Tonight I am experiencing a deep sense of loss. See, this week we spoke about our journey as a community and agreed to express the emotion we experience. My experience of loss has nothing to do with this journey, however, thinking of that made other things and experiences come to the surface.
By now, it is not much of a secret that I have bipolar disorder. I think I also spoke about ECT's, but I do not think I spoke about lithium.
Lithium is supposedly the gold standard in mood stabilizers and I was started on it about 6 weeks ago. It has a list of side effects:
- tremors in my hands
- constant thirst (I now drink about 4 litres of water in the day and another 2 at night)
- constant stomach cramps
- regular muscle pain (like after a run / long cycle)
- if you do not remain hydrated, the lithium becomes toxic
- weight gain
- the list continues, but these side effects have the most severe impact on me...
With the lithium came more rules and loss:
- I will never be able to drink another glass of wine, because the lithium will turn toxic.
- The same applies to caffeien... no more coffee, Coke Light, Coke Zero, whatever...
- One of the most upsetting things is that I am no longer allowed to donate blood, because my blood is toxic. I am weeping as I am typing this. Donating blood was my way to give back to society.
- I am not comfortable eating with just anyone, because sometimes, I battle to keep the food on my fork. So when I do, it has to be something I can eat with my hands.
I am saying goodbye to many things and everytime I realise I sm losing something else, it hurts all over.
This week I discovered that my medical aid is depleted due to no fault of mine. It simply is.
Tonight I dropped two plates, because my hands were just trembling too much. I had to put the sharp knives away, because I forget and accidentally cut myself twice this week.
This morning the child I'm teaching to drive, drove over a piece of iron and I lost a front tyre.
So what do I feel about my community's journey? I love them, but I am simply not there yet.
So, why did I write this gloomy post? I guess I just had to verbalise some of what what is milling through my head. And yes, I am feeling lost in this chaos. Is my feeling rational? I don't know. Tonight it is not about what I know, but what is going on inside.
Tomorrow I'll re-engage with what I feel about my community's journey. Promise. And then, I'll lift my chin and try again.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Obedience vs burnt offerings
I adore my cat. Thomas (O'Malley) is 5 years and 3 months old and is definitely the most charming housemate I have ever had.
I think he thinks I must be a god, because I open the tins and open the taps for him. He often brings 'offerings' home. I live in a complex on a hill and behind the complex, it is just too steep to build. The result is that there is veld and my mini-lion loves his savanna.
We have had all kinds of offerings... a guinea fowl and variety of other birds, various rats, mice, lizards, a frog, 5 snakes and the list continues. He never eats the prey or even break their skin. He kills and puts the offering in front of my bed.
Yesterday he went on a spree. He killed 3 lizards, followed by 2 birds. Every time he just wanted my approval and recognition. In fact, he 'talks' in short miaaus until I acknowledge him and his prey.
When he disappeared up the for the umpteenth time yesterday, I thought about 2 things:
1) God says obedience is far better than offerings. I had to wonder what my 'gifts' / 'sacrifices' look like to Him? Even when I worked long and hard at something, why do I think it is a worthy offering?
2) I do not have to earn God's love. He just loves me. Personally, this is far easier said than done.
This morning, I still adore my Thomas, but not more than I did at this time yesterday. I'd rather have him sleeping at home and hear the occasional purr when he surfaces to see if he's missing any fun.
I pray that God would change our hearts during Lent and help us to be obedient as we are fasting. I pray that God will change me and help me to experience Him as Father and accept that He loves me.
I think he thinks I must be a god, because I open the tins and open the taps for him. He often brings 'offerings' home. I live in a complex on a hill and behind the complex, it is just too steep to build. The result is that there is veld and my mini-lion loves his savanna.
We have had all kinds of offerings... a guinea fowl and variety of other birds, various rats, mice, lizards, a frog, 5 snakes and the list continues. He never eats the prey or even break their skin. He kills and puts the offering in front of my bed.
Yesterday he went on a spree. He killed 3 lizards, followed by 2 birds. Every time he just wanted my approval and recognition. In fact, he 'talks' in short miaaus until I acknowledge him and his prey.
When he disappeared up the for the umpteenth time yesterday, I thought about 2 things:
1) God says obedience is far better than offerings. I had to wonder what my 'gifts' / 'sacrifices' look like to Him? Even when I worked long and hard at something, why do I think it is a worthy offering?
2) I do not have to earn God's love. He just loves me. Personally, this is far easier said than done.
This morning, I still adore my Thomas, but not more than I did at this time yesterday. I'd rather have him sleeping at home and hear the occasional purr when he surfaces to see if he's missing any fun.
I pray that God would change our hearts during Lent and help us to be obedient as we are fasting. I pray that God will change me and help me to experience Him as Father and accept that He loves me.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Ash Wednesday
Today was Ash Wednesday and I think Jesus came to my office.
In anticipation of what I am about to tell you, I think it is important that one of Claypot's (my community) values has always been to take hands over denominational borders.
On Monday, a few of my colleagues and I were discussing Ash Wednesday. None of us were able to join our communities this morning and still be on time for work. Hence, we decided to have our own Ash Wednesday liturgy.
Spending time with my colleagues, just being quiet and reading a prayer of repentance was awesome. We work together and see each other's best and worst. All day there was this sense of 'we are sharing something and Someone'.
Just after our liturgy, we saw lots of frowning and questioning faces and assumed it has something to do with the black crosses on our foreheads... and we explained. By mid-morning my line manager commented that he felt there was something going on and he was standing outside the circle. He then proceeded to ask if he could come next year. He was just the first of a whole string of people with the same request.
So, today I met Jesus at my office. It was great to have Him there. And, like always, I have to wonder where I'll meet Him tomorrow...
In anticipation of what I am about to tell you, I think it is important that one of Claypot's (my community) values has always been to take hands over denominational borders.
On Monday, a few of my colleagues and I were discussing Ash Wednesday. None of us were able to join our communities this morning and still be on time for work. Hence, we decided to have our own Ash Wednesday liturgy.
Spending time with my colleagues, just being quiet and reading a prayer of repentance was awesome. We work together and see each other's best and worst. All day there was this sense of 'we are sharing something and Someone'.
Just after our liturgy, we saw lots of frowning and questioning faces and assumed it has something to do with the black crosses on our foreheads... and we explained. By mid-morning my line manager commented that he felt there was something going on and he was standing outside the circle. He then proceeded to ask if he could come next year. He was just the first of a whole string of people with the same request.
So, today I met Jesus at my office. It was great to have Him there. And, like always, I have to wonder where I'll meet Him tomorrow...
Friday, February 12, 2010
Tetelesthai
Just before Jesus blew out his last breath, He said: 'tetelesthai', translated as 'it is fulfilled'.
This morning, I am tempted to say: 'tetelesthai'. I know that you cannot compare medical treatment with giving your life for sinners, having loved them and having them not love you. I am by no means trying to be blasphemous. Yet, the temptation remains.
This morning I had my sixth, and for now final ECT. It was a rollercoaster journey. Initially I was really scared, then I decided to trust my doctor to take care of me while I sleep and relaxed. Yes, I have a few battle scars, but they will heal. My muscles are sore, but most of that can be fixed with a good workout or two. I have had a fairly intense headache since Monday, but that will go away. My eyes are super-sensitive to light.
What I gained overshadows the side effects. Two weeks ago, I was seriously suicidal and could see no reason at all to live. Today I am strong and I want to fight / manage bipolar disorder. I refuse to shrivel up and sit in the corner and be a victim of a mental disease.
I know that there will be good times and bad times, it comes with the territory. I might even have to have more ECT's in future. In the meantime, I am the manager of this disease and need to take my meds, sleep enough, drink enough water, exercise, stay away from alcohol, caffeine, weed, and other drugs.
Where is God in all this? I really do not want to have the whole healing discussion today. Our community agreed a few years ago that our reflex reaction to disease should be to pray for the sick. I am all for it. Yet, I see God more as a partner in this. He knows my brain, better than anyone else, because He made it. He knows about the synapses we broke over the past two weeks. He knows my heart, my life, my circumstances. In all of this, I believe that we will not be tempted beyond what we can control or resist. God is with me. God is in my bipolar disorder and the management thereof.
Tetelesthai. This chapter is over.
This morning, I am tempted to say: 'tetelesthai'. I know that you cannot compare medical treatment with giving your life for sinners, having loved them and having them not love you. I am by no means trying to be blasphemous. Yet, the temptation remains.
This morning I had my sixth, and for now final ECT. It was a rollercoaster journey. Initially I was really scared, then I decided to trust my doctor to take care of me while I sleep and relaxed. Yes, I have a few battle scars, but they will heal. My muscles are sore, but most of that can be fixed with a good workout or two. I have had a fairly intense headache since Monday, but that will go away. My eyes are super-sensitive to light.
What I gained overshadows the side effects. Two weeks ago, I was seriously suicidal and could see no reason at all to live. Today I am strong and I want to fight / manage bipolar disorder. I refuse to shrivel up and sit in the corner and be a victim of a mental disease.
I know that there will be good times and bad times, it comes with the territory. I might even have to have more ECT's in future. In the meantime, I am the manager of this disease and need to take my meds, sleep enough, drink enough water, exercise, stay away from alcohol, caffeine, weed, and other drugs.
Where is God in all this? I really do not want to have the whole healing discussion today. Our community agreed a few years ago that our reflex reaction to disease should be to pray for the sick. I am all for it. Yet, I see God more as a partner in this. He knows my brain, better than anyone else, because He made it. He knows about the synapses we broke over the past two weeks. He knows my heart, my life, my circumstances. In all of this, I believe that we will not be tempted beyond what we can control or resist. God is with me. God is in my bipolar disorder and the management thereof.
Tetelesthai. This chapter is over.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
20 years later
Today is the twentieth anniversary of Nelson Mandela's release from prison. I remember the day he was released. It was a stuffy Sunday afternoon and my heart was in the pit of my stomach.
I made many wrong assumptions in the period when the Apartheid laws fell and political prisoners were released. I did not know the facts and their stories. There was a huge divide and it was definitely more difficult to obtain information on, for example, the Rivonia trial. By the time it reached me, it was already contaminated by a grown up's opinion.
Four years later, we had our first democratic election. It lasted 3 days and it scared me. South Africa prepared for war and my parents, like countless other South Africans, stocked up on bullets, canned food & candles. They were ready. However, war did not come.
There were rumours of Mr Mandela going to charities, playing with children, actually... not doing any of the things I so feared. When I finally got to read his biography, I was ashamed and humbled. We have done nothing but cheat him out of a life, and yet he gave whatever life he had over for South Africa - black and white alike.
Side note - it is equally magical to hear another black man, bishop Desmond Tutu, say: "God loves you, He cares for you... God loves you", to white South Africans, just like a father would to his children.
It is tempting to stay in a corner, cry, repent and apologise. Yes, there are times we need to be in a corner, cry, repent and apologise. However, just like in our spiritual lives, where we sometimes frown on the practice of people 'giving there lives to Jesus' over and over every Sunday, never building a relationship with Him. Just like we cannot keep meeting Jesus for the first time every week, we cannot stay in a corner, cry, repent and apologise for Apartheid.
I think our hearts should remain repentant, but it has to move into relationships. I have a few black acquintances and one really good black friend. I would be so much poorer had I not had young Buhle in my life. We can exchange stories and I learn a lot by just listening to this boy and listening to his comment on mine. He is trying to teach me Zulu and I am trying to teach him to drive.
Let us then set an example to our children? Let's reach out? When I say 'reach out', I do not suggest that we just find random blach people and feed or clothe them. Part of reaching out is to realise that we are equal, and as whites, we do not necessarily have anything to offer, but our firndship.
I think the basis of this 'reaching out' will always be two-fold - inspired by God and making restitution for what we and our ancestors did wrong.
So, let's move forward then (with the condition that we remember where we come from and why we are on this journey)? I pray that we will be able to show a fraction of the love and grace Madiba showed.
I made many wrong assumptions in the period when the Apartheid laws fell and political prisoners were released. I did not know the facts and their stories. There was a huge divide and it was definitely more difficult to obtain information on, for example, the Rivonia trial. By the time it reached me, it was already contaminated by a grown up's opinion.
Four years later, we had our first democratic election. It lasted 3 days and it scared me. South Africa prepared for war and my parents, like countless other South Africans, stocked up on bullets, canned food & candles. They were ready. However, war did not come.
There were rumours of Mr Mandela going to charities, playing with children, actually... not doing any of the things I so feared. When I finally got to read his biography, I was ashamed and humbled. We have done nothing but cheat him out of a life, and yet he gave whatever life he had over for South Africa - black and white alike.
Side note - it is equally magical to hear another black man, bishop Desmond Tutu, say: "God loves you, He cares for you... God loves you", to white South Africans, just like a father would to his children.
It is tempting to stay in a corner, cry, repent and apologise. Yes, there are times we need to be in a corner, cry, repent and apologise. However, just like in our spiritual lives, where we sometimes frown on the practice of people 'giving there lives to Jesus' over and over every Sunday, never building a relationship with Him. Just like we cannot keep meeting Jesus for the first time every week, we cannot stay in a corner, cry, repent and apologise for Apartheid.
I think our hearts should remain repentant, but it has to move into relationships. I have a few black acquintances and one really good black friend. I would be so much poorer had I not had young Buhle in my life. We can exchange stories and I learn a lot by just listening to this boy and listening to his comment on mine. He is trying to teach me Zulu and I am trying to teach him to drive.
Let us then set an example to our children? Let's reach out? When I say 'reach out', I do not suggest that we just find random blach people and feed or clothe them. Part of reaching out is to realise that we are equal, and as whites, we do not necessarily have anything to offer, but our firndship.
I think the basis of this 'reaching out' will always be two-fold - inspired by God and making restitution for what we and our ancestors did wrong.
So, let's move forward then (with the condition that we remember where we come from and why we are on this journey)? I pray that we will be able to show a fraction of the love and grace Madiba showed.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Electroboy / ECT 4 of 6
Yesterday I had my fourth ECT session.
Thus far, the side effects have been minimal compared to the benefits. Yes, I did have muscle pain, but it is less intense now than a week ago. I do have headaches. I also do have minor short term memory loss.
My hands and are bruised and my lower lip has a deep bite. However, this is due to anaesthetic and not the therapy.
On the upside, I am no longer suicidal. I can see the flaws in my argument that I simply could not see ten days ago. I, once again, have the most basic human instinct - survival.
Today, I am grateful to God for medicine and medical intervention. My psychiatrist is an angel. Whilst the anaesthetist was digging for a vein, she was holding my hand and stroking my hair. I am grateful to God for this wise woman and her gentle spirit. I am grateful for my friends who cooked for me in this time or bought me frozen meals or offered to do so. I am grateful for friends who get up at 4 AM to get me to the hospital in time. I did not and do not deserve any of this and am truly humbled.
Should you want to know more about ECT's, please click here and follow the link. Electroboy became the posterboy for treating bipolar disorder with Electro Convulsion Therapy.
Tomorrow I'll have the fifth session and on Friday the sixth, and for now final.
I expected the entire process to be intrusive and much worse. Tonight, all I feel is gratitude...
Thus far, the side effects have been minimal compared to the benefits. Yes, I did have muscle pain, but it is less intense now than a week ago. I do have headaches. I also do have minor short term memory loss.
My hands and are bruised and my lower lip has a deep bite. However, this is due to anaesthetic and not the therapy.
On the upside, I am no longer suicidal. I can see the flaws in my argument that I simply could not see ten days ago. I, once again, have the most basic human instinct - survival.
Today, I am grateful to God for medicine and medical intervention. My psychiatrist is an angel. Whilst the anaesthetist was digging for a vein, she was holding my hand and stroking my hair. I am grateful to God for this wise woman and her gentle spirit. I am grateful for my friends who cooked for me in this time or bought me frozen meals or offered to do so. I am grateful for friends who get up at 4 AM to get me to the hospital in time. I did not and do not deserve any of this and am truly humbled.
Should you want to know more about ECT's, please click here and follow the link. Electroboy became the posterboy for treating bipolar disorder with Electro Convulsion Therapy.
Tomorrow I'll have the fifth session and on Friday the sixth, and for now final.
I expected the entire process to be intrusive and much worse. Tonight, all I feel is gratitude...
Saturday, February 06, 2010
My dark passenger
I love Dexter. If you do not know Dexter, here is a short synopsis: Dexter lives in Miami and works at the Miami Police as a blood spatter analyst. However, Dexter has what he calls 'a dark passenger'.
See, Dexter is a serial killer. BUT he kills according to Harry's (his stepfather's) code. The 'victim' must have killed before and there must be proof that he intends to do so again. The 'victims' are often the guys who fell through the cracks in the justice system.
I have my own dark passenger. No, I am not a serial killer, but sometimes there is this cold darkness in me and in my mind. To confure you and me, it is not necessarily depression and tears. Sometimes, it is a lot of energy. Sometimes I forget I am an introvert and I start talking to strangers. I get adventurous, laugh alot... and then I crash.
I thought about my passenger today and I need to say this more to myself than to you - I am not my dark passenger. I am still me. Every day is a fight to keep this passenger in his place. I will do all it takes to manage him, but I am not the dark passenger.
I am still me. I am still here. I still have hopes and dreams. I still believe in God and community. I still have friends, whom I thank God for, because they have seen it all. I am standing - for now. May God have mercy on me and on my friends.
See, Dexter is a serial killer. BUT he kills according to Harry's (his stepfather's) code. The 'victim' must have killed before and there must be proof that he intends to do so again. The 'victims' are often the guys who fell through the cracks in the justice system.
I have my own dark passenger. No, I am not a serial killer, but sometimes there is this cold darkness in me and in my mind. To confure you and me, it is not necessarily depression and tears. Sometimes, it is a lot of energy. Sometimes I forget I am an introvert and I start talking to strangers. I get adventurous, laugh alot... and then I crash.
I thought about my passenger today and I need to say this more to myself than to you - I am not my dark passenger. I am still me. Every day is a fight to keep this passenger in his place. I will do all it takes to manage him, but I am not the dark passenger.
I am still me. I am still here. I still have hopes and dreams. I still believe in God and community. I still have friends, whom I thank God for, because they have seen it all. I am standing - for now. May God have mercy on me and on my friends.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
I am not bipolar...
... I just happen to HAVE bipolar disorder. I have read "Bipolar for Dummies" over the past 10 days and for the first time a lot of what is going on in and around me makes more sense.
According to the author, bipolar disorder can be latent and won't necessarily rear its head at all. It is similar to having a fair skin - you need to wear sunscreen and preferably stay out of the sun in order to protect yourself.
Thinking back, I know when I first met the monster. It was during a carnival in my second year at varsity. I served on the SRC and we were asked to arrange a carnival on a piece of land the University of Johannesburg (then Rand Afrikaans university) gave the Seminary. I worked so hard on my part, but the rest of the team simply did not come through.
The fun run was a disaster, the volley ball contest did not happen and instead of 100 stalls, we had 8. One of them sold lingerie. This was a big no-no in the pentecostal tradition and even more so when you are 19 years old and in the early days of a relationship. You know, when you still blush when you are just holding hands?
That afternoon, I decided to go and hide underneath a table in the tea garden and I did not ever want to come out again. That was the start of my first depressive episode.
Again, being pentecostal, studying to be a pastor and depply influenced by John G Lake & Smith Wigglesworth, I could not explain what was happening and was just relieved when it was over and I could tackle the next project, working almost day and night. The more I think back, the more I am flooded with memories and I can clearly see ups and downs. Ups and downs like everybody experience, but just so much more intense.
I believe that I have finally been diagnosed correctly. I believe that I have to manage this monster, or it might manage me. This includes regular exercise, enough sleep, healthy meals and the dreaded medicine. It implies that I have to work with my psychiatrist, whom I like to think of as a consultant. I will use every tool available to me, e.g. a mood diary and research available. I will keep asking questions and for the rest of my life, I will have to keep the monster at bay.
Yet, I am not bipolar. One of our lecturers used to say that you are more than the sum total of what happened to you. I am more than the sum of what happened to me. There is more to me than bipolar disorder, even though my regular meds and forced adjusted lifestyle shoves it in my face at least 3 times per day.
I do not know how God decides who should have it. I do not know if He gives it. I do not know if he allows satan to dish it out. What I do know is that I still want to want to love Him. I want to experience His presence and His comfort when my heart wants to break for seemingly no reason. I wanr to be with Him when my mind races and I can visualise all the little wheels in my head spinning. I want Him to be there when I have a 'runaway train' idea.
I am not bipolar. I am just a confused child of God, battling to make sense.
According to the author, bipolar disorder can be latent and won't necessarily rear its head at all. It is similar to having a fair skin - you need to wear sunscreen and preferably stay out of the sun in order to protect yourself.
Thinking back, I know when I first met the monster. It was during a carnival in my second year at varsity. I served on the SRC and we were asked to arrange a carnival on a piece of land the University of Johannesburg (then Rand Afrikaans university) gave the Seminary. I worked so hard on my part, but the rest of the team simply did not come through.
The fun run was a disaster, the volley ball contest did not happen and instead of 100 stalls, we had 8. One of them sold lingerie. This was a big no-no in the pentecostal tradition and even more so when you are 19 years old and in the early days of a relationship. You know, when you still blush when you are just holding hands?
That afternoon, I decided to go and hide underneath a table in the tea garden and I did not ever want to come out again. That was the start of my first depressive episode.
Again, being pentecostal, studying to be a pastor and depply influenced by John G Lake & Smith Wigglesworth, I could not explain what was happening and was just relieved when it was over and I could tackle the next project, working almost day and night. The more I think back, the more I am flooded with memories and I can clearly see ups and downs. Ups and downs like everybody experience, but just so much more intense.
I believe that I have finally been diagnosed correctly. I believe that I have to manage this monster, or it might manage me. This includes regular exercise, enough sleep, healthy meals and the dreaded medicine. It implies that I have to work with my psychiatrist, whom I like to think of as a consultant. I will use every tool available to me, e.g. a mood diary and research available. I will keep asking questions and for the rest of my life, I will have to keep the monster at bay.
Yet, I am not bipolar. One of our lecturers used to say that you are more than the sum total of what happened to you. I am more than the sum of what happened to me. There is more to me than bipolar disorder, even though my regular meds and forced adjusted lifestyle shoves it in my face at least 3 times per day.
I do not know how God decides who should have it. I do not know if He gives it. I do not know if he allows satan to dish it out. What I do know is that I still want to want to love Him. I want to experience His presence and His comfort when my heart wants to break for seemingly no reason. I wanr to be with Him when my mind races and I can visualise all the little wheels in my head spinning. I want Him to be there when I have a 'runaway train' idea.
I am not bipolar. I am just a confused child of God, battling to make sense.
Therapy session 2
This morning I had therapy session 2/6. It was really horrible.
When I woke up, fresh from the theatre, I felt smothered by a mask that was just too close to my nose and mouth. I started kicking in an attempt to get the recovery staff's attention. They only noticed there was a problem when I started crying.
Safely at home and going to sleep now. Tomorrow I'll deal with my sore muscles and prepare for Friday's session... 3/6.
When I woke up, fresh from the theatre, I felt smothered by a mask that was just too close to my nose and mouth. I started kicking in an attempt to get the recovery staff's attention. They only noticed there was a problem when I started crying.
Safely at home and going to sleep now. Tomorrow I'll deal with my sore muscles and prepare for Friday's session... 3/6.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
The morning after the day before
Yesterday I had a little intrusive therapy. Afterwards, I thought it was a total non-event. I had a headache and a little muscle pain (or stiffness, almost like when you did not cool down properly after a workout), but nothing to write home about.
This morning, however, is a different story. I do not think my neck and shoulders were this sore, not even when I had meningitis. Yesterday my doctor gave me permission to go to gym today and sort out some of the muscles and muscle pain. I pray that something help for my neck and shoulders. It feels like I am pinned to my bed and can hardly get up.
We had a well-known South African writer, called Dalene Matthee. She wrote novels and was best known for the 'forest-trilogy'. The forest people never referred to elephants as elephants, because then the elephants would think they are being called and trample the people. Instead, they referred to them as 'big feet'.
This morning, it feels like the big feet ran all over me and tomorrow is treatment 2/6.
This morning, however, is a different story. I do not think my neck and shoulders were this sore, not even when I had meningitis. Yesterday my doctor gave me permission to go to gym today and sort out some of the muscles and muscle pain. I pray that something help for my neck and shoulders. It feels like I am pinned to my bed and can hardly get up.
We had a well-known South African writer, called Dalene Matthee. She wrote novels and was best known for the 'forest-trilogy'. The forest people never referred to elephants as elephants, because then the elephants would think they are being called and trample the people. Instead, they referred to them as 'big feet'.
This morning, it feels like the big feet ran all over me and tomorrow is treatment 2/6.
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