My first diary entry *looks around nervously*

I have to admit that I'm more than a little nervous about making my first entry in this diary. Usually when I make journal entries, I'm only writing for myself. However, I do feel that these diaries provide an important service for other people dealing with PH. They give other people the opportunity to see that they are not alone, and they may be encouraged or comforted by seeing what others have gone through, or how they coped with their experiences. Others may even learn of new treatments, or ways of dealing with problems. Also, these diaries may create new friendships as people contact others that they feel a connection with from having read the entries. All these things make these diaries very important, but that doesn't really alleviate the nervousness that I'm feeling right now. I'll ask you right now to forgive me if I ramble on at length.

Well, I guess the best place to start is to say that I'm a 53-year old woman living in the state of Oregon, in the United States. I guess you could say I have a double disability, since I am already on disability because I have RSD (Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy) in my right arm. This condition causes chronic pain and I have not been able to work since 2001. I've had three surgeries on my arm, but they have not helped the condition. Now I have Idiopathic Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension, commonly known as Primary Pulmonary Hypertension. I was diagnosed with PPH on April 4, 2006, and am just beginning the long road of treatment.

In a way, I consider all of this very funny, since I think of myself as being a healthy person. I rarely get colds, flu, or any of the other normal illnesses that seem to plague humanity. My family and friends laugh at me when I say that, and point out that I've been in the hospital thirteen times and have had nine surgeries. Yes, that is all true, I have to admit, but look at me! I look fine, and I'm as active as any other computer potato (I don't own a couch, and I spend 10-12 hours a day in front of my computer). Granted, between the kinesthesia (sense of bodily position) I lost in my right hand and the pain medications I have to take for the RSD, my typing speed has dropped to a crawl, and frequently I just can't do anything but sit in my recliner because the pain is just too much. Not to mention that the pain medications also have messed with my short-term memory and ability to focus, which made doing my old job impossible. But I don't have the problems of some of the other people I see, like my friend who has to use a scooter to get around. In fact, most people don't even know that I'm disabled because RSD is one of those 'invisible' conditions. In fact, I think it's strangely ironic that I now have two 'invisible' conditions, since my PH doesn't have any obvious physical signs, either. Although you would think that people would notice the portable oxygen tank I carry around with me. *sigh*

Anyway, I'm rambling here. I first noticed that something was wrong on June 4, 2005. That was the day they held the annual parade for the Gay '90s (that's '90s as in 1890s) weekend. It was the first time that I had participated in the parade. I am a member of a Red Hats chapter, called 'My Fair Ladies of Fairview,' and we had joined with two other chapters to make a float. I walked alongside the float and passed out colorful beaded necklaces to the kids that lined the street. Even though the parade progressed at a comfortable walking pace, I found myself becoming more and more out of breath. I wasn't happy about it, but thought it was just because I was out of shape. Knowing what I know now, I'll bet there are lots of doctors out there who specialize in PH that cringe every time they hear that phrase. *laughs* Anyway, I tried to increase my exercise levels, but it was very difficult and caused me to become so breathless that sometimes I wasn't sure I'd make it home. You'd think that that would have made me go to my doctor, but no, I'm nothing if not stubborn. I tried to continue exercising, although it was sporadic at best. Let's face it, I hate exercise. I've always hated exercise. Although there was a period when I took advantage of my employer's (Humboldt State University) generous offer to participate in an Employee Wellness program, where employees were allowed to use the University's full-service gym. I worked out in the gym for a year and got into pretty good shape. However, when I could no longer work and went on disability, I went back to my old habits and soon had the muscle tone of an amoeba. Was it any wonder that I assumed that my breathlessness was due to simply being out of shape? After all, here I was, a typical middle-aged overweight woman who hates to exercise. I've always believed in using Ockham's Razor when it came to making choices and being out of shape seemed to be the simplest explanation for my condition.

Every time I would get out and take a walk, I would get incredibly breathless. This merely reinforced my belief in how out of shape I was. Sometimes I think I could qualify as the living definition of 'stubborn.' By October 2005 I was beginning to become worried. I was getting breathless more and more often, and when doing less strenuous activities, too. However, I had recently been diagnosed with major gall stones in my gallbladder and was scheduled to have surgery to remove my gallbladder on November 9, 2005. At the end of October I did tell my doctor that I was becoming breathless frequently. He listened to my heart for ten seconds (I'm not exaggerating) and told me I didn't have a heart murmur, which I could have told him. But I was worried about the upcoming gallbladder surgery and didn't press the issue, which turns out was a big mistake. Isn't hindsight wonderful?

The surgery went fine, but I kept getting more and more breathless. It's sort of funny, but I measured the progression of my condition (although I didn't think of it as a condition at the time) by my trips to Wal-Mart. Yes, you read right. Wal-Mart. I hate to shop at Wal-Mart, but, being frugal and on a fixed income, I can't resist the fact that I save a lot of money there. So I shop once a month at Wal-Mart. I didn't have any problems in October. November doesn't count, because I was recovering from my surgery, so I was moving pretty slow. December I noticed that I got pretty tired and I became breathless several times during the shopping trip. January I became extremely breathless and had to stop to rest several times. In February I had trouble pushing the cart and had to ask for help unloading my cart at the check-out stand, as well as having to ask for help with pushing the two carts out to my car. I was totally humiliated by this. I was so breathless I had to stop and lean against the wall several times. I think my panting for breath scared the poor guy who was helping me. He probably thought I was having a heart attack. He was very thoughtful and told me that he would take care of everything and that I should go sit down in my car when we got there. You know you have a problem when you have to tell someone that you have to rest before you can go sit down! That's exactly what I had to do, because I just didn't have enough breath to walk the few feet to get into my car.

I had an appointment on February 24, 2006, to see my doctor to get my annual prescriptions to send to my mail-order pharmacy. I decided I would definitely talk to him about what was going on. My appointment was at 10:00 am, and there was a big sign on the front door saying that the office would be closing at noon that day. Well, I sat in one of the little examining rooms until 11:55 am (I know because I kept checking my watch) before my doctor rushed in. He hardly said ten words to me, but immediately began filling out prescriptions. He was in such a hurry I just couldn't bring the subject up. After all, the purpose of the appointment was to get prescription refills. He hadn't been expecting anything else and I felt it wasn't fair to extend the appointment because of something new. I left feeling pretty unhappy, but decided I would make another appointment as soon as I could.

My heart-sister, Suzie (we're not related, but she's the sister I never had), and I went to California two days later on Sunday, February 26, to attend my daughter's baby shower. While we were there, we visited my husband, Doug (We've been married 24 years, but we've been separated for the last 3 years. We're still friends, though.), at the rehab facility he was in. He had had a stroke and this was the first time I could get down to see him. I hadn't told anybody about my breathlessness and worked very hard to act normally while I was there because I didn't want anyone to worry. I felt that everyone had enough problems without my adding to them. For the most part I was successful. I was embarrassed to discover that Doug could now walk faster than me. Fortunately, there were paintings on the walls of the facility and I stopped at every other one to catch my breath. Unfortunately, my daughter, Lee-Anne, noticed how breathless I was during her baby shower and asked me if everything was okay. I just laughed and passed it off as being tired, which was true, but not the whole truth. I had been feeling more and more tired as time went by, but that wasn't why I was breathless. I managed to make it through the visit, but it was hard, especially when I had to climb the stairs to get to my daughter's second story apartment. We had to return home the next day, and arrived at 4:45 pm, just in time for me to call my doctor for an appointment. However, when I walked through the door, I saw my answering machine light was blinking. It was a message from Lee-Anne saying that her obstetrician was inducing labor (over two weeks early!) and she wanted me to come back. Of course, any thoughts of calling my doctor flew out of my head. I called her at the hospital to tell her that I was too tired to turn around and make the four and a half hour trip that night, but I would leave early the next morning. Lee-Anne said she understood, but I felt really bad.

Of course, little Carter arrived before I could get there. He was such a lovely little newborn, with a mass of dark, curly hair (his mother was born nearly bald). When I had to stop outside of Lee-Anne's hospital room for several minutes to catch my breath before I went in to see her, I knew that I had no choice but to make that appointment with my doctor as soon as possible. In fact, I called my doctor's office that day, using the phone in Lee-Anne's room. The receptionist told me that my doctor would be out of the office for two weeks, but she could get me in to see the doctor that was covering for him. She tried to set up an appointment the next day, but I had arranged to spend the week in California, so I had to make the appointment for the following week.

Let me tell you, that was the hardest week of my life! At home I had been able to rest whenever I needed to and I hadn't realized just how much of a problem my breathlessness and exhaustion had become. Not only was I trying to help my daughter, but my husband was released from the rehab facility he had been in and I wound up spending half of the week getting him settled in at home. Lee-Anne was so generous, telling me that she had lots of help and that Doug (her stepfather) needed me more. I cannot tell you how much I appreciated her understanding. It was getting harder and harder to hide my breathlessness from them and I nearly collapsed several times. By this time, I was becoming really scared. I was so happy to see both my daughter and my husband come home, but I just couldn't wait to see the doctor. The exhaustion continued to get worse, since I couldn't sleep well.

I went home on Saturday and slept for nearly fourteen hours. I rested on Sunday and by Monday was feeling a bit better. Dr. Pasternak was immediately concerned and asked me a lot of questions and had me use a nebulizer for several minutes. He then had me walk down the hall while he watched. It seemed to help a little, but I wasn't sure how much. After ordering a chest x-ray and a battery of tests, he then scared the pants off me by looking me in the eye and very seriously asking me how I felt. Confused, I told him that I felt like I always felt these days. He said that he would trust that I was telling him the truth and wouldn't put me in the hospital if I thought I would be all right for a couple of days. HOSPITAL?! Why in the world would he want to put me in the hospital?! I couldn't be THAT sick, could I? After making me promise to take it VERY easy for the next two days, he made an appointment for me and I went home.

Needless to say, those two days lasted forever. I went to my appointment both eager to hear Dr. Pasternak's diagnosis and dreading it at the same time, if you know what I mean. He went over the test results with me very thoroughly. Apparently, Dr. Pasternak had suspected that I had congestive heart failure. One of the tests he had ordered was a test called a B-type Natriuretic Peptide test that measured a certain enzyme that is found in the blood. If the test results were 100 or less, then I did not have CHF. If the test results were 400+, then I definitely had CHF. My test result was 375, which indicated a problem. Fortunately, I had had a chest x-ray done just before my gallbladder surgery in November, so the Radiologist had a recent x-ray to compare the new one to. He reported that there were noticeable changes in my heart in just the past four months. When I expressed my admiration with his early diagnosis during my earlier appointment, Dr. Pasternak simply said that he was lucky that he had attended a seminar on CHF three weeks earlier and that he had simply been made more aware of the symptoms for CHF. He then put in a call to Dr. Hawn, the cardiologist who had run the seminar, and asked him some questions after giving him the test results. Dr. Hawn recommended that I get an echocardiogram and lung perfusion test. Dr. Pasternak arranged for me to have the lung scan on March 15^th and the echocardiogram on March 22^nd. He then set up an appointment with Dr. Hawn to go over the test results.

The tests were no problem, although it was frustrating for the echo technician to say that she understood why I was so breathless, but then not be able to tell me anything. *sigh* When I went to see Dr. Hawn, I was all prepared for a diagnosis of CHF. While not great, I know several people with CHF (including my husband), and know that it responds very well to treatment. However, I was shocked (to say the least) when Dr. Hawn told me that I didn't have CHF, I had PH, a life threatening condition. I think my brain fried a little, because I couldn't think of any of the important questions I should have asked him until a few days later. Dr. Hawn ordered another echocardiogram because the technician hadn't been thorough enough, in his opinion. This time he ordered that air bubbles be used to see if I had a hole in my heart, which surprised me. I thought that introducing air bubbles into the bloodstream was a bad thing - a very bad thing, as in it caused death bad thing. However, I was assured that yes, large air bubbles introduced into an artery were a very bad thing, but they were going to introduce micro-bubbles of air into one of my veins. It was fascinating to watch on the monitor. It was like watching a Jacuzzi get turned on when the micro-bubbles passed through my heart. Usually these bubbles are absorbed very quickly and disappear, but mine didn't. They kept passing through my heart every few seconds, and took a long time to finally disappear. Normally they repeat this test three times, but in my case the technician only did it twice because it took so long for the bubbles to clear out of my bloodstream. The second echocardiogram clearly showed that I did, indeed, have a hole in my heart. It was between the two atria (upper chambers of the heart) to be precise. The echocardiograms indicated that the pressure in the right side of my heart was 100. At that point, I hadn't been aware that the heart has two different pressures: one for the left side of the heart, and one for the right.

To put it mildly, I was in shock and was having a hard time keeping up with all the information that was being thrown at me. New terms, more tests, treatment options, prognosis. All in all, I think I sat there looking like an idiot. Dr. Hawn explained the difference between PPH and SPH, and told me that it would take more tests to determine which I had. Being who I am, I had to ask him just what the worst case scenario was. He said that if I had PPH and didn't respond to the treatments, I would die within 3-5 years. THAT gave me something to think about, even though he went on to assure me that he assumed that I would respond to at least some degree to the treatments and that I should expect to live much longer than that.

Dr. Hawn wanted to do a right heart catheterization, but wanted to use a newer drug called nitric oxide (which, depending on my reaction, might indicate how well I might respond to certain drugs) during the heart cath, which the hospital didn't even have yet. He said he would set it up as soon as possible.

I went home very confused and got on my computer. I am a research fanatic and absolutely love the sheer volume of information that is available online. I spent the following days learning everything I could about this mystifying condition I had.

I got the call the following week, and was in the hospital at 6:00 am on Thursday, March 30, 2006. It was to be a busy day for me. The right heart cath was to be done at 6:30 am and I was scheduled for a trans esophogeal echocardiogram (TEE) for that afternoon and a myriad of blood tests. The right heart catheterization went fine, although I didn't respond at all to the nitric oxide.

There was a bit of excitement later that morning after I had been lying still for three hours or so, recovering from the catheterization. My heart-sister, Suzie, was with me and was concerned about whether or not I would be released that day. We live three and a half hours away from Eugene, Oregon, where Dr. Hawn's office and the hospital was, and Suzie didn't feel comfortable trying to drive home after everything that was scheduled to happen that day. She and her husband had reserved a motel room, just in case I was kept overnight at the hospital. While the nurse was helping me to sit up, in preparation for standing, she asked the nurse about whether it would be all right for me to spend the night at the motel, and the nurse said that shouldn't be a problem. If I started bleeding, then she should apply direct pressure to the site. Suzie nervously asked what direct pressure was just as I stood up. Before the nurse could answer Suzie, I felt warmth trickling down my leg and said, "I'm leaking." The nurse raised my hospital gown, saw blood running down my leg, and said, "THIS is direct pressure." She had me lay down again, grabbed a towel, placed it over the site, and began leaning - hard - on it. She then called for assistance. I thought poor Suzie was going to faint. Fortunately, my femoral artery hadn't sprung a leak, it was just a pocket of blood that had burst open, so it wasn't a problem. But Suzie didn't want me to leave the hospital until it was absolutely certain that I was okay.

I saw Dr. Ameen a little later that day. He is a pulmonologist who specializes in PH. I found out later that he has been involved with PH since 1985. He talked with me about PH and told me that he was going to order more blood tests and a series of respiratory function tests. His office would arrange for an appointment to go over the test results the following week. I liked Dr. Ameen immediately. I like his straightforward manner. While he has a positive attitude, he does not hesitate to discuss all aspects of this disease and I appreciate that.

Since I was scheduled for the TEE early that afternoon, I hadn't been able to eat since 11:00 pm the night before. The TEE was delayed and didn't happen until nearly 3:00 pm. By the time the amnesiac medication wore off, it was time for my respiratory function tests. While they weren't painful, I didn't enjoy them at all. It was difficult to breathe and I felt like I was suffocating much of the time.

It was nearly 6:30 pm by the time I was back in my room and I was in trouble. I normally eat on a regular schedule because I have problems with my blood sugar levels. I'm not diabetic - yet, cross your fingers - but it runs in my family. In fact, I'm the only one I know of who doesn't have diabetes. Anyway, I had been feeling somewhat shocky (lightheaded, shaky, cold, somewhat nauseous) since the TEE, but hadn't been able to do anything about it. Dr. Hawn decided to keep me in the hospital overnight, which relieved Suzie no end. I'm sure she was afraid that something might happen to me at the motel. I felt much better the next day and was released, after Dr. Hawn ordered that I be put on oxygen, 24/7. An appointment with Dr. Ameen was arranged for the following Tuesday and I went home to stew about what I learned.

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Early Morning Musings

It's 1:33 am and here I am sitting in front of my computer, instead of sleeping like I should be. I went to bed almost four hours ago because I have to get up early to go to church. Sunday is usually the only day I have to get up early, unless I'm unlucky about one of my doctor appointments. I was so tired this evening that I could barely function, so I thought I'd be able to go to sleep right away, but no such luck. After laying there for nearly two hours, I finally got up and came out to the living room.

Automatically, I turned my computer on. It's funny, my 'career,' if you want to call it that, was being a secretary. And I spent about thirty years working in offices, typing and doing all the usual clerical stuff. Times change, and the typewriter was slowly relegated to the sidelines as the computer took over. For the last thirteen years of my career, I spent the majority of my time using a computer. You'd think that the last thing I would want to do when I got home would be to use a computer. I couldn't wait to turn on my computer at home, 'cause that's when I could start having fun. I used to be a very good typist. I was timed at 150 words per minute, using a computerized timed typing test. Big deal. So I could type fast when I was in a quiet room, with no interruptions, and reading a printed document. Yeah, like that happened a lot in any of the offices I ever worked at. *grins* See how fast you can type when you're balancing a telephone on your shoulder, answering a prospective student's questions about the university. You no sooner hang up the phone and have refocused on the nearly illegible notes one of the professors have given you to type up, when your boss comes in and tosses a report on your desk to be filed, and then a student walks in asking where the nearest bathroom is. Oh, yeah. I typed 150 words per minute all the time. *snickers* After I got RSD and lost some of the kinesthesia in my right hand, my typing speed dropped to a crawl. *sigh* Oh, well. Now that I'm on disability, I spend between 10-12 hours a day in front of my computer. And I've never been happier.

I just looked back at the last paragraph and wondered where THAT came from. I guess right now I'm sort of writing on automatic pilot. What was the point I was trying to get to? Oh, yeah. Why I turned on my computer, instead of watching one of my anime DVDs. Well, this has not been a particularly bad day, but I have had a number of questions, concerns, worries, you name them, floating around in my head ever since I saw Dr. Ameen on May 1^st. I spent two hours in bed tonight trying to turn off my mind. I tried daydreaming. Didn't work. I tried thinking of nothing. *snorts* THAT certainly didn't work. I became desperate enough to risk singing a song in my head, knowing full well that I might be stuck with it for the better part of a week. *shakes head* You can figure out how well that worked. I'm still wide awake, worrying. But at least I've got background music now. *rolls eyes* It's sooo much fun feeling exhausted when you're wired to the max.

I turned on my faithful computer to see if I could distract myself and found myself here, writing down the random thoughts that are running through my head. Now keep in mind I promised myself to keep these diary entries relevant to PH. And I'm wondering why I'm even making this entry. I think I need to release some of my anxiety and I don't want to bother anyone at this ungodly hour of the night. Before you begin to wonder, don't worry, there are several people I could call right now who would be more than happy to listen to my concerns and fears. I know that and it is very reassuring to know that they are there. But now isn't the time to call them. These worries of mine are too minor to disturb others with. So I will set them down in cyber-writing in the hopes that this will ease the pressure I feel. What are these concerns I keep mentioning? Well, let me try to explain.

Dr. Ameen is very concerned about my condition and is considering putting me on Flolan. I don't understand his concern. I'm not THAT sick. Many of the people who have posted messages on the PHCentral WebBoard are suffering many more symptoms than I am. So why is Dr. Ameen so worried? Sure, I am tired all the time. I have no stamina. Many times, like right now, I feel like I'm wrapped up in cotton wool. I feel like I've been awake for 24-36 hours, and I haven't even been awake fourteen hours yet! And before you ask, yes, I know what it feels like to be awake for 36 hours. I've done it many times. In fact, my record for staying awake is 62 hours, although I didn't stay awake those last 24 hours by choice, let me tell you. Anyway, I'm rambling here and I know it. I'm sorry. I'll try to stay on track.

So I'm tired all the time. That's nothing. As far as I can tell, so is every other PH patient I've heard of. That shouldn't be anything unusual. Yes, I get breathless very easily, even though I'm on 4 liters of oxygen. So what. There are many people at PHCentral who are on much higher levels of oxygen than me, and they're not on Flolan. True, I frequently get lightheaded and dizzy. But, again I will point out that that is nothing out of the ordinary for PH patients. It seems to me that I haven't been on Tracleer long enough to be able to judge its effectiveness yet. I keep looking for a noticeable improvement, but I don't feel any different now than I did a month ago. I know that Tracleer can take twelve weeks, or longer, to take effect, but how will I know when it kicks in?

Dr. Ameen was particularly worried by the fact that my INRs weren't anywhere near where he wants them, and we haven't been able to bring my water weight under control, either. But I had only been under treatment for a month when I last saw Dr. Ameen. After a serious talk with my PCP last week to let him know how important it is to bring my INRs up to where Dr. Ameen wants them, I think he might finally have begun to realize how serious my situation is. It's about time. I think that my PCP was just not treating my condition aggressively enough. Sure, I understand that fine tuning my INR is difficult because it is easy to overshoot and wind up over 3. But at the time my PCP gave me that lecture, my INR was at 1.2! We were a LONG way from fine tuning! Come on! Let's get serious here, folks! Of course, he did tell me to find another doctor after admitting that perhaps he wasn't the right doctor for me to be seeing. At least he agreed to continue monitoring my INRs until I could find another doctor. How gracious of him, especially since legally he doesn't have a choice. *shakes head* After he increased my daily dosage of Coumadin, this week's INR was at 1.8. Finally, I think we're getting somewhere.

As for my water weight, even though Dr. Ameen doubled my Lasix and added Spironolactone, I don't see much difference. All I can hope for is that I will have made enough improvement this month to not have to go on Flolan. Every day I worry about going on Flolan. I really don't want to. I've read the patient reports that tell about what a difference Flolan has made in their lives. How it is a miracle drug. I've also read the patient reports that talk about the side effects, the pain, the infections, the hospitalizations. And I don't want to go there. I understand that I probably will have to face it at some point, but I don't want to this soon. I'm not ready.

When I'm not obsessing over whether or not Dr. Ameen will put me on Flolan next month, I'm worrying about all the comments I've read from PH patients describing the mental side effects of PH: memory loss, confusion, etc. This worries me greatly because I'd already noticed that I was having difficulty remembering things. My hobby is writing fan fiction. While very rewarding and challenging, it is also frequently frustrating, too. I compare writing to trying to sculpt a statue using words, and finding exactly the right word to describe a particular scene or person is extremely important. For me, I want every word in a sentence to have meaning. It must either add to, or intensify, whatever I am describing. Just the thought of losing my ability to write effectively is completely horrifying to me. Aren't the inherent problems that PH causes enough? Isn't the fact that this is a terminal condition enough? Now it is robbing me of my MIND? Of my ability to think clearly, to recall things, to remember the right words I want to use in a sentence? Perhaps I am overreacting. There are a number of diseases and conditions that rob their sufferers of their minds. Many of them do so very gradually, leaving the victim (and yes, that is the word I want) unaware of their loss. Other conditions are not so kind, and apparently PH is one of those.

I can practically hear you saying, "Writing is just your hobby. Why are you getting so upset? If you were making a living from it, I could understand your concern. But it's only a hobby!" Well, without going into all the sordid - oh, all right, they're not all that sordid, but it sounded better than boring - details, the last three years have been the best of my life. I've been able to be myself for once, and it has been absolutely wonderful. Among other things, I discovered that I enjoy writing. I started by just simply writing for myself and wound up being talked into posting my silly little fan fiction stories on the internet. Trust me, there is a world of difference between writing a term paper for school, or a business letter, and writing fiction. I am an avid reader, and have been since I was four years old, but I never even considered trying to write. It came as a complete surprise that I truly enjoy crafting images with words. Just the thought of being unable to write the way I want to, leaves me both grief-stricken and furious at the same time. Does it make sense? No. But who says it has to? Suffice it to say that I am rather upset by the prospect, and leave it at that.

So those are a couple of the reasons why I've stayed up later tonight that I have in at least two months. That's another thing that has been bothering me. I used to be a night owl. I normally stayed up until 3:00 - 4:00 am, and frequently much later. I enjoy the quiet of the night and used to write some of my best scenes early in the morning. But as I became more and more tired, I began to go to bed earlier and earlier. I rarely stay up late now and I really miss that.

I must admit that I do feel sleepier than I did an hour ago, so maybe there is something to be said for the catharsis of setting your problems down in writing. I'm sorry if this entry seems trivial or out of place. I truly had intended to continue where my first diary entry left off and bring everything up to date. I guess that will have to wait until the next entry. It is now 4:30 am and I'm wondering if I'll be able to get up in time to go to church. *sigh* What? You're surprised that it took me three hours to write this? Heck, that's something of a speed record for me. I'm not a fast writer. If I can write a page in a day, I'm doing good. Oh, well, I think I'll wander off now and see if I can get some sleep. Take care and Happy Mother's Day!

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Just A Note

Just a brief explanation of a couple of things that I've mentioned in my previous entries. My hobby is writing fan fiction. Fan fiction is a story, which can range from a single chapter short story - sometimes called a one-shot - to a full-length novel, written by a person who is a fan of a particular genre, whether it be a published novel, movie, tv show, sport, or other category. I personally write about a Japanese anime series called Rurouni Kenshin and my stories are posted at fanfiction.net, possibly the largest website on the Net that posts fan fiction. You could say that anime is merely Japanese cartoons. But there is quite a bit of difference between what we normally consider to be cartoons (Bugs Bunny, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, Batman, etc) and anime. Cartoons tend to have simple plots and happy endings. Anime generally are just the opposite. Cartoons and anime are considered two different categories in fan fiction.

Fan fiction can be published. In fact, many of our favorite authors have published anthologies of short stories written by people about one of that author's books or series. Mercedes Lackey, Andre Norton, and Marian Zimmer Bradley (to name just a few) have done this. However, fan fiction that is posted on the internet is not authorized by the creator of that genre. Basically, this is copyright infringement and the creator has the right to sue people who do so. However, most of the time fan fiction is ignored because no one is making any money from the stories. They are being written simply for pleasure.

I must say that I do not approve of copyright infringement, but in my case, as far as I know, the creator of the anime series I write about has not authorized any fiction written about his manga (Japanese comic book), Rurouni Kenshin. Not only that, even if I were to write a book about Rurouni Kenshin that I considered good enough to try to publish (Yeah, right, like that would happen! *snicker, snort, guffaw*), I would have to contact Watsuke Nobuhiro (the creator) and get his permission. Then I would have to contact Shonen Jump (the Japanese manga magazine, and VIZ (the company that published the anime DVDs and the English-translation manga), as well as several other companies for their permission. This would wind up being a multi-nation (United States and Japan) contract that would require the services of an experienced attorney. You get the picture. It's not going to happen. I have neither the money, nor the inclination - much less the talent - to try to do something like that. I love to write and do so simply for the pleasure, but I know that my stories are nowhere near good enough to even consider being published. I write for myself, not for other people. If they enjoy my stories, that's fine. But whether or not they like them is irrelevant. Sure, positive comments are fun, but they are not the reason I write. People usually write fan fiction for fun, and you will find stories written at every level of ability and by people of every age, including young children and old codgers like me. *grins*

I hope that this clears up some of the confusion I've caused. I will try to explain myself more clearly in the future. Thank you Marcine, Cheryl, and Mia, for taking the time to leave a comment! Happy Mother's Day!

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Good News!

I just got back from my PCP's office with good news and just had to jump in here and make a note. My INR was 2.6 today! I'm so thrilled, I could dance around the room. That's not an option, unfortunately, so I'll just create a giddy entry in my diary and leave it at that. Ever since Dr. Ameen gave me the diagnosis that I have PPH on April 4th, he's been trying to get my INRs to fall within 2.4 - 3.0. It has taken seven weeks, but I'm finally there!  Dr. Ameen has been very concerned about getting control of my INR, and I'm thrilled that we seem to finally have achieved that much-desired goal. Now, if we can get my water weight under control, and if I respond well to the Tracleer, everything will be much better. I see Dr. Ameen on June 1st, so wish me luck. Wait a minute. June 1st? Is it possible that it's almost June? No way! Valentine's Day was just last month! Or was it the month before? *wanders off muttering to self and looking at a calendar dubiously*

Favorite t-shirt saying:  The voices in my head don't like you.

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