Yvonne deSousa's Blog, page 3

Still Giggling in Vindication

Happy 2024!!

Hope all of you are having an awesome start to the New Year!

I have been well, but busy so far in 2024. I am working on some new adventures and with anything I do, the potential for new blog material is great. In the meantime, what I am doing, what I INSIST on doing, is finding the giggles wherever I can.

To be reminded of why I do this, I offer up this original post from 2017. It is still accurate and I hope you enjoy it anew. And I hope I will have a new blog for you in February.

May all of you have an awesome start to this new year!

MS and the Art of VindicationWhen science helps you kick butt

I know that it’s really, really obnoxious to say “I told you so,” but man, sometimes it just feels so good.

Does that make me obnoxious?

What if you say “I told you so,” with a smile? Is that better?

What if you are clueless and inept when it comes to science and then science backs you up? Can you say “I told you so then?” 

I recently came across an article in the online version of Forbes Magazine called “Six Science Based Reasons why Laughter is the Best Medicine” written by David DiSalvo

See- I TOLD YOU SO!!!! 

Vindication is such a sweet sounding word…..

I’ve been saying that laughter is an excellent medicine since my MS diagnosis and I’m not even a scientist! 

I’m far from it actually. I have no brain for science anything. I tried to read one of the Science for Dummies book once but found it too intellectual. 

I’m so clueless I can’t even remember the name of the PhD degree my super sciencey cousin has.  It’s something to do with bio and medical and maybe engineering or something. I don’t get it but I know that laboratories and tests and all kinds of other confusing things are involved.

When I was in my high school chemistry class I was doing a lesson and filled a glass test tube with water, put a one holed rubber stopper in the test tube, put a thermometer in the hole and then put the test tube over a Bunsen burner. 

I’m not sure what I was trying to figure out but if it was how to impale a thermometer into the classroom ceiling then I should have gotten an A. I didn’t. Still, I considered the experiment a success!

So I’m pleased to report that when I’ve exclaimed “how you deal affects how you heal,” over and over, I was way ahead of the scientific curve! 

Take that super brilliant cousin!

In fact, I’ve built my whole new writing profession, (if can you call a blog and a book a profession-even if you don’t get paid,) on this premise. 

I didn’t do that lightly my friends. I did my homework. Far be it from me to share such important knowledge without backing it up. 

Here’s my proof-

Hypothesis- Laughter is good for you

Research- Right after my MS diagnosis my little brother said something funny. I laughed. I felt a little better. I told my friends what my brother said. They laughed. They felt a little better.

Experiment- I started saying funny things. I felt better. I started writing funny things. People read them and told me they felt better. I started giving talks about the funny things I had written.  People laughed. I felt good when they laughed. The more they laughed, the funnier I became and the better I felt. 

Proof- Feeling good is good for you. So if laughing makes you feel good then it stands to reason that laughter is good for you.

Conclusion- You guessed it- Laughter is good for you. I told you so!  And I didn’t even need a lab coat or a Bunsen burner or anything!

Mr. DiSalvo is a little bit smarter than me and so he backs his research up more technically than I do. He says things like “laughing activates the release of neurotransmitter serotonin” and “laughter has an anti-inflammatory effect that protects blood vessels…” 

Basically saying what I said. (See the research part of my experiment described right before this paragraph.) 

He also states that “when someone starts laughing, others will laugh..” 

Hello- did he copy my experiment? 

I’m sure Mr. DiSalvo did his own research and since we both agree on the conclusion I want to give him credit where his credit is due. I would just like it noted, however, that if he wins the Nobel Prize I want a cut. 

The bottom line my friends is Laughter is Good for You!  It’s good medicine, (Mr. DiSalvo goes so far to state that it’s the BEST medicine) and it’s a super, excellent coping medicine! 

Science says so!!

And if that’s not enough for you, I say so too! 

PS Have you lined up your 2024 reading yet? If not, might I suggest either my humor filled first book, MS Madness! A “Giggle More, Cry Less” Story of Multiple Sclerosis, or my latest book, a more serious memoir called Shelter of the Monument: A Provincetown Love Story.

The former will make you laugh and the latter, while it does have it’s funny moments, may make you cry. I never do anything the normal way and I describe my books as a funny look at a serious illness and a serious book about a funny person. I’m proud to say that both are well reviewed and I think you will like them.

What Do Multiple Sclerosis and Christmas Have in Common?

I was planning on posting a previous holiday blog, 12 Days of Christmas, MS Style, when I discovered this forgotten post from 2012-yikes!!! It may be a little dated but since I forgot about it, I decided it deserved a new release.

Don’t worry. If you have missed my MS retake on the old Christmas carol, just click on the link above to view it again.

An MS’er gets ready for the holidays

I can just see you rolling your eyes as you read that line.  You are thinking “ok, Yvonne has finally lost it for real.  Christmas is a beautiful time of year filled with love, peace and joy. It has absolutely nothing to do with the dreaded illness of Multiple Sclerosis.”

I beg to differ however.  Take for example, the lights. I used to love Christmas lights of all kinds, the more, the brighter, the merrier. As I have aged I tend to prefer a simple theme in my light choices, say all white. Was this just because I am now more set in my ways?  Am I just lacking in my imagination of lovely but erratic light patterns? 

Who knows?  But just two days ago I was driving through my hometown when I passed a house decked out five times as boldly as the Griswold’s home in the movie, Christmas Vacation.  Immediately my eyes began to blink, the dizziness settled like Santa on a rooftop, and my head started to swirl. Too many lights and MS both make my head spin. A brain explosion likely comes next.

Or, take the crowds. There was a time when I enjoyed the shopping. I would happily spend hours amid the other shopping folks looking for the perfect gift. New gift idea on the 23rd? No problem.  Back to the mall I would easily go.

 Why then in the last few years does the idea of holiday shopping make my whole body ache? The swirl in my brain begins again even thinking about it.  Just the idea of the commotion brings the buzzing in whole body noise that does me in for days. Thank goodness for online shopping even for major technophobes like me.  So the shipping costs add almost 50% to the purchase price, at least I can pay them in peace and quiet.

Speaking of quiet, what about the bells? The bells used to be a lovely sonorous reminder of the joyful season. They would attract the goodwill of the masses. Now when I hear bells, I run, which is an amusing sight considering I am happy when I pull off basic walking. See me running and the laughs are yours. And I don’t run because I am too cheap to throw my change in the Salvation Army kettle but because each clang of the bell throws me off. It jars my already jarred brain even more.  

The lines for everything don’t help either.  At this time of year it seems no matter what you are in line for, humans who never existed are all suddenly in the same line.  

Need stamps? All fifty people ahead of you are giving Santa a run for his money by mailing tons packages to children all over the world. Don’t they know that’s the big guy in red’s job? 

Need a quart of milk? Every shopper in the world does too along with turkeys, ham, sweets, flour, produce, wrapping paper, tape, tinsel and whatever. The masses are coming for dinner- watch out. Need gas?  So does the entire planet.  Christmas is coming; must have gas. I have noticed that standing brings on the body aches much quicker than simply walking. But if I walk even a foot away from the line, it triples.

So you see, the crowds, lines, lights, and to quote the Grinch, “the noise, noise, noise” of Christmas bring on many of the ill effects of MS. That is a sucky thing the holiday shares with the illness- the onslaught of symptoms.

The only way to minimize the symptoms in the season is to carve out your own special Christmas traditions. I decorate my tree (or actually asked friends to decorate my tree as the idea of carting the decorations up from the basement was just too overwhelming) with soft white lights that highlight the nativity scene in a calming way.  I shop online a little at a time while playing my own favorite carols at a low volume.  

When I do venture to the stores I try to plan trips when I am feeling my best, and take the shopping one shop at a time.  If I don’t finish in one trip, I go home, rest and try again another day.  If I hear bells then when I get to my car I turn off the radio and treasure what the sound of bells stands for in the quiet. If my brain does get buzzing, my head gets swirling and my eyesight gets blurring, I stop, and try to think only about one thing, what is really at the heart of Christmas. 

If you are Christian or even if you’re not, under all the commotion the heart of Christmas should be simple- peace, love and joy.

So, this leads me to the one main thing Christmas and Multiple Sclerosis have in common. As crazy and overwhelming as they both can be, where it matters most, they are what you make of them.

Have a very Merry Christmas!

And to all of you, may you have a healthy New Year. Looking forward to seeing you all again in 2024!

PS Looking to start your New Year with a great read? Check out Shelter of the Monument!

A Little Lesson in Portuguese

When new medical news reminds you of your childhood

On 1/1/23 I had three resolutions.

First, I wanted to get a new book published. Done. (Shameless self-promotion- Shelter of the Monument is now available on all the main online channels! You can find them here-Shelter of the Monument.)

Second, I had a goal weight I was going to reach. That resolution is not done at all but at least I haven’t gained. And there’s still six weeks left. It could happen. Especially since holiday calories don’t add up.

And third, I wanted to revisit something that had been lost. I wanted to become more comfortable with the Portuguese language I learned as a toddler. 

Turns out, resolution number one kept me very busy shifting resolution number three to the background. I can’t really blame resolution number one for not achieving resolution number two but screw it, let’s do that anyway. 

When I was a kid, I spoke Portuguese. This is because in my formative years, when I was first learning to talk, my grandmother, my father’s mom to be exact, lived in the apartment above us. I spent every free second possible with her because she was lovely and loving. I have very fond memories of that time.

(The fact that she spoiled me rotten had nothing to do with it.) 

Because she didn’t speak English, I learned to communicate with her. Unfortunately, circumstances arose, and she returned to Portugal. And when she did, my parents only spoke English in the house-rude!

They knew Portuguese; my dad didn’t come to this country until he was 16 and my mom spoke the language her whole life so she could communicate with her own beloved grandmother. Yet, with me, English was the way to go.

Amid my schoolmates and bad 70’s television, (why didn’t the Brady’s ever visit Portugal? They went to Hawaii- even met Vincent Price there. Portugal is just as cool,) I lost the language. 

Every once in a while, phrases will come back like- nao fassas isso which actually translates to “don’t do that” but in my Portuguese means “please, please don’t do that my precious perfect little child Yvoninha.” Or “da a mim” which translates to “give it to me” but in my short Portuguese world meant “aiiieee child, give that to me right now before you hurt yourself precious one,” or “give that to me right now precious child before your parents find out that you broke it, and I can’t hide it so you won’t get in trouble.”

See, fluent Portuguese. 

Another word that is seared in my memory is the word pinguinha which I mostly definitely did not learn from my grandmother.  It is a slang word and means a little drop or sip, in other words, a bit of alcohol. My grandmother did not drink though you could be confused by this picture of her feeding me, with a bottle of good whiskey right by my milk. 

But my dad says pinguinha all the time, even when he shouldn’t. Like when the very strict priest walked into my sister’s wedding rehearsal with a cast on his leg and my dad jokingly asked him what happened, did he stop and have a little pinguinha on the way and hurt himself?  The priest was not amused. I wonder if that’s why my sister’s marriage didn’t work out…

Anyway, why am I telling you all of this?

Well, for one reason, the holidays are approaching and so I am filled with memories.

For another, it is Thanksgiving and I thought I would give you a gift of some Portuguese phrasing. You are most welcome! Since this is not a podcast you are on your own with pronunciation- good luck. My own pronunciation comes with the child like lisp of a 3-year-old.

But the real reason why I am telling you this is because I have another new medical diagnosis and this one has taken me back to my childhood. 

I discovered a blob on my eyeball, and it is beyond revolting… 

It looks like a yellow blister and when I noticed it, I grew quite concerned. I have a family history of glaucoma and was previously diagnosed with blepharitis which translates to oily tears (see former blog post Oily Tears and All,) and is also gross.

So when I noticed this ugly smudge I ran straight to Dr. Google who informed me that what I have is a pinguecula. 

That can’t be right I thought. I haven’t had a nightcap in a long time. And Dr. Google you are not so smart. The word is actually pinguinha but I can see how it can be confusing.  Perhaps Dr. Google needs to go back to medical school?

But further research showed that Google was right. I had not a pinguinha but a pinguecula which is a somewhat common growth that can form on the white part of your eyeball. It isn’t dangerous but it is also not likely to go away. It can also feel like there is an eyelash in your eyeball which IS dangerous if you start goofing around with your eye too much to try to get the invisible eyelash out.

And if I have too many pinguinhas and my eyes become bloodshot, the pinguecula can become inflamed and make your eyeballs turn red. Which is what happened (on its own- I wasn’t drinking,) and so I went to the eye doctor to get it checked out. She prescribed eye drops and said no worries, it is no big deal.

But it is to me. I am vain and if my eye is going to look all read and blood shot, I should have had a couple of pinguinhas to make it worth it. Not an ugly pinguecula that shows up out of nowhere just because I am aging and that’s when the weird, obnoxious stuff starts happening. 

In the end the drops took away the redness and so now it is not that visible. I can’t even see it unless I look very closely while wearing my cheaters which is another eye problem that comes from this beast called aging. But it is just like life to throw a Portuguese looking medical word right at me in the year that I did not complete my resolution to learn new Portuguese words.

What’s a girl to do?

I am going to forget about my pinguecula. Even if I have to have a pinguinha or dois to do it.

(Dois- the Portuguese word for two or, in my Portuguese, as many as you can reasonably get away with.)

Happy Thanksgiving my friends! Please enjoy your pinguinhas responsibly.

Thank you to my Tia Liliana for the Portuguese spellings. The translations are all my own!

What Really Scares Me

A new multiple sclerosis fear

It is a tradition at yvonnedesousa.com to post one of my Halloween blogs this time of year. But I decided I wanted to share this new blog with you instead. If you are missing the usual, alternating posts, you will find the links to them below.

When I was a kid I HATED going to the dentist. I don’t know why exactly as I usually did ok. I never flossed- what kid does? But was pretty good about brushing my teeth and only had the average number of cavities-nothing excessive.

Maybe it was having to keep your mouth open all that time while you lose all control and someone you barely know is doing obnoxious things in your mouth.

Maybe it was because that person is judging you even if they are nice about it. “You have to reach the back molars more- do you spend time on your back molars?”

Huh? 

Maybe it was because occasionally they would hit a nerve. Not hurt your feelings but an actual nerve somewhere and you would wince in sudden brief pain and move and then they would have to readjust everything in your mouth again. 

Or maybe my dislike came from the sound of that scalpel/hook like instrument scraping the surface of your teeth. 

But I think one of the main reasons I hated it was because of all the spitting.  Spitting was just gross.  Only boys spit and it made them disgusting and yucky- at least in 4th grade.

I hated it so much I used to swear that I would rather go to the doctor and get a shot, no, even 3 shots, rather than go to the dentist. Was me saying that punishment that led to having to give myself three shots a week when I was on my first MS disease modifying drug? 

These days I don’t feel that way. And I still deal with shots alright though I’m thrilled my current MS medication is a once-a-day pill, one and done each morning with all the others and then I’m good to go for 24 hours.  As an adult, I can handle the dentist much better.

What gets me now, what really freaks me out and leads to a major breakdown before entering any medical facility, is the modern-day torture device they call the blood pressure cuff. That strap and pump used to stress me out beyond belief.  But since technology has become a thing- it has gotten worse. Now they use a machine to take your blood pressure and it is hell!

For me, it is hellish torture. I don’t care what the medical assistants say, it hurts. And it makes my upper left arm feel like it is going to explode. The left arm is reserved for the BP cuff- the right arm has it easy- its good veins make is perfect for blood draws, lucky!

If I know something is a secret, I will keep it to my death. Unless you strap that cuff around me and then all bets are off. I will tell you whatever you want to know, the deeper the secret the longer that thing is attached and turned on. 

Roswell was a hoax created by L Ron Hubbard to get more people into science fiction and become scientologists- squeeze, squeeze!

The Stones are the ones who killed Kennedy to get that great lyric for Sympathy for the Devil– squeeze, squeeze!

Elvis is alive and living in anonymity in a trailer in the backwoods of Mississippi- take that f***ing thing off RIGHT NOW!!!!

They tell you that you don’t have to have your blood pressure taken. But if you don’t you won’t get treatment. 

Possible flu? Got to get your bp taken.

Rash on your ankle? We need your bp.    

I have started asking the medical assistants to take my blood pressure manually.  They sigh, get annoyed, claim they can’t find the manual cuff, and ask me to try the machine. 

“It will be fine,” they say, “I’ll be careful.” 

The thing starts.

I squirm.

I scream.

I start pulling the assistant’s hair before they finally stop the machine and go looking for the manual cuff.  But now everyone is mad at me, and they have to “find” the cuff and “find” another assistant to take my bp while the first one checks the staff restroom mirror for how much hair she lost.

The manual cuff is still agony, but you’ll only get minor secrets from me on that one. 

“It’s true- I admit it- I did have a crush on Shaun Cassidy when I was a kid.”

And did you know that they also have wrist cuffs? For some reason a wrist cuff is not as bad for me.  Yet, they won’t use them!!! Why have wrist blood pressure cuffs to make life easier for poor, innocent people who fear the cuff and then not use it?

Am I the only one who has a problem with this thing?

Is this terrifying dread of the automatic cuff weird?

Is my problem because of multiple sclerosis?

Is it because MS makes me weird?

I hate it so much I know nothing about blood pressure. I don’t know the numbers or what the numbers mean. I choose to ignore anything that could even be slightly related to blood pressure.

I will come back from the doctor and someone in my life will ask what my bp was. Since I don’t want to go into the whole horror of the cuff and why I can’t remember what they said the bp was as I was wailing the whole time it was taken, I will make it up.

“I think it was 507 over 38. What, that’s bad? Oh wait, no I remember, it was 36 over 200. Is that better?”

And just to pull the stress of my youth into this madness, my dentist is taking my blood pressure now too!  What is that about? I am there for my teeth! What do teeth have to do with blood pressure?

Post Covid the dentist no longer takes my temperature. He doesn’t listen to my heartbeat or make me give a pee sample (another doctor’s office dread but one I contend with better than the cuff.) So why does he need to take my blood pressure?

So, as I get ready to go to yet another appt, one I’m not even sure what I am going for, I am purposefully late as I tell you all about my great phobia with the thing I know will happen before I even see the doctor.  And being late will certainly help put the medical assistant in a great mood for sure.  And don’t even get me started on the other horror, the one that involves stepping on the scale.

On my way to the doctor’s office, I have to pass a house with graphic Halloween decorations in the front yard- including a dummy that is supposed to represent a bloody body. That is nothing! If they really want to scare some folks they should hang a blood pressure machine from a tree with a big scale right underneath it.  Now that would be terrifying!!

Maybe I’ll get lucky this time.  Maybe all I’ll need is a shot or two. Right arm get ready, you’re stepping up to the plate for a shot and maybe give up a little blood. Left arm has had enough!

PS As if the universe wanted to mess with me a bit more, I just heard a doctor on TV say that to get a proper reading, blood pressure must be taken on both arms- each visit!!!  So what do you do when your worst Freddy Krueger dreams come true?  I am going to ignore this medical advice, hide under my covers and hope it is just a Halloween prank!!!

Happy Halloween my friends!!

For some more Halloween/MS fun check out one (or both) of the two blogs below!

Scary Brain Scary Movie

MS Horror Show

Plus- less than three weeks until the release date of my new book, Shelter of the Monument!

To get the preorder discount, follow the link on the homepage of my website!

The Second “S” in Ass Stands for Sclerosis

The MS humor blog where I bare my soul and some bottoms too

The second “s” in ass stands for multiple sclerosis. 

There I said it. 

Hear me out. 

I’m not calling those of us with MS, asses.

Nor am I saying that multiple sclerosis itself is an ass.  Ass is far too tame a word to describe MS. 

What I AM saying is that in my MS brain I can easily equate the second “s” in the word ass to sclerosis.  As in, cognitive issues with MS make me feel like I constantly do things half-assed.

See the connection?

No?

Then how about this- sclerosis is the second word of the disease we call multiple sclerosis which makes it equal to the second word in the description half-assed.  If that wasn’t enough, when I do something half-assed I feel like an ass when I try to correct it. 

I’m surprised I have come this far in my MS humor blog life without swearing too much or making this connection before. We with MS have many terms and sayings we use to name our illness; disability, handicap, weirdness, fatigue, frailty, suckiness, lameness, infirmity, condition, ailment, etc.

Before my MS diagnosis I was considered somewhat smart. I even graduated Magna Cum Laude from college.  I have no idea what Magna Cum Laude means except that it is something fancy professors only say about wicked smart students, unless those students happen to be sleeping with the professors. I was NOT sleeping with any professors though I briefly dated one of the colleges maintenance guys, but I don’t think he had anything to do with scholarship. 

So I know the basics.

But last Sunday morning had me in cognitive hell trying to fix a mistake I had made only to keep making more mistakes. I ordered bookmarks for my new book.

(Don’t worry, this whole post isn’t a promo for the new book; that just comes towards the end.)

When I received them, folks noticed some pretty bad grammar mistakes I hadn’t caught when I placed the order though I checked and re-checked and re-checked again.

One mistake was the word “too” where it should have been the word “to” and the word “beyond” lost its “d” to make it “beyon.”

When you are trying to sell a book and hand out promotional materials you don’t want potential readers to think you don’t even know basic grammar.  The errors had to be fixed, which was going to cost a frustrating fortune but what could I do? I couldn’t hand out bookmarks that looked like they had been done half-assed when I had worked so hard on them. 

An anonymous person from the print company emailed me the changes for my approval but then I discovered other blunders I hadn’t caught during the first round.

How is that possible?

I noticed that the first “D” in my name was capitalized in one spot where it shouldn’t be which was confusing enough, and that in another spot the “de” was separated from the “Sousa” which is wrong.

(Leave it to me to have a confusing name AND multiple sclerosis.)

My print dude fixed that. Then I noticed that there was a period in the middle of one of the sentences my print guy emailed me in the revision.  I asked him to change it to a comma. 

We went back and forth several times with me noticing more things that I should have noticed before I even contacted him for the first revisions, things I went over with a magnifying glass. Speaking of magnifying glasses, the print was too small where it listed my website. Back that revision request went. 

I wasn’t the only one making mistakes though. As if to punish me for all these changes I noticed he changed my first name to Wonne. I may be a cognitive mess but even I know that’s not my name. Wonne isn’t even Portuguese.

(Actually, Yvonne isn’t either. My mom just liked it. She’s a rebel like that.)

That email revision request went back too. 

Then, just as the bookmark looked perfect, I realized that the period in the middle of the sentence I caught before was actually correct. The problem was that it was really two separate sentences and the second sentence needed to be capitalized. I asked him to take the comma out, put the period back and capitalize the word after it.  Even though I apologized and tried to explain my brain issues with each revision email, I felt like a total ass. 

Apparently he thought I was an ass too and stopped responding! 

Did he think I was messing with him for fun?

That I had nothing better to do on a Sunday morning?

Or did he think I just half-assed checking the bookmarks before contacting him, on this second round of bookmarks, and was proofreading each line one by one and contacting him on each line? 

I wasn’t.

My MS cognitive brain just kept glossing over the mistakes and every once in a while, would highlight one for me.

People tell me all the time “that’s not MS, I do that too.”

No, they don’t.

Not this much and this often.

With MS cognitive difficulties, as least with me, it’s as though our brain decides the mistake is not a mistake at all and accepts it as is. Which leads to the MS’er feeling like an ass while people think she is half-assed in her work.  Which make MS a major ASSHOLE!!

In the end, I called the company and got someone else who took pity on me, or just wanted to get me off the phone as I explained my sob story and how the other guy I was working with must hate me, and the second guy finished the job.  It cost over $150 which is another irony since many MS’ers don’t have lots of extra money to spend on fixing their mistakes and unfortunately, multiple sclerosis does not have its own credit card. 

But I think the issues are finally resolved and I know the new bookmarks won’t have any typos in them this time.

I checked. 

PS Can anyone use a bunch of pretty but multiple mistake filled bookmarks from the first batch????

PPS If all of these cognitive grammar issues haven’t scared you off from my book, which I had a lot of help with so hopefully the mistakes in it will be minimal, then you should know that preorders are now available! 

Use this link and enter the promo code PREORDER2023 to get 15% off! 

https://www.blackrosewriting.com/biographymemoir/shelterofthemonument

Plovers Keep Rolling Over

Yes this is an old post. But it IS one of my favorites and relevant as I went for a boat ride last week and was happy to see that about 1/3 of the beach has opened up for the public. If you need to know, that is 2/3 of a huge beach for a tiny bird and 1/3 of that same beach for huge humans. But we are getting closer.

As an aside, how can you tell Cape Codders are spoiled? When they are on a boat, the captain slows down as he spots a fin, they all rush to the bow and are disappointed to see dolphins. I thought for sure I could finally get a human sighting note on the Sharktivity app. Yes, growing up here has spoiled me- dolphins are quite the treat themselves. We saw whales on our boat trip too but I don’t want to rub it in.

Anyway, so I thought I would post this previous blog again for August while I work out some kinks posting on my new website. If I ever figure this out, plan on a new blog for September!!!!

MS hits the beach and crashes

Just months after my MS diagnosis I went swimming in the Atlantic Ocean.
That’s not as big a deal as it sounds.

This beach was a beach of my childhood. At least it was when the piping plovers weren’t hatching. When they were, the beach was closed which drew the ire of the locals and brought out our local attitude.

Trust me, piping plovers DO taste like chicken. I know because about 100,000 vehicle bumper stickers have told me so.

Back then, it was common to swim in the Atlantic. Now the Atlantic Ocean at this beach is filled with seals which means it is also filled with seal poop and Jaws.
I’m not sure which is worse.

For the record, I’m the only one who is concerned with seal poop. That’s either because I’m a germ-a-phobe who is particularly concerned with waste products, or because the rest of the world can’t do basic math- seal=seal poop, multiply by hundreds gives you 100’s of seals= lots of seal poop.

As for worrying about Jaws when swimming, we locals were tough. And by tough, I mean we were more afraid of our parents than we were sharks. As soon as one of our obnoxious older siblings started humming the Jaws theme music (you’re humming it now, aren’t you?) we would run to our parents only to be severely scolded.

“Shark. What shark?  Movie?  Don’t talk to me about any movie, that fish wasn’t even real!  I pack some sandwiches and soda in a cooler and drive five minutes out here so you can sit on a towel- go swim!”

It’s no wonder they never let us watch the Exorcist. 

Swimming wasn’t their only beach rule- they also made us ride in the bed of pick up trucks and never heard of bug spray.  How did we manage to avoid being eaten by vicious sea creatures, cracking our heads open after falling out of a truck and West Nile Virus?

I think we did have sunscreen; all the adults thought the Coppertone ad was cute.

Anyway, before the seals took over the ocean beaches, just after my diagnosis I went swimming in the ocean and had a blast.  But that night my arms roared with an incredible pain.  Now I say incredible pain knowing full well that pain is relative.  I have no idea if I have a high tolerance or low tolerance for pain.

How do you judge? 

I guess you can’t. I just knew my arms hurt like hell and as I laid there the only reason I could come up with was that whilst in the Atlantic- though lovely- the currents were harsh.

I spent a lot of time flopping around like a seal and battling to keep from being pulled out to sea.  It was less frolicking and more “hey, start swimming seriously or you’ll drift to Portugal before you know it.” 

The other weird (bizarre, strange, crazy) thing about that pain was that it went away during the day but came back again the next night and the next after that. 

It diminished slightly with each evening but still.  Why did it only come at night?  It’s like that age-old question our parents ignored when we asked, “when the tide goes out, where does the tide go?”

When the pain goes away during the day where does the pain go?

Fast forward to this summer where I swore I would make the best of the heat/humidity nightmare that is July and August. 

And I really have been. 

I’ve read 2 good books so far. 

But that wasn’t enough. 

With my pale skin still causing great embarrassment to my Portuguese ancestors and a need to get as much Vitamin D as possible, I wanted to get to the beach. 

(Just so you’re not concerned my MS friends, I do take a high, RX Vitamin D supplement and take great caution to eat Vitamin D rich foods.  There is a ton of ice cream in my freezer and a Dairy Queen frequent eater pass to prove it.) 

First, I had to figure out the best beach to go to.  The ocean beaches are a no as already discussed with the seal/shark situation.

Luckily, we have bay beaches.  Yes, I know.  Sharks and seals can swim but for some obscure scientific reason they can’t swim from the ocean to the bay.

The closest bay beach to me has real restrooms but tons of sand bars making high tide not really high at all. 

The next bay beach has more depth but only porta-potties. 

The beaches along Nantucket sound cost too much since I’m not a resident of that neighborhood. 

I know, I know.

Cape Cod girl problems that are making my mid-western friends want to beat me up.

Eventually I picked a beach and have gotten some sun and some swimming in.  Or, what kind of looks like swimming.  You might call it splashing around. 

Turns out the swimming skills I mastered as a kid have not held up well. 

Where’s the Jaws theme when you need it?  Nothing improves your breast stroke quite like that.

Anyway, after a couple of forays to the beach one night my left arm suddenly hurt- a lot.  It started from my elbow down my arm to my hand and fingers.  What is that?? 

Because it felt worse in my hand and fingers I wasn’t too concerned that it was a warning sign for cardiovascular trouble. 

Plus, it was worse when I moved a certain way. 

I know you wise guys are thinking “WELL DON’T MOVE THAT WAY!” 

But where the pain is keeps changing.

Is this the beach again? 

This beach had no current or rip tides.  The most I moved in the water was really just propelling my body to the surface to float around. 

(Floating, I still remember.  Leave it to a lazy girl with MS fatigue to manage to lay down in the water.)

Another way this pain is different from the ocean swim pain is, while decreasing, it does stick around during the day.  Does that have something to do with the tides? 

One might suggest that I should see my doctor.  But with MS all kinds of obscure sensations develop, wane, come back, explode, fizzle and generally make the MS’er question what to do when.  Going to the doctor with a new something I can barely describe is starting to get old. 

How do you decide what is doctor worthy when MS has turned you into a medical mystery?

I decided to handle this the Cape Cod way.  If it gets worse then I’ll make an appointment.  Until then, locals believe salt water is the cure for everything.  The best thing to do is get back to the beach, stick my whole body in the bay and see what happens.  

At least I’ll be getting some Vitamin D. 

Disclaimer

It’s important to keep your doctor posted on everything and the salt water cure may just be an old wives tale.  If you have a concern it’s best to call your doctor’s office, even if I don’t.

Also, the Vitamin D from the sun can penetrate through sunscreen.  What has a harder time are the UV rays.  If you are beaching it, please wear sun protection. 

Finally, this is a total tongue in cheek post. There MAY actually be sharks in the bay.  But there’s no seal poop there. 

Trust me, I’ve checked

NoteOnly two and a half months until the rease of my new book, Shelter of the Monument, a coming-of-age story of first love in a beautiful seaside town. For all of the updates, reviews and chance to win a free, autographed copy. subscribe to my book release newsletter on the home page! (Just tp make it complicated for my MS friends, this is a seperate sign up from my blog subscriber list.)

Introducing My New Book!

Hello my friends!  Happy July 2023!

I’m doing something different in this post.  For this month only, instead of the MS humor blog you are used to, I am using this space to introduce my new book!

Shelter of the Monument: A Provincetown Love Story

My publisher, Black Rose Writing, has set the release date for 11/16/23.

Here’s the cover; an excerpt is below.

I hope you enjoy the cover, designed by Black Rose Writing using a picture taken by my friend, Russell Dutra, as well as the new website, courtesy of my very talented web guru at Kemp Resources. I love how both turned out!

For upcoming information on the book itself, reviews, pre-order information and book signings, please sign up for my newsletter.

Could I Send You My Free Newsletter?

Yes, please!

And, in keeping with the humor aspect of my blog, I wanted to offer this excerpt from Shelter of the Monument.

This scene takes place in Provincetown, MA in January of 1992. I hope you enjoy it and it makes you want to read the book which I can’t wait to share!

And, for my MS friends, don’t worry, the regular humor blog will be back in August!

From Shelter of the Monument: A Provincetown Love Story–

            January could be pretty bleak for townies. I was not concerned. It felt like the first time I was spending the winter in Provincetown. Sure, I had grown up here. But I lived with my mom and my sisters and I went to school. Now I was in my own place, living with Richard and appreciating every minute of it. While he picked up small jobs here and there, I scoured the want ads for a full-time job and was relaxed while doing it, having the security of unemployment until May when I would again start my seasonal job. When I was not with Richard I was with my friends or my family. The dull, cold days, desolate streets, and boarded up businesses didn’t depress me. Instead, they felt welcoming and encouraging. They felt promising.

            We were home one bitter, dark night when the phone rang. Richard answered it and I heard a loud voice on the other end.

“Hey Richard, it’s Dante. Does your old lady want some clothes?”

            I feigned a ‘what the hell’ expression and Richard shrugged his shoulders.  He asked Dante what was going on.

“My old lady threw me out, the bitch. For no reason! I had like 10 minutes to get all my stuff and so I took some of her clothes to piss her off. I don’t wanna take them to the thrift shop ‘cause she’ll just go get them again. What’s the point of that?”

            Richard had been there–at least in the getting thrown out part. He had sympathy for his buddy who just happened to be in the neighborhood. Dante came over and we met for the first time. While he handed me a large, dirty, trash bag, Richard handed him a beer. I went through the bag and pretended to be appreciative while he told us the story of the fight that led to him walking around town with a garbage bag of women’s clothing. I oohed and ahhed over several of the items while I tried to carefully fold them. Even if I had felt comfortable wearing stolen apparel, Dante’s ‘old lady’ was a size zero. On a super thin day I might have been able to squeeze into an 8 but I was basically a 10. Yet, I was new to this relationship stuff and did not want to seem ungrateful to Richard’s friend who thought he was killing two birds with one stone: pissing off his ex while gifting Richard’s ‘old lady’ with a new wardrobe. I compromised by selecting and gushing over two ratty but common t-shirts that I could not imagine the ex would miss and even if she did, would not recognize. I would never fit into them but made a mental note to drop them off at the thrift store. Maybe the ex would get some of her clothes back after all….

            Not many days later, Richard and I had a different sort of visit/clothes issue, except this one was about a lack of clothes. Richard had come home frozen and filthy after doing gear work on a friend’s boat. As he was getting into the shower, I told him I was going to pick up Serena and bring her back to the apartment, so they could talk about her car which he had agreed to work on. When Serena and I came in, Richard was out of the shower and calmly watching TV, wearing nothing but a pink towel. Serena doubled over with laughter and could not get over the fact that he was just in a PINK towel. “Pink, that’s what so funny! He’s wearing a pink towel!  I’ve used your towels and I know you have colors besides pink!”

            Personally, I was furious and embarrassed. What was he thinking? Richard was hot and had a great body. Was he just trying to show off? Did he think we would be so enamored of his abs that we would both throw ourselves at him? I didn’t think so. Richard loved me even though he knew I was pretty uptight. While Serena was far from uptight, it would still never happen. Mostly he was just being his impish self, trying to shake the winter up a bit and have fun watching me turn bright red. I yelled at him to go get dressed like a normal person and he did. But not before making a production out of pretending to “almost” drop the towel on the staircase which caused Serena to crack up even more.            

            Back downstairs and dressed, they talked about her car problems. He had taken a look at the engine the day before and knew what she needed done. He estimated what the parts would cost and said he would call them into the shop the next day. Once Serena had the money to pick them up, he could fix her car, no problem. 

            Serena was known for many things: a great sense of humor, being kind, being a flirt, being adventurous, and her incredibly big boobs. Dolly Parton had nothing on my dear friend, and she didn’t mind if people talked about her chest. I was not lacking in the boob department that much myself, but Serena’s were definitely bigger. She would not have been offended when Richard called the shop the next morning and spoke to a guy he knew that worked there. When he was done ordering the parts she needed, he told them that a very large-breasted woman would be in to pick them up.

“Why would you tell him that?” I asked.

“So they’ll recognize her. And hey, you never know, maybe they’ll give her a break on the price.”

“You men are dogs,” I told him.

            A few days passed and Serena had the cash but not the opportunity to get to the shop several towns away. On another one of my laundry trips with Laurie, I volunteered to go to the auto store for her. I told the clerk I was there to pick up parts Richard had called in. He leered at me and said, “I thought so.” Oh buddy, you have no idea what you missed had the original woman come in, I thought. But I had to admit, I felt a little flattered. 

            Unfortunately, however, MY boobs did not get her a discount….

A Walk With Seal Nostalgia

It was mid-June 2023 and the sun had been out for a whole hour. There was work that needed to be done but as the sun was finally, thankfully out, I decieded to procrastinate with a lovely walk on the beach. My time there led to a the memory of this particular blog and thus, since I was walking quite a bit and the only inspiration the walk was offering was a memory of this prior blog, I thought I would share it again.  Though I did not see any seals on this day, or the orcas that have been visiting Cape Cod like the many other tourists that are here, it was a lovely way to get exercise just the same. 

Something I have been much better about since I originally wrote this fun story

Seal of Approval

Multiple Sclerosis inspiration of the aquatic kind

In last week’s blog, I talked about whales.  Today’s blog is about seals.  Well, a seal, one seal in particular.  Who knows, maybe next week I will blog about sharks.

Or dolphins.

Or maybe crabs.

Let’s hope that if I ever feel the need to blog about crabs it will be of the marine kind, not the cooties kind.

But before I blog about a seal, (a gray harbor seal to be exact,) I must first digress just a bit.

I wouldn’t be much of an MS blogger if I didn’t enjoy MS blogs.  In the links section of my website I list some of the ones I regularly follow.  I highly recommend you check them out as long as you promise not to like any of them more than you like mine!

LOL!

(Not really LOL but I didn’t want to come off as too possessive so I hope the LOL tames that vicious side.)

On a couple of occasions I have had the chance to meet Rick Conti, a fellow blogger who blogs about MS, his faith and Haiti.

His blog is called Limping in the Light.

It was his blog of last week however, that lead me to flop on my bed and hide my head under the pillows in deep shame.  His blog and the fact that I was really, really tired.

He blogged about the importance of exercise.  Read his post here-Step across the Line.

While I rested his blog stayed in my head, maybe because he was right.

Technically, I know about the importance of exercise.

I know that supposedly it will help me have more energy, (maybe if I exercised more often I could confirm that.)  When I started my own blog I talked a lot about my own ‘get fit’ plan that involved veggies, more water and exercise.

I have made more progress on the first two tasks than the last.

The thing is, there are exercises I enjoy, specifically beach walks and using my Wii Fit.

But in addition to the ‘being tired’ excuse there is the old and tired excuse of no time.

Which is exacerbated by MS robbing MS’er’s of precious time in the day.

(See what I did there-using the word exacerbated?)

Rick’s post continued to haunt me and began to destroy my excuses.

It was my favorite time of year.

It was a beautiful day.

I live only minutes away from one of the ten best beaches in the country.

(I’m not making that up- I’ve read it in travel magazines and on Dr. Beach’s website.)

It was time to get my butt and legs moving again and get back on the exercise bandwagon.

I headed to the beach, parked and used the stairway to walk down the sandy cliff.  That was a ton of exercise right there and I wasn’t even on the beach yet!

As I got down to the shore a seal popped up in front of me, very close-maybe only in water waist deep.

The surf was rocky and there are sharks in them waters so I wasn’t going in to splash around with the little guy. But I started walking to the left along the shore and the seal swam alongside me.

He was doing most of his swimming beneath the surface but at least 5 different times he popped his head up, looked directly at me and then dived again.  Was it my imagination or was he following me?

It was definitely the same seal as he had distinct markings on his back. Maybe he was checking me out because he thought I was following him?  But since I’m drastically out of shape I was not keeping a steady pace and was stopping to rest a time or two (or three or four.)

Yet each time he popped up, he was right beside me.

Since I was enjoying this I walked pretty far.  (I always forget about the walk back.)   When I realized my seal friend wasn’t about to give me a ride to my car I knew I had to turn back.  But I didn’t want to lose him either.

As I was trying to decide what to do, my friend popped up, looked right at me again and turned around himself. We started heading back together.

After a couple of feet, he reversed direction and this time I didn’t follow.  I just figured our visit was over and kept on my way.

As I walked I realized we had gotten pretty far from any other beach goers.  It was then that I saw a guy heading in the opposite direction, walking towards the isolated part of the beach. Was my seal friend trying to warn me to not be alone in that area with this strange guy or have I just watched too many crime shows?

Luckily, I may never know.

I got to the end of my walk, the area where there were lots of people and the stairs back to the parking lot.  Right before I turned to walk off the beach, my seal popped up again!!!! He looked at me, seemed to nod his approval and then started swimming off into deeper water, as if saying he would be on his way now.

It was an awesome experience.  So much so that I came home, sat my butt down and wrote about it on Facebook.  Many people commented, calling my friend things like a guardian seal, a gift from the universe, an angel, a muse, a visit from beyond and lots of other cool things.

Perhaps my seal was none of those things.  Perhaps he was all of them.  Perhaps he was just a cool fluke-not the flounder fluke, I think my seal friend would eat that fluke, but fluke as in a chance occurrence.

I guess I can’t really be sure what the seal’s true intent was in keeping me company in my attempt to exercise and ‘get fit.’

But I know I enjoyed him.

And, if I’m being honest, no matter what, I need to look at his visit as something even bigger than me.  Something, besides Rick, saying “Get some damn exercise girl!”

And, unfortunately for my tired, busy self, there probably aren’t many excuses to get around that…

New Book Update!

Shelter of the Monument: A Provincetown Love Story is on track for it’s November release date and I cannot wait!!!  I am working away and expect that by next month’s blog I will have more to share including an updated website, a newletter regarding the book itself and perhaps a cover reveal!!  

Stay tuned!!

In the meantime, for my Cape Cod friends, I will be reading a short excerpt during the Provincetown Portuguese Festival which is a fun weekend celebrating the town’s Portuguese heritage.  It is worth checking out for the events, food and folklore but also for some great prose and poetry. If you are interested, the information is below!

 

 

 

What MS Awareness Month Taught Me

Knowledge is power or, at least, validation

Stay tuned to the end to this blog for a really big announcement!

 

Alright, that’s it!

Who do I sue?

Where do I find a copyright infringement attorney? Because I’ve had enough. I’m definitely suing!

Please allow me to explain.

About six months into the pandemic I used this space to whine about Covid robbing me of one of my most prized skills. As a woman of few talents, I treasure each one. And this skill was also the most practical.

It was my innate ability of knowing all the cleanliest and convenient public restrooms on various roadways. I was a master at this, due to my problematic MS bladder combined with my comorbidity of germaphobia.

Then Covid hit and that knowledge went right out the window we opened to yell thank yous to the pandemic frontliners. Suddenly, many of my old standbys were closed or wouldn’t allow you inside, and the trusty doctor’s offices I took my mom to no longer let me come in with her, if only to sneak into their bathroom. My skills were shot, just as I planned on designing an app selling my knowledge to the masses. (Check out the blog post, Where Do You Go?)

During March, Multiple Sclerosis Awareness Month, a time when patients, loved ones, and medical professionals are learning and sharing their knowledge of this particular illness, I learned that these apps already exist!!!!!

Bastards.

Turns out Charmin- of Mr. Whipple please the Don’t Squeeze the Charmin fame- started an app called Sit Or Squat.

Since then, they have been copied by other restroom finders such as Flush, PooPee and the ever original Where is Public Toilet?

It doesn’t matter that Charmin came up with their Sit or Squat app in 2017, as I was busy gathering information for my own app. They had to have stolen the idea from me, or at least, from some other desperate MS’er with a side affliction of germaphobia.

And you can’t tell me that these apps are on target with the personal information that my app would have had. Do they factor in fast food restaurant shift changes? Or medical building’s restrooms within a particular doctor’s office restrooms as opposed to the main lobby ones right by the entrance that maybe aren’t cleaned as often?

No, I bet they don’t. Yet here they are making money off poor, folks with bladder issues without a care as to how needed their service is and that it was my idea first!

Ok, it wasn’t, but I thought it was so that should totally count.

Yes this was some distressing knowledge I obtained during MS Awareness Month. But luckily, I learned some other things too.

Big announcement coming up soon

Did you know that what part of an MS’er’s body has a lesion/lesions has a direct correlation to what their symptoms will likely be? I kind of knew that but thought I was making it up. Turns out, I wasn’t. I can’t share with you which MS article I read this in because I forgot to save it, but I was pretty stoked that all the times I have been spreading this particular MS knowledge, I wasn’t lying!

My sister who is biologically my half sister but is really just my sister also has MS and she uses a walking aid. The majority of her lesions are on her spine. As of yet, I don’t need assistance to walk, unless you count a good kick in butt when I’m being lazy, but most of my lesions are on my brain and I can zone out and make cognitive mistakes with the best of them.  Case in point- pretty much every blog I’ve ever written.

Speaking of my sister, we always knew that MS wasn’t hereditary but that there had to be some unknown link within families. This was further emphasized when my other half-sister, who is really just my sister but biologically is also a half, was also diagnosed with MS. We three share the same grandmother and we have long believed she lived with MS but was never diagnosed.

According to an article by Tammy Worth in EverydayHealth “What Causes MS?” the reason you may have one or more family members also living with multiple sclerosis is that they may share a gene, thus there is a genetic link.

I don’t really understand that but I guess it means having MS doesn’t mean someone else in your family will have it too, but IF there is someone else in your family who does, you may have a similar gene and that’s why you both, or all three of you, have it.

Go figure. We would fight about sharing jeans, but the whole time we were growing up we shared an MS gene. Maybe if we’d known, the denim would have gotten passed around too, just like the ugly 70’s school picture dresses.

Keep scrolling- you are almost at the very big announcement.

 

And thanks to a meme from PositiveLivingWithMS, I learned that vertigo was more likely a cause of a multiple sclerosis exacerbation than simply a weird side effect from Covid. When I got Covid in 2022, I woke up with the worst hangover I ever had; the bed spinning like a top and it was hard to get up without falling over. Confusing thing was, I hadn’t had any alcohol in weeks.

I took a Covid test and it was negative. Five days later, I developed what felt like a bad cold and received a positive Covid diagnosis. So likely the Covid virus started poking around my body which caused an MS exacerbation which brought on horrible vertigo which lasted during and past my length of Covid.

Or something like that. I just know it was miserable, lasted 2 months and every once in a while it hints at coming back. But mercifully, it never has.

I also learned that trouble with making decisions is also a symptom of MS. I totally thought so!!

Now, thanks to Caroline Craven and her article in Healthline “How Multiple Sclerosis Can Affect Decision Making,” I have proof!

Sometimes trying to decide something just does me in. I can spend 20 minutes just trying to decide which socks to put on. These socks are super comfy but also warm- what if it gets hot out? These socks are more stylish but my feet tend to slide around in my shoes when I’m wearing them. These socks are perfect but the color kind of clashes with my shirt- does that matter? Are my pants long enough to hide them?

See?

I bet you’re starting to get tired too.

Now do you see why MS is so exhausting?

So while I didn’t really learn anything new this past MS Awareness Month, except for the potty app thing that I am STILL mad about, I learned that some of the things I was stressing over, the things I blame on MS out of frustration and fear, really are part of my complex MS world.

For some reason, knowing that I was right about this makes me feel better.  Sometimes we need validation. Sometimes we need science. When the latter is slow to catch up, sometimes we need to remember that the patient maybe does know best. Even if they don’t know why.

Are you confused yet?

Blame MS!

Now, as promised, the big announcement!!!

Drum roll please!!

I’m happy to report that I have signed a contract with an independent publisher for my second book, Shelter of the Monument: A Provincetown Love Story.

As we say in my area, I’m wicked excited!

Be forewarned, this book isn’t about multiple sclerosis like MS Madness! A “Giggle More, Cry Less” Story of Multiple Sclerosis. This one is a coming-of-age memoir that takes place in Provincetown, MA. And while there are some funny moments in it, it is mostly about serious issues such as first love, loss, addiction and finding your own voice. It is due to be released this November and I can’t wait to share it with you.

As my publisher and I gear up to the release date, things may change a bit at yvonnedesousa.com. I will be posting updates and adding the new book to the website. I’m not sure what that will look like exactly, but will be working on it in the coming weeks.

(Warning to my web guru who reads my blog, I will be contacting you very soon. You may want to take your phone off the hook- lol!)

Thank you all for your support with both the blog and with MS Madness!  I hope you will check out and enjoy Shelter of the Monument as well!!

 

 

 

 

On the Chopping Block Again

Had hoped to get a new blog off to you this month but the month ran away from me.  And while I still have issues with Spring, I’m not quite as bitter about it.  Still, this is one of my favorites so I thought I would repost. 

My best wishes for a wonderful Spring for all of you and stay tuned- next month will feature a brand new blog and an exciting announcement!

 

Chop their Happy Little Heads Off

Multiple Sclerosis prepares for spring

 

It’s official- spring is here.   And I am probably the only person in the world who’s not happy about it.

The rest of you are lying to yourselves about how wonderful the arrival of spring is.   To me, what spring really means (think of this in the singsong voice of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz), “heat, and pollen and bathing suits, oh my!”

None of which I am excited about.

The heat and pollen completely do me in medically speaking and only serve to make me long for the cool days of fall and winter when it is perfectly acceptable to curl up under a blankie with a good book and a cup of tea.  Unfortunately, that cup of tea also includes a cookie or two which is why I must throw in the bathing suit part of my dread.

How do I know spring is here?  Is it the weather?  Of course not.  I live in New England and it was seventy degrees last week with a chance of snow for the following weekend.

Is it the ridiculous looking daffodils that shot up on the sides of roads and yards as soon as one March day’s temperature hit over 40 degrees?   Everyone sees the yellow and white blooms and begins to remark how lovely the flowers are, even as they sneeze and sniffle away.

“What a joyous reminder of the change of seasons we have,” say those jaded spring loving fools.

Many can look at the daffodils and see their sappy little faces just oozing smiles and grins.

“We have sprouted and we are so beautiful,” they seem to gloat.

I just want to bring out my scissors and chop their happy little heads off.  Right before I run to the store to buy more tissues and allergy drugs.

Crucially important disclaimer .  While I honestly admit that I want to chop off the heads of the happy little buds whenever I see them, I SWEAR that I did not actually cut the daffodils in my friend’s yard.  I may enjoy fantasizing about early flower homicide but I would never actually commit such violence.  My deepest sympathies go out to my friend who is still mourning her flower loss and bad season vibes to the person who committed the vandalism.   May pollen forever coat your car you real flower killer.

 

But again, how do we in Cape Cod know when spring finally arrives?  For some maybe it is the influx of traffic on our local roads complete with construction to tie up those roads.  Construction that begins right about the time everyone decides to leave their homes after winter hibernation and get out and enjoy the unlovely air.

Is it the sounds of businesses opening or the lack of complaints about the people who frequent those seasonal businesses? No.

For me what made it official that spring is here was this- today I found a dead carpenter ant on my kitchen floor.

That, like no other sign lets me know that I am in for it.

This dead ant is a warning of great trouble to come.  I don’t know how he died or why he chose to die in my kitchen but I can correctly assume that he has lots of friends that will come looking for him.

 

I am a Christian and believe that God created all things, even happy looking ridiculous daffodils that sprout too early and annoying bugs that invade my home.  But why do they have to invade my home?  You don’t see me going to their house and collapsing on their little ant hill floor.

I know the Bible that I have just put down says that I am to care for all creatures and feed them when they are hungry.

Ok, I am good with that.  Hey ants, tell me what food you like best and I will deliver it.  Brownies?  Sure, I will surround a trail around your little ant hill.

Chips?  Absolutely. Barbecue, sour cream and onion or just plain?

Spilled drinks?  Name your favorite-lemonade, Kool-aid, oj, milk- whatever and I will pour it all over my yard.

Whatever you want just stay out of my home, at least until you help pay the rent.

The Bible also says you must shelter those who are homeless.

Fine, I will build you little bug shelters around my yard, hey even around the daffodils that an old tenant planted, giving you a nice happy view.  I just don’t want to throw you a party in my living room.  I have enough trouble walking without tripping.  Worrying about stepping on you dead or alive is just too much trouble.  You gross me out and, like the flowers, remind me that my least favorite season is here.

 

After I try to get rid of you I will need to pull out my AC and fans, dust the pollen from everywhere daily, do errands first thing in the morning to avoid crowds and in complete terror try on my bathing suit in case I ever happen to get enough energy to actually hit the beach.

Ahhh, the beach.  The colors of the water are especially gorgeous right now.  And, since it isn’t that hot yet and the mosquitoes and green heads haven’t arrived, maybe I can actually enjoy hanging on the beach for a bit before the real humidity sets in.

And hey, since my MS feet have gotten used to the “sand in my toes” tingly symptom, maybe I can actually walk on the beach and get some exercise.

Ok, so maybe there are one or two perks to this least favorite season of mine.

Dead bugs and overly zealous flowers are not among them however.  Quick, find me some bug spray and garden clippers and let’s get through it.