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When Ninjas Attack

December 9, 2012

I just returned from a wonderful week’s holiday in Las Vegas.  I am not much for gambling or drinking or shopping, but I absolutely love Las Vegas.  It is probably because everything is so big and shiny and fun and glamorous, unlike the rest of my life.   We walked miles and miles every day, if only to make us feel less guilty about all of the amazing restaurants we sampled (Max Brenner’s at Caesar’s, Zine at The Palazzo, Holstein’s Shakes and Buns at The Cosmopolitan…).

My husband and I have not been in the same time zone much since my diagnosis.  We got to spend some time together just talking and figuring out this new adventure.

Eating is a challenge for me.  My pain medication, if taken at night, keeps me awake.  If taken in the morning, it kills my appetite for the whole day.  Sadly, my other medications need to be taken multiple times a day with food.  In Las Vegas, we found fun and interesting foods that made me willing to eat often enough to take my medications.  Who knew that this pudgy gal would come to dread mealtimes?  “I have to eat again, already?”

My disease makes my joints hurt all of the time.  The pain medications help with my joints, but my ribs are special.  Those pains come out of nowhere and the drugs do not seem to help that at all.  One day in Las Vegas, the rib pain nearly took me off my feet.  It was bad Bad BAD. I tried to remember back a few decades to the Lamaze breathing techniques I learned for childbirth.  They did not help much for contractions, and they did not help much for the rib pain either.  I felt sorry for my husband, because there was absolutely nothing he could do to help me.  That is not a fun position for anyone.

I tried to describe what the rib pain was like and I came up with the visual of a ninja.  It feels like I am walking along minding my own business when suddenly, out of nowhere, an unseen ninja stabs me in the ribs with his sword and then disappears.  That one day in Las Vegas, I was being followed by a group of insidious ninjas who attacked me throughout the day.  If my husband saw me pause and draw a deep breath, he would ask, “Ninjas again?”

Our family, like many, has family jokes that the world does not understand.  Ninjas are now one of them.  We are dreaming of “Ninjas Must Die!” Tshirts, as well as “Death to all Ninjas!” shirts.  Do you remember the “Bop-a-Mole” arcade game?  I want a “Bop-a-Ninja” game.  How about a Ninja dartboard so I can give back a little?

Today I am back at home, and it is an “ouchy” day.  I am dreaming up methods of revenge against the invisible enemy.  Maybe a Ninja voodoo doll?

(My apologies to any ninjas who might read this blog.)

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