In case of accidental overdose...

So right now I feel a little like a walking pharmacy.  Just for fun I decided to take a picture of my "collection".  Before anyone panics, I'm not using them all at once, but I have used them all this weekend.  More than once even. And yes, I checked to make sure they all played nice together.

I may be a little less than coherent, but I have absolutely no voice and it frustrates me not to be able to talk to my friends, so I'm going to write, whether it is coherent or not.
Since I am on all these drugs, I've been reading lots of drug labels.  And I noticed something curious.  On most of them, they say something along the lines of "In case of accidental overdose..." It's usually followed by instructions to call poison control, 911, or go to the nearest emergency care facility.  None of them every say "give a glass of milk" or "induce vomiting" anymore. Too much liability I guess.  I understand that parents are going to want to know if their child grabs the Buckley's bottle and starts chugging, other than question the sanity of the the child for wanting to drink it.  Likewise with the icky banana-flavored nystatin.  But why do they feel compelled to put the word "accidental" on there?  Do the instructions change if it is an intentional overdose?  An overdose is still an overdose, regardless of intention...Sometimes I don't understand drug companies.
Speaking of Buckley's, does anybody know of anything that works better?  I'm maxed out on Buckley's and still coughing enough to worry my roommates and make tears run down my face and my stomach hurt.  Anybody got any suggestions?

Communication

Communication is something I take for granted.  Even with my hearing impairment, I am oral.  In other words, I speak and usually understand spoken language (often through lip reading). I have trouble in large groups, places with lots of background noise, and telephones or any place really where I can't see the lips of the speaker.
I'm used to being able to get my point across using my voice.  I'm used to being able to tell doctors what is wrong and how I feel.
Today, I got to experience what it was like to not be able to communicate.  I woke up with a wicked sore throat (I'd been working on it for a day or two already) and completely unable to communicate with my voice.   This was slightly problematic because I needed to go to the doctor.  I feared strep or bronchitis or both (there have been some real nasties going around campus the last few weeks).  Thanks to texting and facebook I was able to find a ride to the doctor.  This was more of a challenge than usual, because I needed someone who could speak "Joy" - a very special language that involves some ASL and some random hand gestures and lots of eye movements.  It was a language developed at Central when I was having so many seizures and wasn't verbal immediately afterwards. Only a small handful of people here at WTS know how to speak "Joy".  Since I was completely non-verbal today I had to find one of those small handful of people to come with me.  I did. :)
A wonderful friend accompanied me to Urgent care and "interpreted" for me.  It was so useful to have her along.  I'm not quite sure what I would have done if I had no one who knew "Joy" who could come with me.  Probably try and write everything out, which would also have been an adventure, since my handwriting leaves a lot to be desired.
After I got home with my medication, which was another adventure altogether (apparently I have a newborn who is sick...if my child gets sicker I have to bring her back to urgent care...that's what my discharge papers say), I took my baby's medication (because I knew it was really for me, not my baby, because I don't have a baby.   It had never crossed my mind that liquid medication, especially medication designed for small children, would be flavored.  I drew the syringe out.  It looked suspiciously yellow. I signed to my roommate that I wondered if it contained banana.  Only one way to find out...I squirted it in my mouth.  It tasted vaguely of banana.  My first instinct was to panic.  The last time I had come in contact with banana, it had been on someone's hands who had touched me.  I had needed 75mg of Benadryl to pull out of it.  I couldn't determine if the hint of banana was artificial or real.  My tongue was starting to feel funny, almost like a pre-reaction. I wasn't sure it was a reaction or the "funny feeling" the doctor had warned me about. There was only one thing to do call.  Call the pharmacy.  Except I had no voice.  Thankfully I have an awesome roommate who was willing to make the call for me.  The pharmacist assured her that all flavoring was artificial.  I hoped and prayed he was right, because if he was wrong, we were wasting precious seconds.  Now, a number of hours later, I'm fairly certain he was right.  Otherwise, I'd be hanging out in the emergency room on a million and five monitors.
It was weird to have to depend on someone else to get my message across.  I had to trust my friends to communicate on my behalf. It reminded me of a Bible verse from Romans 8:26 "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express."
When we don't know how to pray, G-d listens to the Spirit who communicates on our behalf.  When I couldn't communicate for myself, the doctors and nurses and pharmacists, listened to my friends who communicated on my behalf.  Just like I had to trust my friends to get my message across, I have to trust the Spirit to communicate with G-d on my behalf.  My friends are trustworthy.  The Spirit is a bajillion times more trustworthy.  That is a great comfort.

If you're gonna have a bad day...

...you  might as well have an awful day.  Because at least then, you can laugh about how ridiculously awful it was.
I woke up before my alarm this morning, which is a good thing, considering I managed to sleep through it earlier this week, but a negative thing since I woke up because my congestion was so bad I was having trouble breathing.  I started my morning with a shot of Buckley's (linked for all you non-Canadians) and a quick breakfast, because it was Thursday, which meant I couldn't eat breakfast in my 8 am class like I do rest of the week.  I e-mailed mom to tell her my precious Buckley's bottle was almost empty and I needed her to send more with someone coming this way tomorrow.
I got my fancy Thursday clothes on (T-shirts aren't allowed in my Thursday class) and made it to class, armed with a cup of respiratory tea.  I settled in for a lecture on the Gospels.  At least, I think that's what it was about.  I was having a hard time focusing (I may have taken some Mucinex and Sudafed along with my Buckley's), but I made it through 3 hours of class, including chapel break.  During break I tried to make some repairs to a Silent Praise practice video so I could set it to re-export (the most time consuming part of the repair process).  I discovered that the source files had been corrupted. I don't even know what that means, other than I had to start all over.
By the time class (and chapel) was over I came home, ready for another dose of Buckley's and lunch.  I accomplished both those things, then noticing a bit of a sore throat developing, decided to take my temperature.  There really ought not to be three digits before the decimal point when you take your temperature.
Regardless of the rising mercury, I had an off campus meeting with someone so I grabbed my bicycle gear and headed out.  As I was unlocking my bike, I dropped the padlock in the snow.  I searched for it, but couldn't find it.  I still had my little lock, and didn't want to be late for my meeting, so I left, resolving to look more thoroughly for it when I got back.
I made it to my meeting in time and checked my text messages quickly.  Olga was reminding me that we had a Greek assignment due tomorrow.  We set a time to work on it together.  I met with my friend.  Now my friend has an indoor palm tree in her sitting room.  I've been there before, so I was aware of this fact.  However, this indoor palm tree has decided that it is spring time.  It is budding and blooming.  Read: producing pollen.  Chalk up my second pollen induced allergic reaction for February.  (The first was Tuesday when a prof brought a hyacinth plant to class).  It is February. I live in Michigan. I should not be having pollen induced reactions.
I made it through my meeting and decided to head over to the aquatic center to work off some stress (and maybe loosen some of the mucus in my lungs).  I unlocked my bike and headed in that direction.  The sun was shining beautifully. I got to the aquatic center and went to lock my bike to the tiny part of the bike rack sticking out of the snow.  I reached for my keys and found what was left of my key chain.  I looked on the ground around me.  They weren't there.  I climbed back on my bike and retraced my route.  Still nothing.  I went back to the aquatic center.  No go.  Went back to where I had come from.  Still no keys.  I gave up and went home.  I couldn't go for a swim without my keys...I couldn't lock my bike and there was no way I was leaving in unlocked at the aquatic center.  This made me sad because I haven't had pool time for two weeks between ear/sinus infections and blizzards and my body really really wants pool time.
As I headed home I realized that I had lost all my keys....bike key, house, key, mail box key...I hoped that one of my roommates would be home when I got home.  Otherwise, I was gonna be locked out.
I got home and tried the door.  Locked.  No one home. I turned back towards the seminary, unsure what I was going to do. I was freezing from being outside so long looking for my keys. I saw my roommate coming and sighed in relief.  She unlocked the house and I brought my bike down to the basement, since I can't lock it outside with no key.  Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, since it is desperate need of a service job and it's rather cold outside to do an outdoor service right now.
Then I told my roommate about my misadventures.  She laughed (in a good way....I was already laughing and crying).  My throat was hurting worse so I went to take a look at it with my throat-looking light.  It was not a pretty sight.  I'm not sure if it is streppy, angry from my allergic reaction(s) this week, or just raw from coughing so much.  I've decided, in my expert medical opinion,  (Please note how much sarcasm is dripping off that clause) that it simply cannot be strep.  I finished a round of antibiotics less than a week ago.  If I had strep, it would have already been in my system by then, and the antibiotics would have killed it.  (unless of course it was antibiotic-resistant strep).  So for now, no doctor.
I made some special tea, messaged Olga and asked if she wanted to do Greek then instead of the later time we had set.  That was fine, so she came over and we plowed through Greek.
Now it is 6:30 and my bed sounds very, very tempting along with a dose of nyquil like medication.
And this my friends, is how you have a truly bad day.  (I may have missed things.  my brain hurts)
Redeeming point of the day:  Sara Groves music courtesy of an amazing friend.

Brains

Earlier this week I asked Mom to send me one of my favorite recipes - Brains for the crockpot. Since Mom is amazing, she sent it to me, so the other day, I made Brains for the crockpot.  Now, Brains had a different name originally, but originally it also had lots of dairy products in it, so I'm comfortable simply calling it Brains.
It got its name while I was in high school, when someone, I can't remember whether it was a friend or foe, asked, either jokingly or jeeringly, if I was eating brains.  It went kinda like this: "What are you eating? Brains?!?"  For some reason I felt compelled to answer affirmatively.  The name Brains stuck.  Personally, I think it's a better name than the original name that had the word "surprise" stuck in it somewhere.
This is the recipe, as Mom sent it to me:

 Ingredient amounts per serving

1- 2 medium potatoes

2 oz firm tofu

1/8 tsp salt

1/8 tsp pepper

1/4 cup goat milk, broth or boullion

1/2 Tbsp. Butter

one medium red onion, diced

1/2 Tbsp. Thickener, (flour, potato starch, etc)

1 tsp Dijon mustard

1/8 cup mayonnaise

1/4 tsp dried thyme or fresh thyme leaves

1 slice cooked, crumbled bacon

Butter the inside of the crock. 

Peel and cube potatoes, 1- 2 medium potatoes per serving needed, and place in buttered crock. 

Cream together in a blender 2 oz firm tofu, 1/8 tsp salt, 1/8 tsp pepper, 1/4 cup goat milk or boullion, per serving. Set aside. 

In a saucepan, melt about 1/2 Tbsp. Butter per serving. 

Saute in the butter, one medium onion, diced per serving.  Red onion is preferred but white will do. 

When onions are soft but not browned, sprinkle with a thickener (flour or potato starch), equivalent to the butter used, to make a thick paste. 

Add to hot thick bubbly paste the mixture of creamed tofu, salt, pepper and boullion or goat milk. Cook, stirring constantly, until it has formed a thick sauce. 

Remove from heat and allow to cool slightly.  Stir in until well blended, 1 tsp Dijon mustard and 1/8 cup mayonnaise per serving.  Sauce will be thick and creamy. 

Mix in to potatoes and put in crock.  Sprinkle with 1/4 tsp dried thyme or fresh thyme leaves and 1 slice cooked, crumbled bacon per serving. 

Cook in crock on low for 8 hours or high for 3 to 4 hours. Serve and enjoy.

So after lunch, before  I had to head back to class, I decided to make a batch and stick it in the crockpot.  I was in a bit of hurry (and slightly lazy), so I didn't bother to peel the potatoes, just washed them gently and cut them into big chunks.  I did use butter on the crock, but that was the only butter I used.  

Instead of chicken broth like we usually use at home, I used goat milk, just because I could.  Since I was a little concerned about the strong flavor of goat milk, I threw a chicken bouillon cube in as well when I was whir-whirring the tofu and milk.  

I fried the bacon in my cast iron and then used the bacon fat for frying the onion.  Tapioca starch was my thickener of choice and I replaced the mayonnaise with veganaise (egg free, GF, dairy free mayonnaise substitute). 

I mixed it all up and chucked it in the crockpot and then went back across for the street for class.  Because my roommates are awesome, they even turned the crockpot off for me at dinner time because I was still sleeping off a large dose of Benadryl.  So when I finally woke I, I had a wonderful pot of Brains ready to eat. 

Between the drugs still in my system and the fact that I was eating something called Brains, I did feel a little like a zombie.  But I'm not a zombie.  For reals. 

Psalm 13

This is a blog post that I really don't know how to write.
Less than a week ago I put up a post rejoicing in 50 seizure free days.  I'd begun to hope that my battle with seizures was over.  I'd imagined what it would be like to drive, how it would feel to apply for a job without having to disclose that I had seizures, what it would be like to go to the pool without having to warn the lifeguards that I had a seizure disorder, what my med-alert bracelet would say without the word "seizures" on it.  I was living in a state of guarded freedom, enjoying going to class without having seizures that disrupt everyone.
Until last night.
I was having dinner with my roommate when the pre-seizure hit.  We moved to the living room where it was safer, if it came.  We were crying and praying, begging G-d not to let it come.  It came anyways.  We cried more after. It had been 55 days.  55 wonderful days of seizure free-ness.
I don't understand why I had a seizure last night.  I don't understand why this isn't over like I thought it was.  I don't even understand how I feel right now.  I do know though that I am grateful for everyone who has been and is continuing to pray for me (I apparently sent a text message out while I was regaining consciousness). I am also grateful that I serve a G-d who is big enough to take my anger and hurt and that I belong to a faith tradition that has room for anger at G-d.  We even have models of how to do it well in the Psalms and the book of Job.  A friend, who understands just how much it sucks to have seizures, sent me this song today.  It's called "How Long O Lord" and is a musical version of Psalm 13.  It echoes pretty close how I'm feeling today.  I'm not quite as good as David at getting to the trusting in unfailing love and rejoicing part, but it will come.  I haven't come this far for it not to come.  Here's the song:
"How Long O Lord"
The captioning isn't great, so here is a link to the lyrics:  Lyrics to "How Long O Lord" (or look in your Bible. It's Psalm 13.)

Sometimes I Paint...

Sometimes I paint because I'm happy.
Sometimes I paint because I want to paint pictures to go with a Bible story.
Sometimes I paint because I'm sad.
Sometimes I paint because a church service has really touched me and I see an image in my head.
Sometimes I paint because I really want to finger paint.
Sometimes I paint because I want to make a picture of a song.
Sometimes I paint because I'm hurting.
Sometimes I paint because I don't want to do my homework.
Sometimes I paint because I'm angry.
Sometimes I paint because a picture expresses more than my words can.
Sometimes I paint because it's fun to do with friends.
Sometimes I paint because I'm trying to memorize a Bible verse.
Sometimes I paint because I'm scared.
and sometimes, I paint just because I need to paint:

Snow Day!

Yesterday we had a snow day.  Not just the public high schools and elementary schools, but everyone.  The reason for this: a blizzard.  It was the first time I had a snow day since high school.  I was ecstatic when we got word on Tuesday night that the seminary would be closed all day Wednesday.
I started Wednesday off by staying up late Tuesday night talking with a good friend and brother and sleeping in Wednesday morning.  Then I spent some time in the kitchen doing some baking.  None of it is actually completely finished yet, so no pictures yet.  I made chocolate chip cupcakes, but they still need the chocolate "buttercream" frosting.  I also made homemade chocolate sandwich cookies (Oreo type), but they still need the filling.  So, be patient and there will be pictures later.
Then, the best part of my day.  Snow toffee.  As a child, a fresh snow fall, especially one that meant we were home all day with the babysitter, meant snow toffee.   I made it a couple times in undergrad, usually in the evening, but I hadn't had opportunity to make it here yet.  A snow day, with lots of fresh snow on the ground, seemed like a good time to introduce all the neighborhood children to snow toffee.  I'd checked with one mother Tuesday night already, just to make sure that she would allow her children to eat it, so I knew I had at least two children to share with.
I don't really have a recipe for snow toffee, so I will attempt to explain the best I know how, how one makes snow toffee, complete with pictures, courtesy of Olga.
First, I put some water and brown sugar and molasses and white sugar in a pan on the stove.  I stirred it up and tasted it.   Then added more sugar until I liked how it tasted.  Sometimes growing up we'd put maple syrup in it.  Basically, you want yummy sweetness.
Then, I turned the stove on and stirred and stirred and stirred and stirred. During undergrad this was always a great time to have long conversations with my RA.  As a child, the babysitter usually sent us outside to keep us out from underfoot during this stage.

Yesterday I did almost all the stirring with my snow pants and hat on. That way I'd be ready when it would be ready.

Olga made a really cool picture of the stirring action.  It bubbles a lot.  If you don't keep stirring, it will over-boil and make a big mess.  It will also burn.

You have to stir a long time. You know it is ready when you use your stirring spoon to dribble some into a cup of cold water (see my measuring cup sitting beside the pan?).  All of a sudden, when you dribble it in, it will become solid before it reaches the bottom.  It looks really cool when that happens.  Before it is ready it just kinda diffuses throughout the water, a little like food coloring in water.  You can't miss it when this finally happens.  I call this "the cool stage".

Once you reach the cool stage, it's go time.  As a child this meant that we had to have jelly roll pans packed with clean snow and up on the back porch (the babysitter didn't want to come out into the yard with us, and if we'd done it in the yard, the dog would eat it).  Now it means, grab the pan and run outside with it.  

Once you are outside, you find some clean snow and dump the toffee out in long, swirly lines. It will sink down into the snow, so you want the snow to be deep, or well packed.  Our snow yesterday was rather light and fluffy.

Then, using your fingers you pull part of a strand out of the snow and feed it to your roommates.

Then, you go collect neighborhood children and entice them to come eat "snow candy".  Of course, you make them ask their moms first.  You wouldn't want to be perceived as a creepy person or anything. Realize that you will have to explain to every mom (or dad) what snow candy is.

Then you feed it to the children.  They have mittens on, you being the nice grown-up, you take your mitten off, pick the toffee up and feed it to them.  

Then, you finish taking the toffee out of the snow, put it in the pan and convince your small children to go with you to deliver snow candy to all your other "friends" (our word for neighbors). After the small children are all hyped up on sugar and very sticky, you send them back home to their parents and you go back inside where it is warm and you rest.

Again, all photos in this post were taken by Olga. If you want to see more of her photos, including some that indicate just how much snow we got, check out her blog.