tenosynovitis of the thumb/inner wrist. Typically it’s an overuse injury that moms and gamers get. Mine is from my dad’s anger outburst almost a year ago.78 The doctor put a steroid injection in the joint, which was especially unpleasant since the lidocaine shot was useless9 and he put the steroid injection through the nerve. So anytime I move my hand a certain way, I scream or flinch from the burning pain that shoots out my hand. If the tendinitis doesn’t respond to the steroid, I may have to have surgery on my wrist.  Oh, and I started a store on Etsy. Right now it just has barrettes, headbands, and hair elastics/ponytail holders. I’m planning on adding bracelets, necklaces, earrings, lanyards, and pacifier clips next. Eventually I want to add purses and my mom wants me to branch into doll clothes. I hope the stuff sells & eventually gives me a way to maintain an income off of SSDI/SSI. Fingers crossed, right? I also need it to succeed to prove my dad wrong. Twice in the last week he’s told my mom that he thinks it’ll fail. He’s hinted at the same to me multiple times. Of course he’s been on an anti-Janet rant for several weeks now.10 Anyways… It would really help if you bought something. If you can’t buy anything, I understand. Please considering sharing the link. Maybe someone will see something that they want. I guess that’s all for now.  I’ll try to not stay away as long next time.  My right knee started acting up during the warm ups for my hip’s physical therapy sessions. ↩I hope that this doesn’t mean that I will need surgery on my right knee. ↩This wasn’t really news to me. They hadn’t been checked since the 90s, but I never completed the strengthening exercises for them back then, so if they’d gotten stronger, it would be the result of a miracle. ↩I hope I don’t end up with an ankle orthopedist, too. ↩Part of the popping is because my SI joint is extremely unstable. ↩There are so many cooks in this fucking kitchen. ↩As the orthopedist put it as he dictated his notes, “The injury is a result of her deranged father” and his early onset dementia. ↩Did you know only 5-10% of dementia patients become violent? Dadada and dad have defied the odds. ↩Many Ehlers-Danlos patients don’t respond appropriately—or at all—to the drug. ↩If I cook, it’s the wrong thing. If I drive my car, I’m being selfish with his car; he doesn’t understand Nana gave it to me. If I don’t clean up the kitchen or living room on PT days or ask him to clean or move anything, I’m lazy. If I take my mom to a doctor visit or the grocery store, I’m stepping into his territory. Everything I do is wrong. ↩

Giving It All She’s Got



I’m still annoyed about the appointment with the orthopedist. My mom was, too; so much so that she tried calling her orthopedist to see if he’d let me switch to his service. Since I’d already seen today’s doctor, mom’s doctor won’t see me. Now I’m worried about reprisals.  I’m also concerned that this doctor will continue this same standard of care. It’s incredibly disheartening to think that my hip could go untreated because he thinks less of me over my weight. And how does a doctor expect a person to lose weight if their movement is limited by an untreated joint problem? It doesn’t make sense. 

Hip to be Square


My hip has been bothering me for a while now—it’s been subluxating for five years and in pretty bad pain for about six months. I finally worked up the courage to talk to a doctor about it & I got referred to the orthopedist. The orthopedist spent less than five minutes in the room.  During that time he would ask me questions, then interrupt my answers with other questions. He told me that my joints look normal & that he thinks that I might have muscle, tendon, or ligament problems because…fat people don’t exercise enough to keep their muscles & joints from being lax.  Yep.  My hip hurts during exercise because fat people don’t exercise. Also, all that hypermobility stuff1 is because I’m fat and don’t exercise. It has nothing to do with genetics. I’m just some dumbass fat girl who is in pain because she sits on her ass all day eating bon bons and watching soap operas. I don’t really exercise. I haven’t been working on my strength at all.  I have to go through six weeks of physical therapy before he will even consider an MRI. The referral for the physical therapy said I needed help with my right hip instead of my left. Apparently I’m so fat that I’m too stupid to know the difference between my left & right sides. He wants me to have a greater range of motion in my hip, which is laughable for a person with hypermobility. Six weeks of physical therapy will be twelve visits. Medicare only allows for twenty visits.2 I have six more weeks of intense pain without knowing what’s going on, and if it’s something that needs a different kind of rehab, I am screwed.  He also got cantankerous about how I filled out my allergy section. Well, if I don’t call NSAIDs an allergy, doctors there prescribe them for me & tell me that I’m imagining any adverse reaction. He was also mad that he couldn’t put me on narcotics.3 Basically, I’m still in pain & will be for the next month or two, and there’s nothing I can do about it. If I weighed less, I might have more answers or I might have a concrete plan to get those answers & the orthopedist would have actually listened to me about the pain. It’s bad enough that being fat makes me feel like I’m unlovable and unattractive & that it encourages assholes to harass me regularly, but when it keeps doctors from providing adequate care, I just feel lost & pissed off & like nothing will ever get better.  Joint laxity. ↩Oops. I guess Hollie will get pissed because I’m ranting about something government-related again. ↩That’s not my fault. ↩

Designated Fatty



Oddly enough, I was reminded of Rachel of Nottingham last week when I was awaiting a referral to an orthopedist for my five-year-long hip issue and for my year-old dad-inflicted (unintentionally) wrist injury. Dottie is still “working” at UAB, so I’m on week three (technically) of the waiting game. She delayed on a post-respiratory failure referral to a lung specialist for my mom for six weeks. Dottie should retire, but she’s never going to leave. I kinda wonder how many people will die or have permanent ailments (that should have only been temporary issues) because of her laziness.  My hip feels like someone is slamming a hammer into the joint. Occasionally it has a sharp twinge that lasts an hour or two; that can be breath-taking1 and frightening. It can also be nausea-inducing.  My wrist doesn’t hurt much. I just can’t hold things well since the incident; I drop almost everything I hold for more than a couple of minutes. It also pops every time that I move it.  But enough about those issues that everyone knows I’m lying about, what’s new with you?  In a bad way. ↩

Just Whinge-Ing It


Apparently Nottingham is a boring place at night because my number one stalker felt the need to comment on my blog again. As you can see, one of its residents, who claims to be named Roslin, is so bored that she felt the need to tell me: I will say something. All you do is take, take, take – you want money, you want people to come and do repairs for free. You and your parents do nothing but take and expect and whinge and moan. You are home all day, every day, do some repair work yourself because we all know you are not really sick! Interesting. It’s amazing that someone who lives across the globe from me knows not only my health status, but that of my parents. Apparently she missed a few weeks back when my mom was in the hospital with respiratory failure and kidney failure, or that her kidney failure has gotten worse; something I posted about rather regularly on Instagram. And she must have missed all the posts I’ve made on Twitter about my father having dementia and going through all the fun that that entails. A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jan 21, 2017 at 4:38pm PST A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jan 23, 2017 at 10:15am PST A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jan 25, 2017 at 11:26am PST Almost. A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jan 27, 2017 at 9:55am PST Signs at the hospital are confusing. A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jan 27, 2017 at 9:57am PST Apparently dad had a panic attack at the grocery store with mom, when she went to get something w/o tell him, today. #dementia — Janet Morris (@janersm) August 3, 2016 Now he thinks his phone is trying to keep him from saving appointments on it. #dementia — Janet Morris (@janersm) October 4, 2016 Dad’s EEG & Doppler are tomorrow/later today. #dementia — Janet Morris (@janersm) October 20, 2016 Anyone know if this also can involve anger & threats of violence? https://t.co/Aa1xviG2AY #dementia — Janet Morris (@janersm) January 16, 2017 The GP/FP said with his memory & behavioral issues and his family history (at least 4 blood relatives with #dementia) that it was needed. — Janet Morris (@janersm) March 7, 2017 Yeah, parents who have organ failure and parents who are put on dementia medication are so healthy. I really hope that Roslin is never responsible for the healthcare of anyone. Maybe she isn’t a doctor. If she is, then I bet her patients will all die very painful deaths because she’s clearly not good at this kind of thing. I know that Roslin has missed out on my health issues, which have also been discussed on various social media outlets and in private entries on here, but that’s not new. In fact, that’s kind of her shtick. She’s always wrong about my health. I know that Roslin of Nottingham once went by the name of Rachel Cooper. That time she was so wrong that she, in her rush to judgment, didn’t realize that I actually had something wrong with my knee that would require surgery and months of rehabilitation. In fact, bringing up Rachel’s failure at diagnosing me became a bit of an ongoing joke. I tend to laugh at pathetic little trolls like Roslin/Rachel. That’s all you really can do with them. Well, that and pity them. Poor little sociopathic babies. I think that she may also go by “Rachel Clarkson”, the person from the United Kingdom who decided to send me a snarky tweet last week within a day or so of my posting the link to GoFundMe. Who knows what her real name is? I bet that her internet provider does. In fact, I’m hoping that they get back to me on my inquiry into it. I hope Roslin/Rachel realizes that people who are chronically ill and who are caregivers of people who are chronically ill have a tendency to whine and moan about their lives because having health issues sucks. Not only does it make your life painful and stressful, it drains your finances and any little bit of energy that you might have. People like me complain because life is not something anywhere near pleasant, and part of that is because I have to regularly deal with people like her. Roslin/Rachel isn’t the only person who acts like this. People that I know offline do it. Distant cousins have done it, including the ones who submitted my name and video to a comedy show so that I could be mocked. Total strangers, ones who aren’t sick enough to stalk my blog for two years so that they can harass me, do it on Twitter; at least 3 times a week lately, I get an unkind message from someone. Their favorite thing to tell me is that I’m selfish or spoiled or that I suck somehow. Oh, or that I need to get a job or that I deserve to die or that my grandmother deserves to die. There are a lot of little variants of deplorable messages that people send. And you know what? I have a right to complain about that part of my life, too. I don’t have to keep it all bottled up because some random asshole on the internet can’t deal with the things I say. If they’re that chickenshit, then they need to find a hobby or get some therapy because clearly they have too much time on their hands and have something going on that’s ‘causing them to be inhuman assholes. I pity them and their fucked up existences. I may be poor and disabled, and I may end up going to jail and being homeless for having a dilapidated house, but at least I’m not a horrible human being who gets off on trying to make other people as miserable as them.

And I’d Be Like, “Why Are You So Obsessed With ...