Car Light Mama Drives to Pre-School

If we go out the back door, Devil Baby’s pre-school is two and 1/2 blocks or less.

And today, I drove.

It is the life we have now.

I look at bicyclists, their cool bags and their commitment to the environment and I hate them. I don’t hate them because they are hard to see, I don’t hate them because they are self-righteous (because most, if not all care more about the planet than themselves), I don’t hate them because they are in good shape.

I hate them because I don’t have the choice to be them, anymore. I look at my burley, and I think about how hard I tried to be car free. I look at my sick kids, both diagnosed with congenital lyme disease and on heavy treatment, and I am frustrated that we can’t bike to the beach anymore. Granted, it was really hard to do that and we fought every time we went out as a family, but I miss the choice.

What I do have, besides my hatred for bicyclists (you all know this is my hurt heart and not personal, right?), is an awareness that will never go away, even if I get my health back.

Driving is a luxury. Driving has high costs. Driving should be a conscious choice.

I am deep in grief today about my losses. I look at the commuters in the new bike lanes and I smile like I am one of them. I am not. I am, instead, the one responsible for blowing my exhaust into their lungs.

I have been a car owner, again, for one year. I have ridden the bus a few times in the past year. I’m not riding it at all in the winter, because our fragile immune systems don’t need the stress of sick people who ride the bus even though they should be home in bed. The Big One still rides it home, but he can’t ever get up early enough to catch the bus to school.

I no longer feel guilt about giving up my quest to be car free. I now see it as my way to connect. Having a serious, chronic illness is isolating. Throw into that, a whole family full of sick people, and it isn’t any easier to stay connected to community. Driving is what keeps me connected now. Not as connected as I was when I was living in my community, riding my community and valuing my community by refusing to pollute it, but still, it keeps me connected in a new way. I can get to the co-op, to school, to the thrift store. I can drive to the neighbors, and bring Devil Baby’s school chums home, even though we don’t have the energy for play dates.

We do what we can. And in another year, we all hope to be a little more well.

 

So are the Archives Interesting?

So, tell me, dear readers. . .are the archives of this blog still interesting?

I pop up on google search, still get good daily traffic, but yet, I never post. I am what Jake Mohan talks about in his latest blog post about how so many blogs don’t get updated.

It doesn’t help much, I bet, that we bought a car, but seriously? You all get why running down the street to catch the bus with an enlarged spleen, a toxic liver and joints that hurt like a gnarly beast is biting them might make me run out and buy a used car, right?

I drive to the library. I drive to pick up pharmaceuticals, and far too often. I drive to the co-op, to yoga, to everywhere I go.

The Big One even had to give up the biking. His air hunger was getting him down, making him feel like a freak, instead of a teenager.

Darn cute, eh?

So, this is my life now. I can’t ride the bus because I’m deeply immune compromised and people hack and don’t cover their mouth. And I’m chemically sensitive and sitting next to someone with Fresh Scent Tide could easily make the whole bus smell like Car Free Mama’s vomit. And my now-teenager has his own electric scooter.

I don’t have much to say these days about living car-free. I commend those who do it. Having a chronic life threatening illness makes me so grateful that I don’t do it anymore. If you miss me, please comment, and I’ll get you the new blog addresses. If you are feeling brave, I’ll even give you the secret code to my bitch blog. That one isn’t nearly as much fun, but I sure tell the truth about raising immune compromised, sick kids.

 

Car Heavy Mama gets a new blog!

As you might have noticed, I’ve taken a bit of a hiatus from blogging. One or two, here and there, but nothing consistent. I’ve been focusing on my treatment for lyme disease and on healing as best I can. Devil Baby is on treatment for those devilish behaviors and The Big One is taking hard core antibiotics his mother eschewed for so long. We are saving our pharmacy bottles to make some sort of public statement with them. Feel free to email me for the new blog information!

 

Jim the Librarian

Before we had a car, we went to the library every few days. We went to storytime with Grandpa Ed, we made Librarian Jim search the shelves for our odd requests. We knew what was happening in our ‘hood.

The funeral was a week ago, the librarian tells me. How was that not on my radar? Apparently Jim got sick very quickly, metastisis happened even more quickly and then he was gone. My heart goes out to him, his co-workers, his family and to all at the library who knew and loved him.

Get that library in order up in the Great Beyond, Librarian Jim. If anyone can do it, you can!

When you drive a car, you don’t pay attention as well. He was a man that deserved to be noticed.

 

List Poetry

“Car Free”
A List Poem

Slow
Consciousness
Awareness
Community
Planning
Thinking ahead
Being seen
Seeing
Living in community
Choosing
Belonging
Earth Conscious

“The Car”
A List Poem

Dirty
Smelly
Sand
Salt
Parking Meters
Parking Ramps
Late, always late
Carseats
Seatbelt straps
Rush, rush, rush
Extra trips
Rides home late at night
Stop for drinks
Avoid
Run

The Bus:
A List Poem

Women Hacking
Germs crawling
Low Natural Killer Cell Count
Fear
Missed bus
Leaky boots
Disorganization
No pens
No cell phone
No bus pass
Despair

I went car-free because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

Henry David Thoreau, with my own modifications

Have I learned anything at all?

 

When Passive Aggressive Minnesotans go bad.

At what point do we turn from being “nice” Minnesotans to Passive Aggressive Minnesotans? Within moments of leaving the womb? By the time we are in pre-school?

Last year, I didn’t experience what comes next. This year I have, and it is frightening. Today, over an over as I drove my son to the Wellstone Center in St. Paul, then later to MacPhail for Piano lessons, I was glared at, sworn at, sped by and given the almighty finger. Everything I did was wrong in the eyes of the people who didn’t want to share the road with me.

Freezing temperatures are one thing, but these behaviors are making us, as a geographic species look very, very, bad. I miss passive-aggressive. When did passive aggressive become the new f-u?

I am ashamed of my fellow Minnesotans. Especially the ones on the road.

And what about all the diesel particulate? When I was on a bike, I understood it. But I feel it when I drive. I thought I would be insulated in the little red wagon but it is a constant reminder of how I am destroying our planet.

Sigh.

 

Ruth! Where is your hat?

I wasn’t cool in high school. Not a chance. But today, as I was heading the other direction from the 32 bus, I saw Ruth at the bus stop near my house.

She was wearing a hoody and nothing covering her chimney except her long strawberry blond locks. I shivered in sympathy. It was 14 degrees. I wanted to cry.

And then I remembered how uncool I was in high school. If I hadn’t worn those hats? The sensible boots? The mittens that never really matched, would I have been as cool as Ruth?

It is funny the way memory works. I wasn’t cool. I didn’t wear sensible boots. I never wore a hat, and because I was humiliated that a boy in my class had the SAME JACKET I had I usually just crumpled my jacket up in a ball to retrieve it once I was on the bus with the rest of the losers. The coat was a rainbow ski-jacket wanna-be. Today it would be dreamy vintage and cool for either gender but then it was the height of humiliation.

The Big One leaves our house (when he makes it to school these days) sans warm Sorel boots, hands tucked in the cuffs of his oversize and not warm Lands End coat and no hat. More often than not his neck is completely revealed sending shudders down my spine.

“But you have Lyme Disease!” I shout at him as he races away from me.

I have crossed the line. I have become my mother.

 

Happy Holidays from our Family

Dancer husband just called me, on his way over to put dinner in the oven at my sister “Barbie’s” house. Apparently the wood chip stealing psychopathic neighbor’s family has been holding a $20 grudge against us. Yes, over the woodchips. WIth a little verbal huffing and physical threatening, the brother-in-law was able to get the $20 back from Dancer husband.

Huff. Puff. Let it go. I wanted to go across the street and hit him with our 93 year old neighbor’s big metal shovel. But I didn’t.

My motto for now and into the new year: There is only room for love. If you steal my chips in love, so be it. If you are full of anger and rage over your living situation, it is your anger and rage, not mine. If you don’t shovel your sidewalk, ever, it is your Karma, not mine. 2009 is the year of love. There is room for nothing else.

Angel Baby showed this to the entire mall AND bus ridership of the 32 to/from Rosedale Mall.

We were running out of time to see the big man in red, so Angel & I donned our winter gear and hopped the 32. No rush, no bustle, just did it at 4:58. By the time we got to the St. Anthony Village Mall we remembered Santa’ gift. We hopped off the bus, dashed across the street and did a re-do. Back to the house, grab the gift, out to the bus again.

Santa was surprised by the gift and gave Angel Baby a hug. “You have to share it with Mrs. Claus,” he said.

It was super cute. The photos are awful. Full of love, but the camera dude is a little on the DSMIV range. Too scary to get a smile.

I wish you all love, healing and the ease of an eco-friendly New Year.

 

Angel Baby and Objectionable You Tube

I really need to change the settings on The Big One’s youtube account AND get rid of my three foot tall bookmark bar. Angel Baby recognizes the you tube logo from the Under Our Skin video was able to click to “How to have sex in a car” and one about a humping dog.

Angel baby. . .Angel Baby. . .ANGEL BABY!

I was going to post the video from the University of Phoenix, but I decided, with my young readers, it might not be such a good idea. It is good to know that a car-light family can learn about all the benefits of having a vehicle.

 

Snow and ice and slip, slip, slip

Tomorrow when I head out to the acupuncturist’s office and to teach yoga, I will begin my winter cursing. My republican neighbors (there aren’t many in Northeast Minneapolis) down the street refuse to shovel their walk. I don’t mean once in a great while, but NEVER. I’m not kidding. Last year I called on them each time I fell. This year I think I will call each time I walk by.

This is on Lowry avenue, two houses in from Johnson Street. On the way to the Bus. As I type this I still remember my run to catch the bus to the YMCA for an early morning swim. I flew my feet in the air and crashed on my left hip.

If you really want to shovel your walk, you do it. Even my 93 year old neighbor shovels her walk. These non-shovelers live on a hill and on “the hill”. Since they can’t see the sidewalk, maybe they think it isn’t there. We all have our quirks, I guess. This year I hope they have a few fines from the city as well.

I am a meanie.

On the other hand, I can be nice now that I have wheels. I took a soup to the Vet house where Dr. J., Vet Nutritionist Extraordinaire has the worst case of the flu I’ve ever seen. If I didn’t have the red wagon I could NEVER have gotten there with that big ol’ pot of soup. I hope it works. The soup cooked all day and I cleaned parts my chaotic house with “Feng Shui Susan”. I know that I need to eliminate the chaos as best as I can to prepare for what “Lyme Disease” treatment holds for me. After I’ll take any help I can get. Even from my messy friends. They don’t need to be Feng Shui Goddesses, just handy with a dish towel. If they can say, “get rid of the chair, Jeanne,” that is helpful, too. Calm. Peaceful. Say no to everything. Simplify. The best way through it is through it. Lots of new mantras for me.

I’ve never posted a video before, but I think this should work. This is the trailer for “Under Our Skin” the documentary about Lyme. There are many different parts of the documentary on youtube. My in-laws saw it and don’t think I need it cloud my healing process with the images. But you can.

 

Yikes! I forgot that cars need repair!

It’s been a little over a month since we bought The Little Red Wagon. I knew that I would eventually see our Wonder-Man Mechanic and his 3rd Generation Mechanic son, but I wasn’t expecting to need to call them so soon.

I have this character flaw that drives Dancer-husband crazy. I don’t take the time to tighten the caps on things. Veganaise, Ketchup, Salad Dressing. When I need to hit the sauce, I want easy access, so I always leave them a little loose.

Since our trip to Manitoba, I’ve only fueled up twice. Once to get me to the U to teach (no lectures, please) and then yesterday after I went to visit Dr. Voodoo our New-Age Chiropractor in Excelsior, on fumes.

It played out like this:

Dancer – Husband: “We need to get gas before you go anywhere.”

Me: Thought flit and float from side to side in my Lyme-brain and now they are. . . .GONE!

Start the car. Already late. Mad about the lack of petrol.

Drive from Northeast Minneapolis past the West side of Excelsior.

Me: “Say a prayer, Big One.”

I’ve just been interrupted by The Big One for an important announcement.

“You actually said, ‘Cross your fingers’, Mom.”

My apologies.

We made it there, we got our Voodoo treatment and supplements and zipped across the highway and parked under the canopy. It read: “Thousands of Iraqis died for your senseless trips.” We purchased gas and truly did say a prayer. I swear I closed the gas cap. Or, at least I think I did. I love that volvo caps are permanently attached. I’ve lost a cap or two in my driving days. Today, on my way to hang out with the Step-Rock-Steppers, I saw the light.

Dancer-Husband called Volvo-Grandpa’s office, talked with Volvo son and he told us to check the gas cap, drive it for a week and see if it resets itself. Cross your fingers for the reset.

I’ve missed my mechanic.

If you need your volvo serviced, please bring it to the Glasgow family. They’ll treat your car like it was their own. They still give you a bill, but it is reasonable and you feel good about the business you are supporting.

 

I love the little red wagon, but. . .

Okay. I know I’m in a fairly serious healing crisis. I know it was the practical thing to do, but it is really screwing our life up. Twice this week Dancer husband thought he could use the car, I thought I could and we ended up being frustrated, angry and stranded.

There is little thought anymore. Little coming together. Little dialogue around schedules. We flit and float and all those things the damn von Trapp kids did on their way to bed at night. Here’s my new joke, “What’s the fastest way for a car-free family to lose consciousness and become completely ego-centric? Buy a car.”

Yes, dear readers, you one-car families get it. It is harder to be car-light than car-free.

On the brighter side, I drove the little red wagon to pick up “Knows-how-to-relax” Becky on Saturday night. I was tired. Okay, I was exhausted from cleaning for three days to just get my house passable for a post-Thanksgiving in-law event. Not my idea. I swear. I didn’t want to go, but I pulled myself up from my stirrup tights, circa 1985 and talked myself into getting to the Ritz.

“A Very Brady Christmas,” the holiday show of Electric Arc Radio was divine. I loved the New Standard’s rendition of “Androgynous,” regardless of its brevity. I belly laughed and I listened to Power Suit Peterson whistling like we were at a mud-wrestling contest. I was proud that Sleany McFear found refuge in my city. I beamed with hope over Herbach’s love for Clerkie and most of all, I wept in joy when I finally figured out that the final song was by WHAM. “Last Christmas when I gave you my heart. . . ” When I arrived home, I wasted no time to check google for the lyrics. I stood for a moment like the Statue of Liberty. My tablets read, “I survived the 80’s without knowing any WHAM songs.” My life is so good.

 

Two Weeks

Is that really possible?  “Forgive me Father for I have sinned.  It has been two weeks since my last confession.”

Life is full.  And it is not full of car related things, which is good.  We are trying to refer to our little guy as “Angel Baby” but it isn’t changing his demeanor.  The Big One has been buried under homework, and he has been sick since October 6 when he went on the boychoir tour and got no sleep.

Nita the Wonder Dog hates the car.  We take her to MacPhail on cold nights and sit in the car with her.  No, the car isn’t running.  As a car-light family, we are the ones who shut off their car in traffic.

I served on Jury Duty this past week.  They give you bus passes from metro transit, which I collected from the suburban folks, most of whom have serious transit phobia.  I didn’t mind getting their passes.  Express buses both ways for me and I was ready to serve within 40 minutes.  I intended to work on my NANOWRIMO (National Novel Writing Month Project), but I was busy on a trial that lasted from Monday – Thursday.  So much for getting work done.  I read two books about Lyme Disease on the bus though and I finished Diane Wilson’s “Spirit Car”, a must read for anyone whose family settled in or around Minnesota.  It is a beautiful story about her mixed blood family, many of which were involved in the Dakota War of 1862.  It is a beautiful but painful read regardless of which side your family was on.  I would imagine mine, like Diane’s family, tragically straddled both sides.

A couple of things I’m grateful for these days:  I have a car that I can drive a mile to the health club so I can sauna.  Lyme Disease bacteria dislikes heat intensely.  Good Doctors and Shiatsu and Massage practitioners that truly care about helping me get well are on my team.  I’m preparing my body as best I can for the anti-biotic treatment that is quickly coming down the path.  Another day of learning.  It is what it is.  Lyme disease is awful.  The hardest part though is that I look well.  When I need to use the arm of my fellow juror to “all rise”, he doesn’t see why I might need that but graciously helps so I’m not held in contempt.

 

Hyper-Coagulating

Car-Free mama trudges along, trying to make her way to her computer to post. Been having some lousy car-light days lately. Some lousy days in general. It could be the blood. Could be my cheery disposition. Could be devil baby and his endless quest to hurt me. Or, I could just be bitter about owning a car.

I drove to vote. I drove to teach the step, rock, steppers and got lost. One day I even drove three blocks to pre-school.

I miss catching up on my reading, catching up on my writing, and being ‘of community’.

But I need The Little Red Wagon right now. And it is good. We had to move the car from our isolated little cul-de-sac this morning. “What?” you say, “A cul-de-sac in Minneapolis?”

Apparently the street got filled in decades ago to slow down traffic to the park. It slows down traffic. Even the drunks walking through slow down, tripping over the boulders that were strategically placed. I love our cul-de-sac, the new home of ‘Lil Red. Today, however was leaf sweeping day, so we moved the car to Lowry.

Rainy day. Driver’s door a few feet from the swooshing cars. Don’t car drivers realize that pedestrians, even ones that are just on their way to their cars end up getting wet from their excessive speed?

I’m a crabby driver. I don’t like being cut off. I don’t like being in traffic. Traffic? I had forgotten how stressful it is.

I miss the carefree carfree life. But right now, I just can’t go back.

 

Car Gluttony and a difficult Goodbye.

We are on a bender. I know it will pass. Yesterday we overslept for the 1st time since the Big One enrolled in Educational Prison. Dancer-husband DROVE him there. No car pool. Nothing. And he was still 4 minutes late.

Then, he drove to dance class. And PAID for parking. Then drove to REHEARSAL and paid for parking. After prison, The Big One and Devil baby played in the fire-engine red car with Nita the fire dog. I needed to get a STACK of books from the library.

As I drove to the library I felt like I, myself had been released from prison. I didn’t have to limit myself to a backpack full of light books. I checked them ALL out. Really. I think we ended up with 6 books for Devil Baby, 6 for Aidan and a few for me, all on Lyme Disease. We got several audio books as well.

The best part of all was the trip to Eastside Neighborhood Services Thrift Store (formerly Silver Angel). It was like coming home. I just don’t get to Central Avenue anymore. I blew $7 on stuff for the boys and got to see Laura, Elizabeth and best of all, Paulette who I haven’t seen for what seems like decades.

So here I am weighing community involvement (if only the thrift store had a tea shop within) with gluttony.

I got a comment from a loyal reader the other day. Devin commented on the fact that it is harder to be car-light than car-free. Yep. I get it. It’s a challenging moral choice in every moment.

Devil Baby late for school. . .or drive him? Walk up to the library for 10 books, when I’m cold. . .or drive? Over the past 15 months I’ve realized that it really is the neighborhood trips that I most need the car for, not the big ones. I don’t see myself driving downtown or to the U to teach yoga. Those trips are easy by bus. I think what we need to do is keep the miles on our car low. How few miles can you drive per year? The car came to us with 79,000. Keep it under ???? by the end of the year?

Canada is calling though. Our dear, dear, dear friend Jim MacDonald of Brandon MB died on Monday. We bought the Little Red Wagon to get up to visit him one last time before he left this world and we didn’t get there. I wish Jim the best transition ever. He deserves it. We will be there to say goodbye on Saturday.

Jim was like a second Father to me, a grandpa to the boys and our best friend.

Goodbye dear Hagrid. We love you.

 

The Little Red Wagon

“So what happens to your blog now that you’ve purchased a car?” my sister “Barbie” asks me.

“We just become a Car-Light Family,” I reply.

Yikes. Did we just do this?

My symptoms have been increasing by the day, and it looks like we are getting closer to a diagnosis on all this pain and wobbliness. Not sciatica. Not MS. Not ALS. Not LUPUS. Not Chronic Fatigue.

Lyme Disease. From a bite over 20 years ago, before they were talking about Lyme Disease. So, we caved into the pressures of the world. No, wait, we didn’t do that. We looked practically at our lives, winter, stress and my illness and bought “The Little Red Wagon” from our next-best-thing-to-Amish friends, Mark & Annie.

They have been lightly fanning the car in front of us for over a year.

“It’s in the garage waiting for you. Whenever you are ready.”

I’m ready. I don’t want to be ready. I want to figure it out. I want to be car-free. I also want to get where I need to get when the pain makes it so I can barely walk, so this is what we’ve done.

I told dancer husband that I thought we needed to think about “Mark’s Car”. Within days he was on the phone, getting it done. He is in the beautiful, beautiful car, on his way home.

We knew it would be a Volvo. We hoped it would be a wagon. I secretly wanted it to be red.

I’m trying not to think of this latest move as a failure. We still think of ourselves as a car-light family, and will continue to document our new life. This process has really been about the intention. We want to live more authentically, slow down, live interdependently and with a greater consciousness of the way we damage the planet. Today I did two things to keep that intention, both before I even saw the Little Red Wagon. First, I set up a car-pool with Boychoir, which started with tonight’s rehearsal. Next, I let a family across the street know that we bought a car and it would be available to them if they wanted to ride somewhere, needed to get somewhere, etc. They dropped down to one car when their second car was totaled last spring. It is about intentional living still, and how do we do it with a car? Stick with me?

 

Double Date to Electric Arc!

Dancer Husband and I went out last night to see Electric Arc Radio. We were late, and it wasn’t a car-free issue this time. Crime Fighter Man and his wife, Power Suit Peterson picked us up in their snazzy toyota (which we’ve borrowed a time or two). Nice wheels. I just assumed we were going on the scooter, but apparently the cold is a little intense on the scooter so hubby made other plans. I didn’t know about the cool thing. I figured it was just like winter biking. I must stop sending him down for groceries.

We had a lovely evening-beginning with dinner at the new Noodle shop on Central Avenue. If you haven’t tried it, you MUST. It earns the “I’d walk up the hill” award for best Restaurant on Central. Sen Yei Sen Lak is owned by Joe and Holly. They are ethical, well-balanced, family focused and of course, make excellent food. We were able to get a table and they helped us get out the door at 8:00 pm. We ate, we drank, we were happy as we rolled our buddha bellies into the Ritz Theater.

The show was fun. A little on the long side, but that was because I was in pain most of the evening, sitting in my reserved-for-late-comers folding chair in as near as the Ritz gets to a nosebleed section. Andy Sturdevant was a fabulous narrator, Stephanie Wilbur Ash was a brilliant Rock Star, Dave Salmela held his own as the “sexiest man in Northeast Minneapolis” and his beautiful, talented wife, Jenny Adams was engaging as ever. Herbach was cute as a bug’s ear and Kurt Froehling as Bono was the highlight. I’m not a fan of Bono, cover songs from my college days still scratch in my head. Kurt was brilliant. The rest of the gang was great, too, but I missed the house. And the Beauty Everywhere. And the sex. Where was that Sam? I didn’t attend last season at all. I was pissed when they left Northeast. And I ran into a few babysitter problems. I can’t seem to get anyone to actually be alone with Devil Baby late at night. Besides, who leaves Northeast for greener pastures? Truth be told, there are no greener pastures. Now that they are back at the Ritz, my love and devotion are back as well. I Can’t wait for the Very Brady Christmas.

Again, if you haven’t been, you’ve missed out. It is one of the coolest happenings in Minneapolis. Before I decided to live locally, I did leave Northeast to hit the nightlife. Well, maybe not for the past 12 years, but when I was cool (or thought I was), I saw lots of cutting edge performance art at the old Red Eye, which of course is now the home of “Sex World”.

Things they are a changing. It’s that time of year. The Big One is appalled by my post.

“What happened to the PG-13 rating mom? Sex. Sex World. Pissed?” he says to me with 12-year-old disgust.

“Post yourself, dude.” If he can crawl out from under his homework this week, he might just do that.

 

Lodged between “Trash Watch” & “My Recycled Bag”

That’s our blog. Check here for a list of the top Environmental blogs.

http://www.x-raytechnicianschools.org/ekg-technician/the-top-100-environmentalist-blogs/

Not sure who they are, or how they found us, but I’ve always dreamed about a Trash Watch/Recycled Bag hug. I’ve arrived.

 

Cell Phones and The Almighty Prius

Is it just my bad luck or do people driving an Almighty Prius think that they own the road? Gab, gab, gab, just doing my part for the environment, blab, blab, blab.

If I’m killed by a Prius driver on a cell phone, please scream for Social Justice. It has happned twice. In the last week. Prius driver pulls out in front of me while on the cell phone. Diane Loeffler, are you out there? Let’s get a law passed about no driving while on the cell phone. For grown ups.

 

Calling all armchair Physicians!

As I walked out of the Rosedale Library after pre-school French class, I had an “I need to buy a car” moment. I was wrangling Devil Baby and “Knows-How-To-Relax” Becky had her nice, mellow 3 year old in tow. I adore Becky. If she and I were popcorn, she would be sweet yummy caramel flavored (that is care-a-mel to you Minnesotans) and I would be sour cream and onion flavored. At lunch, she would be an interesting Portobello Sandwich with balsamic vinegar and mozzarella. I would be the Tex-Mex with too much 4-alarm fire sauce. She has THREE boys, one in college, one in Boychoir and one the same age as Devil Baby.

Back to my story though, one that I’m wanting to stay in denial about. My left leg gave out. Again. Back in the spring when my blood pressure dropped and I got dizzy I would avoid falling by bracing myself on the bus stop sign pole. That was one thing, but this leg-giving-out business is starting to piss me off. Not to mention the burning pain in my spine that seems to never end. I sent Devil Baby to cross with Becky and William and I dragged my leg across the parking lot like you see those little ants carry one of their dead friends. All these beautiful moms with their beautiful french speaking kids and I’m dragging myself across the parking lot in pain. I hoisted myself up into Becky’s Saturn SUV and the strength started to come back. It always does but that pain doesn’t go away.

Sometimes I can’t make it to the bus stop because of the pain and the weakness. And then, the next day I’ll be hanging out in a handstand, or in side plank like nothing ever happened. Do the bad days warrant giving up our car-free days? I’m sad and scared that we might have to. Tonight I’m understanding why people reach for the Vicodin in times like these. Bad, burning pains in my spine.

So, put on your armchair physician hat (or your medical intuitive hat) and let’s play “diagnose the car-free mama”. Let’s get me back on track so I can keep living the way I want to live. (Let’s home my wonderful G. P. doesn’t read the blog today!)

Here is what they’ve ruled out:

MRI of brain, no tumor, no MS lesions (whew!)

Addison’s Disease (no sign of low adrenal function — reminder, give Nita her medicine)

Vit B12 – good

Kidneys – good

Vit D – good

Magnesium – good

Iron – I’m a carrier for Iron Overloading, so everything is good but the iron stores, which suggest I’m on the verge of anemia.

Thyroid and Thyroid anti-bodies – good

White, red blood cells – good

No Lyme’s disease

No damage to the heart, but my stress echo suggested I was a couch potato, if you remember that post.

Insurance denied my full spine MRI, still waiting for the appeal

We haven’t done one of those tilt table tests yet.

What are we missing?????

Eco-Farmer friend Jen just learned that the para-thyroid might be the culprit. I’m seeing a cool holistic doctor on Wednesday. I’ll see what she thinks, but in the meantime, throw me some ideas. But don’t mention that your Grandma has the same symptoms. Really folks, I’m only 44.