The three little pills, and the four days of energy depletion.

For the last few weeks, I've been laying low getting used to the warmer weather, and the continuous adjustments of my scripts to find some fit, and yes including the little Gang Green pictured here.  After the three pot pills in one day fiasco, I used them on an as needed basis.  So far, it's been fairly no need as other medications are working fairly well, the only problem is getting the medications approved and to me and for me to remember to take them.

I am also now required by MS to take a nap daily whether I am prepared for it or not.  I'll be reading and then my wife calls me or I drop the book in my hand(s) and open my eyes in surprise that 45 minutes has been sucked away. I'm okay most of the day, morning after breakfast, Deathwish coffee, and review of the news.  After the 6:00 PM news, I'm good for the night.  But on days where I don't have water therapy (like now) the mid afternoon plays a sleepy enticement.  However if I'm involved, like today doing some writing away from the house, I'm fine.  When I was working at my last job, I'd just get up from my desk, where droopy Tom would be sitting looking at data sheets, and I would go get an espresso or latte.  I got fatter but I stayed awake.

A lot of this was brought back last week when I opened the newspaper and did my usual read the comics first and then through rest of the paper, always checking in the obituaries (this is an obligation for AARP members) to see if people you knew long ago like high school and stuff.  That Wednesday I saw a picture, of a gentleman I had known as well as anyone can with walls we put around ourselves at our jobs or life.

My boss had died, and here was his obituary.  His name was/is Ed. His picture had him smiling with a Boston Red Sox cap upon his brow. I read it through a few times to re-acquiant myself with him, and I could see him semi-running to meetings upon meetings, myself and few other of the minions keeping with him as best we could.

Keeping up with him was twice as tough because I also had worked for his wife who ran another division in the same department. I began at the county department of social services in 1986 and in 1994 I was told by Ed that I had been "traded" to his wife's division and then in 2001 was sent back to Ed's part.  What has amazed me even more was I running through civil service titles so that from 1986 to 1994 I went from a team supervisor to the assistant director of Medicaid.  I hope I did OK.
Energy level 20%

Funeral time.  There wasn't any big fuss, but it was wonderful and sad.  I could remember most of their names I'd worked with and hunted down the dear ones that I really wanted/needed to see again.  Some looked exactly the same, others it took a while to remove ten years from others and see the nice guy or gal who worked over there with What's His Name.  My MS was mentioned by many and with  kindness. Energy level up 10%

So we got through the evening.  A number of people noticed my tie which was covered with the Red Sox logos, and Ed's wife was very grateful I did and we walked her out at the end of the service, and I headed to my writing class.  Certain workers told me that the tie was a suckup to Ed.  Then why did I keep it long after Ed retired? I dunno, but just in case (like a 2013 World Series win)But I will never wear it again.  Energy level down 40% with a plus 30% for seeing old friends.

The next day was my wife's birthday.  We got off on an unusual start (that will happen more) as Jackie wanted to leave ASAP, and I try but finding dawdling and getting all I need to take a little trip. Jackie was a little annoyed (OK, OK, a lot) when I finally arrived. She was in such a tirade that she pulled out on our main street and never saw the massive SUV heading right for us. I yelled at Jackie. She cleared the car, and we went on.  And then just missed being hit by a second large SUV around two minutes. I yelled again. Jackie quickly adjusted She was flustered plus infinity, even asking her MS husband if he (me) wanted to drive instead. I declined.  Otherwise, we moved off into our activities for the day.    Energy level down 20 % as we reanalyzed the situation again and again, but a nice dinner.

Saturday was an open day so we did different things. I will give it a zero change.
However while reading I dozed off twice sitting on our way too comfy couch.

Sunday was a 5:30 AM wake up call for a trip to Citifield to see the Mets play (b.  Fell asleep on the way there and the way back.  I think the 5:30 AM wake up did that one.  The Mets won the game, not that the victory made me or the Mets any better, but I did have my first mint julep. Gee, potpies and mint juleps, bourbon and vodka.  I always wonder how I could be the grumpy private eye novelist
guzzling cheap beer and hitting the keys, like Mickey Spillane..

Energy level 20% down.

Yesterday I was watching a ball game and was suddenly pinched by Jackie and given my dinner.  I had fallen asleep unbeknownst to me while staring at the tube (because I would have known if I was awake, ya see).  No offense, TV shows.

So today, at 5:50 EDT Wednesday June 28 I am still awake. No naps.  Just busy and trying to stay that way.

One thing I've found, though, if you ever take a relaxing sit and are thinking away, carful, because MS will grab it and off you go, into sleep time, until SPASM! You wake up suddenly, and if you're lucky no one's around to blink wondering eyes at you.  If there are folks, a quick coughing fit might fill the bill.

"Sorry, just a small vile attack of this disease that has not treatment or cure.  Would there be any bourbon around.

Energy level about 85% today.  It's a lovely day.

Keep swimming, everyone. Just keep swimming.

Hear me, God 'o Pot! I have seen your powers....

And I swear I will never take another three shot of the new pot pills I'm on now.

The pills (take one when you feel necessary) were just sitting there and I shall state that the dispenser guy did say up to a maximum of three.  One of the neat parts about being bipolar/MS is that you forget things.  Did I already take this pill?  Is this my shirt, or yours or just a shirt on the new floor. You're the blonde I'm married to, right?  (She continues to claim to be that individual, OK so with me! So far!)

Anyhow, it was Sunday and we were home and I'd taken two of the 9.7 THC pills and felt alright, like on a Wednesday afternoon when I was still working but stopping now and then to look a the tree outside my office. Sturdy and weak with giant wooden arms supporting small buds on just slightly larger sticks that pull away from the mother trunk ...

Yeah, it kind of started like, but ended up with this....

(OK, quick history lesson.  I love baseball and that has been such a part of my life, that I mourn each days from November 1 - Feb 15 as wasted days of life.  To celebrate this enthusiasm, my parents bought me a "Sports Illustrated dice baseball game."   You rolled some dice and looked at a chart to see what the batter did.  I only played a few games with it and next year it was replaced by a game called APBA baseball.  No, I don't know what the initials mean, but I think it was what the founder of the game's own baseball card league. American Professional Baseball Association

So anyway you pick two teams, get your lineups ready, scoresheets, and beverage and then roll the two dice and see what happened to that leadoff batter.  End of lesson).

Oh, this is an APBA card:

For me that night, I was playing a game between Boston and St. Louis.  Boston completed a series with the Cincinnati Reds just earlier that afternoon, (Another quick lesson.  The player cards come in manilla envelope that identify the team and league like this:                                              

).

I hope you see the cover in upper right.  The team is the Dodgers, but APBA figured if you'll fork over 40 bucks for the game and cards, why should they slow the cash flow by re-signing up with Major League Baseball to put authentic names to leagues, teams and in a few cases the players. OK, 'nuff said.)

As I sat there at the kitchen  table around six PM Sunday, prepping for the Boston/cardinals when the table seem to bubble and the player cards of the Reds/Cardinals/Braves seemed to slip into the wrong envelope, moving away from my hand as if my selection of him for shortstop for the Cardinals was the wrong one (it was.  That guy's a catcher). But the cards were still moving from hand to cover to lineups,  and then the little brown things came around to help move the cards faster.

Decision time for moi.  Am I actually asleep here? And this quick move to dream session normal?  I had no sense of moving my body but my wife only sitting about 10 feet away just saw me looking at the cards, and not seeing the war raging between the Reds and Cardinals across our kitchen table.  Baseball blood!

So that was my "high".  The part of me that still thinks I am fine told me just to breathe and relax. And, much to my amazement, the pot images went away.  I just sat there.  Breathed. The third pill was fading out.  The cards arrived at their appropriate sleeve and all was right.

And that was probably the first/ last time with Three-fer-me.  The pills (THC) do help in the middle of the day when I am starting to take a nap, spazz out,  and see if anyone noticed.  Since it is only Jackie here it would be thumbs up or down by the Empress and a very concerned look at her husband.  Nah, keep this one close.  Just one every 8 -12 hrs.

I was too boring as a kid to know much about drugs, except Excedrine, Kaopectate, Pepto Bismol, pimple purging pills and the clear Avon products my mother bought me.  I did see more of marijuana in college, and stayed away from it.  Why? because I am letting someone/thing take over.  And that is not allowed.  By the way, all the pot brain girls needed a ride home...And I just happen to be sober and have the Mystery Matador:

I did OK. And with the help from the support crew, I will not prevail, but I'll make it as nasty as I can for MS, like put it into the back of that Matador and drive cross country with my family. Car parts will render themselves useless, unless you need air for a flat.  That's why they made Stewart's shops for. And ice cream.  Hey how bout this - Ice Cream Brain Freeze and the three pills? Then look at the baseball cards.

Cherry Garcia bats leadoff...

I ain't got no pot to ...

Buzz......Buzz.....Buzz  ** Click.

"Free Marijuana for sick people. Can I help you get sump'n?"

Uh, yeah um I'm Tom Martin and I was told that I need to speak with you folks to -

"Yeah, yeah, Everybody's needy, my friend.  Who set you up?"

That would be my Psychiatrist, Doctor U* and he -

"Wait, wait man.  Your psychiatrist wants is Doctor Who?"

No, no.  Not The Doctor. MY doctor is U******.  He's local.

"He ain't got a Tardis, huh?"

Right. No timelords need apply.  But I did hope to find out what I need to do get marijuana.

"Wait, how old are you?"

I'm, uhhhhh, 60 ish."

Silence.

Still there, sir? I asked.

"Sorry, man. I can't believe a guy that old has now idea how to find weed, at some point.  Now just for me to be sure, if you're 60, you must have gone through the 1970s, right.  Plenty around as I recall, or rather I have been informed, if you get my meaning.  You must have been in high school or college.  There must have a buddy who could have set you up."

There was.  I just never went to his setup.  Look, I'm supposed to be interviewed for the program, so maybe we could...

"Guess what? This is the interview.  So far you're old and confused and have been since Nixon was in town.  No wonder Doctor Who wanted you prepped.  Now next do you need instruction in assembling a doobie?

Look, I've got MS and whatever goes in the paper will fall right back in to the can.  I'm using pills for it.

"Well, that ain't much fun.  You see, you shoulda started years back, I'm telling you. You would had have an occupation or a hobby in the nursing home - 

I live in a age 55 plus condo, please.  

"Yeah? tell me how many pills they got you on? All your doctors."

I think its about 15 or so.

"Fifteen? Dude, I want some of that.  I'm a missing a moment here."

Come on.

"No, man you got a nice apartment  that's 55 year old, and you've got yourself 15 scrips? Food? Cable? Heat? You're fine, fella.  I want the names of your doctors."

So you can get some of what I'm on? Nope. You don't want it.  But really you should have all the paperwork, anyway. I had it faxed over.

"Wait a minute.  Lemme see  Lemme see. Nope.  Your name was what?  Oh, yeah.  Nope sorry.  The doctors who gave you so many pills were too busy giving out even more happy pills to other sad songs like you."

Some people need them, sir.

"Sorry, man.  Look you're gonna have to do this yourself, at least, to start.  We are only as good as the information we have, and we got none on you except your name, you live in an old folks home and you're drugged up your whazoo.  You gotta hit the streets, my man, and don't let the streets hit cha back.  Little joke there.  Get me stuff and then I can set you up with stuff."

Stay with me as the hunt continues....

OK, I'm 60 years old and now(!) I get to experience medical marijuana. I have a sudden weird need to wear bell bottom jeans, put on a pastel shirt, let my hair grow, and groove out to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. I wish I had hair to grow....

Sorry, Little Buddy.  Should've tried that pot the Professor snuck on the S.S. Minnow to try on Ginger and Mary Ann.

I don't have to roll my own. I would not know how to roll anything except maybe dough, and that poorly.  Try and keep teeny weeny seeds on a small cut of paper when your hand shakes just a little 

And while I'm at it, why are pills round? What's wrong with ovals? My oval pill does not try to flee.  Gel caps try incessantly to get away and some times can for a while, hiding under the couch.  What's wrong with a trapezoid? See that triangle pill? No problems.  But even as they are placed onto my tongue, they never stop trying to flip[ out, leaving their nasty taste so I have to use two full glasses of water to get them down, which goes into my kidneys and that's a whole other column.

I mean take a look at the picture.  The pills are grouped by time I take them.  The pills on the white square are breakfast pills.  The ones on the left are lunch pills, the four below nighttime.  There's also Clonzepam in its nice sealed square packet, which merely temps you into thinking "well, I can get this ready to pop into my mouth ".  The pill emerges as you tear open the packet and immediately seeks freedom away from where it is supposed to be - my mouth. And the search is on - where on the beige shag carpet could it be hiding?

For the last ten days or so, I've been without a number of these pills due to a payment screw up between Medicare and Blue Cross insurance.  I may be the culprit as I still try to master computers as if I still know what I'm doing.  OK, I can luck out and do Class AAA job, but I've sort of become  a B minus guy.  I get the basics, and maybe that's all now.

The loss of the pills made my body twitch more and more, instead of the minor blips of even a week before.  That and my temper was resurrected from its grave.  Sleep was just nightmares, and only quietly screaming about not going to bed, but the body and mind tired of whatever I did thought and in I'd go and my personal Twilight Zone would begin.

So medical marijuana joins the group.  I shall keep you up do date.

And oddly enough, the first song that came on my iPod when I was taking my shower was "Got to get you into My Life", Sir Paul McCartney's song about pot.

"Say we'll be together every day

Got to get you into my life."