Some of my disabilities may be self-inflicted

We have been having some issues with one of the twins in the loo-department. The poor kid just hates to go, and will hold it so long that her innards will suddenly force their way out, resulting in us now shopping for children's underwear at Costco as the aftermath is a hazmat experience not worth trying to salvage.

We've tried everything. We read books with her about pooping. We made a big deal about how fun it was. We gave her laxatives (omg. Never, ever again. Ever.). So now we're on this kick of toilet-yoga and ensuring that the bathroom is a calm, relaxed place in which she can chill out and take her time.

So we told her to go into the loo, take her time and just relax in there - bring the iPad.

"Really? I can bring the iPad in there?"

"Sure you can. Just don't drop it in."

She was still a bit dubious, so we started 'modeling'. Apparently this is some sort of intentional parenting technique that trumps common sense (really?) in which you just do the things that you want your kids to do. Alriiiiiiight.... fine. Okay.

So on a recent trip to the loo I was sure to announce loudly to the family that I was going to the loo, I was going to relax and take my time and I was going to bring the iPad with me, as weird as announcing that felt. It doesn't matter, I was intentionally parenting.

I'm probably going to get a medal for this at some point, surely. 

Now, I'm normally a stickler for what is in our bathroom. Bathrooms in Britain are very different from North American bathrooms - not all are like ours but this is the THIRD house we've lived in here with a bathroom that is divided like this.

One room houses the toilet, while another, much nicer room, holds the sink, bathtub, shower, cabinets, mirrors, shelves, window, etc. You know... a proper bathroom.

Forgive Lochie's expression, she was rather 'put off' by the last person that had used it when this picture was taken. But this is our bathroom.

As our 'toilet closet' is so ridiculously small I don't like having reading material left in there, because I would essentially need to be either resting my feet on it or holding it in my lap throughout what should be a quick experience. But, I'm 'modeling' for the twins, so brought the iPad in there with me. 

Well, while I'm in here I may as well play a level in my game. And then another one. Maybe one more. Okay, this is definitely the last one.

By the time I'd realized how long I'd been in there and I put the iPad down and to the side, I also noticed that my legs felt a bit... funny. My feet were extremely cold and... an- and I couldn't feel them. Oh my God, no. No no no no no. My thighs were bright red and tingly, and I felt nothing at all from the waist down. 

Oh no. No no no no no. I had dead leg in BOTH legs.

This was NOT good. 

Okay. Okay. I had to get up. I couldn't sit here forever, I had things to do and the only way to get rid of dead-leg was to move it around and walk it off, right? 

I started massaging my legs. It didn't seem to matter as I still couldn't feel anything in them. I chastised myself, this was all probably just in my head. If I just tell my body to stand up it will, just as it has done countless times before. I'll just do that. 

^^^That did not happen. The only thing that happened was this:

Alright. Enough of this, I had to get out of there. I just needed to stand up, finish the task at hand and walk out of here like a normal person - no big deal. 

I couldn't feel my feet but I planted them evenly on the floor. I gripped the wall on either side with my hands. I was going to just stand up using the wall for help. 

The first attempt resulted in a small bang and crash as I stood for a second, then careened back toward the loo, missing it completely and tearing the toilet roll holder off the wall. 

"Hun? Are you okay?" Came from downstairs. "I'm fine! Be right down!"

Okay- the situation was urgent now - I couldn't have him come up and find me like this. I just had to get out of here. 

The second attempt was partially successful. I counted to three and then heaved myself up off the loo and forward, my knees locked tight and standing fully erect on what I as hoping were my feet flat on the floor. I could have broken one just then and I still wouldn't have felt a thing. I fell forward and supported my weight with my face mashed against the door - another bang and loud assurances that I was fine. At least I was able to finish up and pull up my pants - at the very least I was now fully dressed.

I pushed away from the door and sat back onto the toilet seat, staring at the door and wondering if I would ever again see the light of day. This was impossible, I had visions of crawling out of the loo like a crab -

 

 to lie in the hall, defeated and shamed until feeling was restored in m useless legs.

Okay. OKAY. ENOUGH. I had to get out of here! I opened the door of the teeny toilet room - picking up each dead-leg in turn with both hands to move them out of the way of the door. I was so close. I was dressed, the door was open. The hall was RIGHT THERE. I just had to stand up. I did some quick leg exercises, swinging my knees to try to get some blood flow going. This triggered pins and needles - tickling me to the point that I cried out and laughed like a hyena, cackling madly from within the toilet-room. More shouts of "Are you SURE you are okay?" and i could barely answer through my laughing tears, let alone the sound of my legs slamming against the floor and walls.

OKAY. I was ready. I was limber. I was totally going to do this.

I was totally going to bust an ankle.

Alright, one more determined count to three, gripped the walls, feet flat on the floor (I think) and one and to and three and UP and I was standing! I was white-knuckling the door-frame with both hands and panting from the ordeal. But I was up! I was free! 

And then I took a step forward into the hallway.

Ah crap. this wasn't going to be over any time soon.

When I finally escaped the upstairs hallway and back to my family I had tears of determination and involuntary laughter pouring down my face as I approached them like this:

I handed the twins back the iPad and said "See? No big deal!"

But after the wild commotion upstairs and my bathroom-emergence drunk-walk I don't think they believed me.

I may have actually made it worse.

Well, back to Costco.

You don't stop a Lung Function Test for ANYTHING... (apparently)

You don't stop a Lung Function Test for ANYTHING... (apparently)

I'm not a religious person, but even I'm kind of thinking I need to go to church to make up for this one.

I'd been booked at two hospitals on the same day, so was in my typical rush of get the kids to school, take the tube to Charing Cross Hospital, see my neurologist for Narcolepsy treatment (as you do), get back on the tube and rush to my office, go to an unnerving Chinese bank with no signage, receipts or cameras for an errand, then back on the tube to rush to Hammersmith hospital for a lung function test.

So it wasn't a huge surprise when I arrived late, panting and sweating at the outpatient reception like I'd just run there (I had. It's about a mile).

Being kind and compassionate, the lung function team 'squeezed me in', even though I would need to do my testing alongside the next patient. I wasn't bothered, and expressed my gratitude, climbing in to 'the box' to start the test - wondering how they planned to fit another patient in there with me.

The test itself went fine, it just feels like you are continuously blowing up balloons, and then they cut off your air supply completely. Next time I'll just go with the regular balloons, thanks.

I heard a bit of a dramatic commotion down the hall near the blood draw room, but didn't think too much of it. I could see the room from where I sat waiting for the second part of my test, and heard the lung function staff giggle and say that their '4:00 must be here, I can hear him now.'

Huh? 

And then I saw the patient I would be doing the next part of my lung function test with  - a large, muscular guy in a bright orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, chained to a prison guard on either side of him.

I do not know how or why these things always seem to involve me. I just don't. Okay, fine. I'm sure that he's a nice guy and this is somehow perfectly normal. 

The guy had three sets of handcuffs on, kind of. I'd never seen it before. His hands were cuffed together in a mega-heavy-duty kind of handcuff that crossed his hands over top of each other - then a guard was cuffed to a link on each handcuff on either side. He was clearly not going to be escaping today.

We were then both fitted with an oxygen and heart-rate monitor on our wrists and fingers, and tasked with walking quick laps from one end of the hallway to the other and back as many times as we could in a 5 minute time frame. Despite all of the weirdness, my competitive streak kicked in and I asked the coordinator what the hospital record was. They didn't have one, apparently (yeah right they didn't have one). It didn't matter, I was going to set one. 

She held up her stopwatch and said 'GO!' and off we went, all four of us power walking down the hallway and completing an awkward group turn at the end of the hall, passing a large gap where ours met another hallway that opened up into a packed waiting room that to me felt a lot more like a viewing area.

I picked up speed, pulling so far ahead of the prison team that we were now passing each other in the middle at the viewing area gap, them marching ahead while I deftly sidestepped into the gap to get around them. This all felt a bit crowded as we also dodged nurses carrying pee samples to and from different rooms and doctors rushing from office to office. 

I commented as much to the coordinator.

"This seems a bit dangerous, doesn't it?" I panted to her as I speed walked past, people in the waiting room staring as I darted through the gaps in the hall back and forth. "You can't see around the corners" I panted to her again as I side dodged the prisoner and his two guards for the upteenth time. "Has anyone ever plowed into -" BOOM!!!

Old Man Down!

I had completely crashed into an old man clutching a zimmer frame that had been coming around the corner.

Two nurses caught the elderly man as I tumbled into he wall, tangled in the walking frame. My legs were completely caught within the frame - it was one of those moments in life where there was just no saving it and it was better to let yourself fall - trying to save myself was just going to make it worse.

Legs caught in the zimmer frame and going down hard, I flailed around like a mermaid, I plastered my hands and face against the wall and did a slow, inevitable slide diagonally down to the floor, where the frame and I clattered down in full view of the entire waiting room of people - where some got to their feet in alarm, not sure if they should help the old man or me... or to take video.

"KEEP GOING! YOU'RE NEARLY FINISHED!" barked the lung function tester wearing my backpack (she said she would so it wouldn't be stolen. Apparently they have a problem with that) and waving her stopwatch from down the hall.

What?!

I was so confused - the old man seemed okay (angry, but okay) and the prison team was about lap me. And I was NOT about to be lapped by a guy in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffed to two sweaty guards. On my hands and knees I untangled myself from the metal frame, kicking it off as it clanged against the walls and floor and I scrambled to my feet, getting back to my pace within the most bizarre hospital hallway race of all time.

Bewildered, I continued my laps, making awkward eye-contact with the prisoner until one of his guards barked at him to 'keep his eyes on the hall'. The old man had made it safely into an office room and all evidence of the preceding mayhem was cleared - leaving me again wondering what in the hell had just happened.

By the time it all finished I was still in a slight state of shock - I honestly have no idea what my results were. I'm still breathing though, so I'm going to go with 'probably fine'. I'd gone home and not even thought about it for a few weeks until Paul opened up the mail in the kitchen the other day, handing me yet another hospital letter.

I've got to do it all again in another 6 months.

PSA: Great for chronic pain - but for the love of God not on your neck!

Great for Chronic Pain, but for the love of God not on your neck!

Living in Britain as a Canadian that formerly lived in China (try to keep up now), I'm a big fan of Chinese medicine. With my 'super-lucky-rare-disease' I'm also a pretty big fan of Western medicine, which I fully credit for generally keeping me alive at the moment. 

But that doesn't mean I'm always comfortable.

I've got refractory multi-systemic and neuro sarcoiodosis with Heerfordt's syndrome. This includes the quite lovely effects of Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA). With this comes the occasional bout of rather excruciating bone, muscle and joint pain - which can be barrels of fun, of course. I'll often pop some more painkillers but sometimes I want something different. Something to take care of the pain locally without having to stone myself out. 

I have the usual arsenal of a person with chronic illness: A hot water bottle, heating pad, heated blanket, magic bag, ice packs, cool bags and some sort of electro-magnetic device that is supposed to help somehow.

And then there is Chinese medicine, my good old standby.

Although hot cupping is a hoot and a half, my steroids and blood-thinners would probably result in a scene from CSI, so that's out. Acupuncture isn't something that I can (erm... should) just do at home on my couch - as a cactus is apparently "not an acceptable replacement for proper needles and training, even if you 'fall on it correctly'. "

So I've been turned on to White Flower Oil (similar to Red Flower Oil, but stronger and cheaper)

Alright, now THAT is some strong smelling stuff! Like liquid Tiger Balm, you dab (note: DAB for God's sake!) some right where it is hurting over a joint and then you just chillax and let it work its magic. And it does. It goes through a soothing period of warmth, then a refreshing, deep cooling sensation - and then my joint pain is pretty much tamed. It is quite wonderful.

But I'm an idiot, so I couldn't just leave it at that.

Having bought some cheap, crappy Ikea pillows, my neck had been in quite a bit of pain for a couple of days. A recent flare up after bike riding on the weekend (I know, I know) had caused it to radiate down into my shoulder and arm - so I did the best thing I could think of and lathered my arm, elbow, shoulder and the back of my neck (my brainstem) in white flower oil, grabbed my shihtsu and went up to bed. 

Oh my FREAKING GOD.

My arm, elbow and shoulder felt fine. Just a bit warm and tingly. Quite pleasant. But not my neck. The back of my neck felt warm. Unusually warm. Kind of alarmingly warm. Hang on... this isn't supposed to be getting this hot

I darted to the bathroom with thoughts of frying my brainstem running through my head - splashing cold water on the back of my neck in an awkward spinal twist. Here's the thing with white flower oil though - YOU CAN'T WASH IT OFF!

That shit STAYS ON and then you end up SPREADING IT. And it buuuuuurrrrrrnnnnssss!

Okay. Okay. At the very least I can cover it with cold wet towels to cool it down - the skin on the back of my neck was bright red and tingling like I'd snorted pop-rocks. I looked around for a facecloth, a towel - anything. Laundry day - there was nothing. I dashed around my bathroom looking for something to wet like a squirrel, twitching with the tingles from my brainstem with the paranoia of triggering another stroke. I had a sudden stroke of genius and was back in bed three minutes later, resting comfortably with soaking wet tube socks wrapped around my neck.

My arm felt wonderful, however.

At around 3am I woke up again, freezing. Absolutely shuddering with the cold - yet the only thing cold was the back of my neck. 

I was shivering violently and my husband was nowhere to be found, because there was a game on that night.

I was seriously freezing - what was WRONG with this stuff? (my arm didn't hurt though) Back to the bathroom to douse the back of my neck in another spinal twist position with warm water, and layering on warm, wet socks. It didn't work, the socks cooled too quickly to be effective, then just made me colder. I needed something warm, really warm. Consistently warm. 

Sorry Huar Huar, you're going to have to do! I wrangled my poor, 14 year old grumpy shihtsu up to the top of the bed and wrapped him around the back of my neck like some sort of growling travel pillow, relaxing us both into the soft pillows and pulling the blankets up to my chin.

Sure I felt a  little bit bad, but 'technically' it was cuddles, and he loves cuddles. But the best part? 

He vibrates. Alllllll  night long.

So in the end, I completely, wholeheartedly recommend that if you have chronic joint, bone or muscle pain that you try Chinese White Flower Oil - you can get it from pretty much any Chinese medical shop, it's cheap and effective. Also, maybe pick up a cheap shihtsu while you're at the Chinese shop too.

But for the love of God and all that is holy in this world, do NOT put it on the back of your neck!

The Exorcist Thanksgiving

Being Canadians overseas, we often get screwed when it comes to Thanksgiving. See, we celebrate it on a different date than our American friends - our families back home enjoy a homey Thanksgiving of wonderfulness while we Canucks overseas TRY to celebrate, but the stores aren't yet stocking pumpkin puree in preparation for the upcoming American holiday onslaught and to be honest, most people think that we've just made the date up as an excuse to stuff ourselves so full of potato that we end up missing work the next day in an entirely socially acceptable manner.

But to the rest of the world, we are clearly making the date up. There's no American football. There's no Macy's parade through New York. There is no pardon for a turkey by our Prime Minister and our kids aren't in some sort of mildly racist school play.

Regardless, it's still a time to celebrate our Canadian-ness, cook a giant turkey in a tiny British oven and be immensely thankful for what we DO have, despite being thousands of miles away from any sort of family and most of our friends. And a Tim Hortons.

So in preparation for this year's Thanksgiving, we had invited our British friends, Katy and Anna, and their twin kiddos over for a full on feast of pumpkin cheesecake (that I dropped on the way to the oven - salvaged like a ninja and it STILL tasted awesome), turkey, mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, fresh baked buns, gravy and stuffing.

So basically we spent a small fortune and six hours cooking a super-special meal that our British friends typically refer to as a 'Sunday roast'. Who cares, it was special to us. We only do this twice a year!!!

Well, Anna cancelled, her and Kit had food poisoning, so weren't coming. Just Katy and her three year old daughter - who hopefully had the appetite of a small anaconda, given the amount of food we had prepared. Our own Kaitie had complained earlier of a stomachache, but the triumphant smile of relief on her face when she emerged from the loo earlier in the day claiming that her problem was solved had lulled us into a false sense of security.

Plus, she seemed fine.

The day went on and we took the kids out for a fall walk in the park, coming home to sit back and relax with cheese and crackers while Paul finished up what was looking to be a delicious Thanksgiving dinner. We were eager to impress, as Anna is an infuriatingly good cook with mad presentation skills to boot - the woman didn't even come but still managed to show us up by sending along a lovely tin of homemade pumpkin muffins.

So there we were, sitting and chatting like a perfectly normal family hosting a guest in our kitchen when Kaitie walked in and in a complete dead-pan voice looked at her father and said the one word in our house that will send us screaming and running around like wild howler monkeys.

"Bucket."

Wait, what?! Huh? She was fine? I looked at Paul but he was already scrambling around the kitchen, flinging open cupboards in wild search of the gigantic 10 L plastic bowl (it catches the most shrapnel and spray) reserved for toddler puke and washing the car.

"Wait! No! Kaitie! We need more time! Hold it in! HOLD IT IN!" ... but it was too late. I heard a splash and turned back toward Kaitlynn, who was standing right in front of my chair. My bare arm was dripping with cheese-flavoured sick, my shirt and pants covered in white chunks and bile in an arc of violence and regurgitated dairy.

Paul found the bowl and thrust it at Kaitlynn, who was now able to again move - but it was too late.

See, my children have inherited from me a number of charming qualities, one being my Puke Paralysis.

When it comes up we cannot move. We don't dart for the toilet, we don't lunge for the sink. We don't even move. We just open our mouths and let it happen.

Less like this:

More like this:

It seems to be a family thing.

Regardless, we apologized to our friend Katy (profusely), I took Kaitlynn, the bucket and myself upstairs to have a quick wet-wipe bath and we came back down for dinner - all was well.

We didn't want to push Kaitie to eat that much, given that she was clearly not feeling terribly well and we didn't want another incident, given that Katy had essentially escaped a food poisoning pukarama at home earlier in the day to come to our 'relatively sane' home.

She should have known, however, that we never put on dinner at our house without a show to go with it.

The kids had finished and had gone to play in the living room, leaving us adults free to leisurely finish our dinner and chat. Katy helped herself to a fresh plate of turkey, potatoes and stuffing and sat down to enjoy it when Kaitlynn again burst into the kitchen, ran toward me and shouted that single, horrifying word yet again.

"Bucket!"

Having drilled this before, Paul and I dropped what we were doing and scrambled around the kitchen for the 10 L bucket, having misplaced it from the last incident only a short time ago. Our eyes were wide with panic - the bucket was found under the table and thrust under Kaitlynn's chin, within which she let loose a torrent of sick while standing directly beside our friend sat down to enjoy our Thanksgiving dinner. I had to get Kaitie out of there - stat.

I got up and guided Kaitlynn to turn around, me now holding the huge, clear plastic bowl full of liquid sloshing back and forth beside my friend and her dinner. We made it one step and then a second torrent of sick was unleashed. Two more steps and we were nearly behind Katy's chair and a third round began, this one far more vocal and dramatic than the last. Kaitie wasn't even crying - we are puke-pros in this house.

I think our friend Katy may have been crying, though.

I certainly was. I was laughing so hard at the awkward absurdity of it all that I nearly peed myself in the kitchen doorway. I was stood there, doubled over in pain from laughing, crossing my legs as hard as I could and yet trying to comfort Kaitlynn while holding her puke-bucket all at once. I had to get her out of the kitchen at the very least - this was just too extreme! We made it another few steps when yet another round came flying out into the now very full clear bowl. I was laughing so hard that I had to grip the kitchen door frame with one hand for support.

I deal with awkward situations REALLY well.

Paul finally burst and told me to at least get her out of the kitchen - but I couldn't! I had been trying - but every time she moved the poor kid puked! I could see Paul reaching to top up our friend's cider as I prodded Kaitlynn around the corner and up the stairs, cackling like a hyena and tears streaming down my face. Off to get everyone cleaned up.. again.

I just feel slightly bad - as we are certain that when our friend is asked about her first ever Canadian Thanksgiving she will respond that her first was also probably her last.

And that Canadians are probably just making up a random date, anyway.

Oh the difference a day (and a drug) can make!

Alright, so this whole 'narcolepsy' thing has gotten somewhat out of control.

I am constantly tired, a kind of tired that is difficult to explain but yet so much more than the whole 'everybody gets tired', 'sleep-training twin infants' or 'stayed up for two days straight to meet a deadline'. It even trumps 'spent the night on a bus from hell, kicked off at 4am and then walked all over Paris for 6 hours pushing a twin buggy and luggage' kind of tired.

It's a whole new level of tired. 

Take yesterday for example. I woke up on Saturday morning already exhausted. I didn't want to get out of bed, but the kids had Kung Fu so off we went. Kung Fu finished at 10am and I fell asleep in the car, mid conversation. Woke up at the store and yawned my way through Costco, leaning on the shopping trolley to keep myself upright. Back in the car and I'm asleep before we're out of the parking lot.

We then got home, ate a quick lunch and I was overpowered by exhaustion - popping upstairs for a quick cat-nap.

Within seconds I was out cold in a coma-like sleep that lasted 3.5 hours - despite Paul coming in to wake me once by sweetly rubbing my back and cuddling up next to me. When I finally did wake up he was there, holding me and gently trying to wake me up. I was still exhausted - my jaw ached from yawning and my thoughts were foggy and unclear. We lay in bed for another 20 minutes with me falling asleep intermittently yet trying as best as I could to properly wake up.

"We need to get out of the house" I declared, suddenly desperate to get outside into the crisp air - anything to wake up and re-join the family. In an act of iron resolve I called the kids upstairs and told them to get ready to ride their bikes to the park - I couldn't back out and fall asleep now!

By the time I got downstairs everyone was packed up and ready in the car, I more or less sleepwalked into my shoes and out I went, sleeping in the car until we arrived - the blast of cold fall air finally shocking me from my excessive sleep.

But the grass over there under the trees did look inviting...

Enough! I cannot continue to live like this! Needing to get my life back I went to see my Neurologist, who re-confirmed Narcolepsy and prescribed a drug for it, ensuring I was aware of just how rare this is, but that it has been caused by my Neuro-sarcoidosis (thanks, Sarcoidoisis).

"It's an amphetamine," he explained to me, "and may cause some challenging side effects."

Okay, like what?

"Well, your heart rate may quicken, you might struggle to sleep at night and you may become excessively sweaty - due to the quickened heart rate."

Alright. Look at me. The steroids have already made me excessively sweaty (sorry, about my arm-print on your desk there, do you have a tissue I can clean that up with?) and I'm cool with not sleeping at night - I'll just write another book or do another degree or something. No biggie.

"Watch yourself. and monitor your heart rate and mood. You may experience a shift in irrational thoughts or sudden clarity. If you feel suicidal contact your GP."

Well then! So just like my methylprednisolone infusions! Bring it on!

Sunday, October 10th. Thanksgiving Day - with guests coming over. This should be highly entertaining for all.

8:00am - got up with the kids, leaving Paul to sleep. Took narcolepsy drug for first time (had to wait a day for the pharmacy to order it in, UK chemists don't regularly stock this stuff. And like my opiate patches, they required ID just to give it to me.)

Starting pulse rate: 66 beats per minute. I feel tired. I popped in Mario Kart 8 for the kids, curled up on the couch with the dog, grabbed my laptop and started writing to keep myself awake.

9:00am - no change. Still writing, as was distracted by idiotic pictures on google images and watching my kids draw ice skates on stick people. Am feeling discouraged. Please work, please please work. I want my life back. I want my energy back. I want to be able to focus again - these last few months have been excruciating with the sudden lack of... life.

9:30am - pulse rate: Cant find pulse! Wait, wait. Okay. It's here. It's here. 74 beats per minute. Okay, not bad. That's fine. It's getting quicker, but probably from the excitement of not having been able to find it earlier.

11:00am - pulse rate 94. Could be just placebo effect. Feeling quite awake - just made a pumpkin cheesecake, bean dip and prepped potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner. Dropped cheesecake on the floor of the kitchen - dog was surprisingly little help with the clean-up. 

Probably still just a placebo effect. Could still use a nap.

12:00 - am still surprisingly awake! No yawns yet, and even have a bit of energy!

1:00pm - Oh. My. God. I don't think my eyes have been this wide in months. 

1:10pm - we should move to a farm. We'll grow broccoli and stuff. And have a goat. Maybe a raccoon.

1:45 - just spent 1/2 hour finding perfect hobby farm for sale with a stone cottage - only to then have it pointed out to me that it was in Northern Ireland, which is a rather significant commute. Am wondering if this is all somehow related to my racing heartbeat.

2:00 - Our friend Katy arrived with her daughter Alice, and we chatted and went for a drive and went for a walk and then had dinner and then chatted and I DID NOT RUDELY FALL ASLEEP MID CONVERSATION EVEN ONCE!!!!! I even stayed awake in her car!!!

IN A CARRRRRRR!!!!!

It's now 8pm and I am exhausted and ready for bed - but my day was again one in which I was fully present - which could be a real turning point for me. 

One can hope, right?