Ended up in ER last night as my doctor refused to provide any more pain pills until our Monday appointment (this despite the fact that she had only given me three days worth of pain meds and I'd already managed to stretch it out to cover five days).
Went the the same hospital that my MRI was done in, and they gave me the diagnosis. Looks like degenerative disc disease. Something in my MRI or in my current symptoms bothered them, so they put me in a trauma room and ran some more tests before sending me home with stronger pain medication and orders to see a specialist in spinal damage/injuries.
Still in shock. Still taking time to absorb the information, and the knowledge that I will have back issues for the rest of my life. Trying to buck up about it but it's hard.
EDIT: I posted the above blog post on my FB page, and followed it up with some results from research on degenerative disc disease. One of the recommendations are to do low-impact exercises, like water aerobics and stability ball exercises.
I have great friends on FB. Within a few minutes of that post, two of my friends informed me that they were sending me stability balls. I find myself crying again, but this time they are happy tears!
Also realized I'm a big busted woman who was just diagnosed with degenerative disc disease. Otherwise abbreviated as DDD.
Triple D. I'm cracking up. Oh, the irony!
Friday, March 16, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Not the greatest ambassador to his breed....
It was so beautiful out today. The boys wanted to ride their bikes up and down the street. I agreed, and had one of them move a chair out to the front yard so I could keep an eye on them. Trouble cries if we go out to play without taking him with us, but I wasn't exactly in the physical condition to hold his leash, thanks to my back. So he got tied to a tree in the front yard, and I sat down next to him.
All was fine for a while - Trouble liked watching the boys on their bikes, and every time they rode past his tail would wag. Several other kids came out, and there was all sorts of activity - biking, jogging, skateboarding, babies in strollers - lots for a young dog to watch. A couple of boys remembered that he's a gentle dog, and brought him a few sticks to gnaw on.
A few boys decided to start a game of soccer about three houses down from us. Now, you should know that Trouble LOVES balls. When a ball is involved, there is no talking sense into that dog. So you can just imagine the whimpering and whining as he watched those boys kick around that lovely bi-colored toy. He actually started to drool with anticipation.
That's when it happened. One boy kicked the ball towards the goal, and missed. The ball rolled past the goal and came to a stop at the curb - right in front of Trouble. With a huge jerk, that silly canine snapped his harness into pieces and pounced on the ball. His entire body language was one of sheer joy - "It got it! I got it! Ball! Ball! Ball!"
I knew there was a very good chance that Trouble would puncture the toy in his exuberance, so I called for my sons (since again, my back injury prevented me from participating in anything). Jonathan managed to pin the silly pup, and James got the ball out of his slobbering maw. In the manner of little boys all over the world, he wiped the drool off the ball with his shirt and offered it to the ball's owner. Accepting this behavior as fair and just, the young man accepted his ball with dignity and headed back down the street to home.
The boy was three houses away when Jon somehow lost his grip on Trouble. Like a bullet, Trouble aimed at the ball and hit his fastest stride. "HEADS UP!" I shouted in the kid's direction.
The boy turned around to see 60 pounds of jet black pit bull barreling towards him, teeth gleaming in the late afternoon sun. For a moment, he froze. I'm sure it must have looked terrifying - Trouble isn't a small dog, and since he's a pit bull, most people have an instinctive fear of the breed. But everyone who was watching - from the youngest toddler to the oldest grandma - knew exactly what Trouble was aiming for. And it wasn't the kid.
A dozen voices shouted out in unison. "THROW THE BALL!"
And the kid snapped out of his paralysis and threw the ball when Trouble was about five feet from him. The result was utterly comical. Trouble put on the breaks so hard he somersaulted, and somehow ended the somersault with a springing leap in the direction of the ball. Within seconds, he had his jaws around the irresistible toy, and his tail was moving so fast his whole body was shaking to the rhythm.
This time, when Jon came to pin him, he involved everyone in a merry game of keep-away, letting kids get just close enough to touch him or the ball before springing back. About a dozen boys ended up circling him until he had no backwards direction left to jump, and then Jon pinned him down while the ball was once again muscled out of his jaws.
Fortunately for all, the ball wasn't damaged, nor was the dog. In fact, Trouble seemed mighty thrilled with how the evening turned out - his tail didn't stop wagging for nearly an hour. And he had the hugest doggy grin ever. Once we had him safely on a leash (attached to his collar, since his harness was hanging in shreds from his shoulders), he personally went around to each boy and gave them a happy lick on the hand, as though to thank them for the wonderful game.
~sigh~ I know he meant no harm, and I am very fortunate to live in a pit-friendly neighborhood (Trouble is one of a full dozen of pits on this street alone, and it seems more are arriving every day). But someday we will move, buy a place of our own, and I can't guarantee that our new neighbors will understand a soccer-loving pit bull racing down the street towards their children. It looks frightening and dangerous. In one way, it is VERY dangerous - to Trouble. All it would take is one call from a concerned parent and Trouble could be taken from us and euthanized.
He's GOT to learn that not all balls mean playtime. I want him to be a lovely ambassador to his breed - not one that frightens parents and children alike.
All was fine for a while - Trouble liked watching the boys on their bikes, and every time they rode past his tail would wag. Several other kids came out, and there was all sorts of activity - biking, jogging, skateboarding, babies in strollers - lots for a young dog to watch. A couple of boys remembered that he's a gentle dog, and brought him a few sticks to gnaw on.
A few boys decided to start a game of soccer about three houses down from us. Now, you should know that Trouble LOVES balls. When a ball is involved, there is no talking sense into that dog. So you can just imagine the whimpering and whining as he watched those boys kick around that lovely bi-colored toy. He actually started to drool with anticipation.
That's when it happened. One boy kicked the ball towards the goal, and missed. The ball rolled past the goal and came to a stop at the curb - right in front of Trouble. With a huge jerk, that silly canine snapped his harness into pieces and pounced on the ball. His entire body language was one of sheer joy - "It got it! I got it! Ball! Ball! Ball!"
I knew there was a very good chance that Trouble would puncture the toy in his exuberance, so I called for my sons (since again, my back injury prevented me from participating in anything). Jonathan managed to pin the silly pup, and James got the ball out of his slobbering maw. In the manner of little boys all over the world, he wiped the drool off the ball with his shirt and offered it to the ball's owner. Accepting this behavior as fair and just, the young man accepted his ball with dignity and headed back down the street to home.
The boy was three houses away when Jon somehow lost his grip on Trouble. Like a bullet, Trouble aimed at the ball and hit his fastest stride. "HEADS UP!" I shouted in the kid's direction.
The boy turned around to see 60 pounds of jet black pit bull barreling towards him, teeth gleaming in the late afternoon sun. For a moment, he froze. I'm sure it must have looked terrifying - Trouble isn't a small dog, and since he's a pit bull, most people have an instinctive fear of the breed. But everyone who was watching - from the youngest toddler to the oldest grandma - knew exactly what Trouble was aiming for. And it wasn't the kid.
A dozen voices shouted out in unison. "THROW THE BALL!"
And the kid snapped out of his paralysis and threw the ball when Trouble was about five feet from him. The result was utterly comical. Trouble put on the breaks so hard he somersaulted, and somehow ended the somersault with a springing leap in the direction of the ball. Within seconds, he had his jaws around the irresistible toy, and his tail was moving so fast his whole body was shaking to the rhythm.
This time, when Jon came to pin him, he involved everyone in a merry game of keep-away, letting kids get just close enough to touch him or the ball before springing back. About a dozen boys ended up circling him until he had no backwards direction left to jump, and then Jon pinned him down while the ball was once again muscled out of his jaws.
Fortunately for all, the ball wasn't damaged, nor was the dog. In fact, Trouble seemed mighty thrilled with how the evening turned out - his tail didn't stop wagging for nearly an hour. And he had the hugest doggy grin ever. Once we had him safely on a leash (attached to his collar, since his harness was hanging in shreds from his shoulders), he personally went around to each boy and gave them a happy lick on the hand, as though to thank them for the wonderful game.
~sigh~ I know he meant no harm, and I am very fortunate to live in a pit-friendly neighborhood (Trouble is one of a full dozen of pits on this street alone, and it seems more are arriving every day). But someday we will move, buy a place of our own, and I can't guarantee that our new neighbors will understand a soccer-loving pit bull racing down the street towards their children. It looks frightening and dangerous. In one way, it is VERY dangerous - to Trouble. All it would take is one call from a concerned parent and Trouble could be taken from us and euthanized.
He's GOT to learn that not all balls mean playtime. I want him to be a lovely ambassador to his breed - not one that frightens parents and children alike.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
My kids were trying to be thoughtful.
The extra activity and pain from the MRI last night has made today miserable. Ironically, the MRI itself felt great - the scan caused a sensation of warmth to flow in the injured area, and it was frankly the most comfortable I have been since I was injured. That said, the process of getting undressed, then arranging myself on the MRI table, then getting off and re-dressed, was extremely painful and unpleasant.
Especially when the oh-so-helpful aide decided the best way to get me off the MRI table was to say "Ally-up!" in a cheerful voice and pull me into a straight sitting position by my arms. I think my scream was loud enough to wake the dead.
Since that little incident, I've been in more pain, and the pain pills just weren't cutting it. Around 11am, I decided to lay down for a couple hours. I took my pills first before laying down, with the thought that they would have fully kicked in by 1pm, and I could get up and be semi-productive while the kids read during quiet time.
My kids had other ideas. Really, they were trying to be thoughtful, I do understand that. They jointly decided to make their own lunch and let me sleep in. For seven and a half hours.
Did I mention the pain pills only last for five to six hours?
So by the time I finally woke up, my pain meds had already been worn off for about two hours, and I HURT. I barely managed to get up and hobble to the bathroom (with tears pouring down my face the entire time), and somehow made it to the computer chair before my back completely seized out.
I sat there for over an hour, sobbing and waiting for the pain meds to kick in. Nothing doing. I was still stuck in the same spot, unable to move more than an inch or two without crying out in pain. At this point my kids were freaking out because they feel responsible for me being in pain, and I'm trying to reassure them and muffle my cries because it's making them feel bad, and it's just a huge clusterf*ck.
Finally after ninety minutes of this, I call the pharmacy (thank goodness for 24 hour pharmacies), and explain the situation. I tell her what I've taken so far, and what I have on hand, and ask if there is anything I can take in addition to my pain pills to allow me to function at least partially normally.
She told me to take another Hydrocodone. I worried out loud that I was worried about possible addiction (I mean, it's a narcotic, after all!), but she pointed out that I haven't been taking as much as I could be anyway, so it should still be safe to do. So I took another pill, both reluctantly and hopefully. And you know what? It worked. I can move again. I haven't tried to get out of my chair yet (I'm waiting for a full hour to go by before I try), but I can lean forward and backward and to each side, and I can shift in the chair.
I HATE THIS. I hate being in pain. I'm kicking myself (metaphorically speaking) for not losing weight earlier in my life. This pain would be a lot less if I weighed less. I remember reading a story a year or so ago of a woman who had lost weight, and then a couple months after reaching her goal, she was in a horrible car accident. She ended up wedged in the twisted metal wreak of her vehicle, in a small area that was claustrophobic tiny.
Her doctor later looked at the pictures and told her "If you had been in that accident when you were heavier, you would have died."
So now I have to face the reality - if I had lost the weight before this, would I even be injured? Would my injury be as severe? Is it too late for me? Am I permanently disabled? Is it too late to lose weight? If not, how can I lose weight when half my body is incapacitated?
More than the pain, the uncertainty is killing me.
If you are out there and trying to lose weight, quit procrastinating. Start NOW. You never know what the future might bring. You could hurt your back tomorrow. You could be in a car accident. You could fall and not be able to get up. Don't give up. Don't be complacent.
I'm not giving up. I'm going to continue working on losing weight. Sure, walking is no longer an option until I figure out what exactly is wrong, and what to do to fix it. It might be surgery. It might me more pain meds. I don't know. I might have to be in a wheelchair for a while.
I actually look forward to being in a wheelchair. I can still go for "walks", just using my arms rather than my legs. My shoulders rather than my hips. I'm not giving up.
Especially when the oh-so-helpful aide decided the best way to get me off the MRI table was to say "Ally-up!" in a cheerful voice and pull me into a straight sitting position by my arms. I think my scream was loud enough to wake the dead.
Since that little incident, I've been in more pain, and the pain pills just weren't cutting it. Around 11am, I decided to lay down for a couple hours. I took my pills first before laying down, with the thought that they would have fully kicked in by 1pm, and I could get up and be semi-productive while the kids read during quiet time.
My kids had other ideas. Really, they were trying to be thoughtful, I do understand that. They jointly decided to make their own lunch and let me sleep in. For seven and a half hours.
Did I mention the pain pills only last for five to six hours?
So by the time I finally woke up, my pain meds had already been worn off for about two hours, and I HURT. I barely managed to get up and hobble to the bathroom (with tears pouring down my face the entire time), and somehow made it to the computer chair before my back completely seized out.
I sat there for over an hour, sobbing and waiting for the pain meds to kick in. Nothing doing. I was still stuck in the same spot, unable to move more than an inch or two without crying out in pain. At this point my kids were freaking out because they feel responsible for me being in pain, and I'm trying to reassure them and muffle my cries because it's making them feel bad, and it's just a huge clusterf*ck.
Finally after ninety minutes of this, I call the pharmacy (thank goodness for 24 hour pharmacies), and explain the situation. I tell her what I've taken so far, and what I have on hand, and ask if there is anything I can take in addition to my pain pills to allow me to function at least partially normally.
She told me to take another Hydrocodone. I worried out loud that I was worried about possible addiction (I mean, it's a narcotic, after all!), but she pointed out that I haven't been taking as much as I could be anyway, so it should still be safe to do. So I took another pill, both reluctantly and hopefully. And you know what? It worked. I can move again. I haven't tried to get out of my chair yet (I'm waiting for a full hour to go by before I try), but I can lean forward and backward and to each side, and I can shift in the chair.
I HATE THIS. I hate being in pain. I'm kicking myself (metaphorically speaking) for not losing weight earlier in my life. This pain would be a lot less if I weighed less. I remember reading a story a year or so ago of a woman who had lost weight, and then a couple months after reaching her goal, she was in a horrible car accident. She ended up wedged in the twisted metal wreak of her vehicle, in a small area that was claustrophobic tiny.
Her doctor later looked at the pictures and told her "If you had been in that accident when you were heavier, you would have died."
So now I have to face the reality - if I had lost the weight before this, would I even be injured? Would my injury be as severe? Is it too late for me? Am I permanently disabled? Is it too late to lose weight? If not, how can I lose weight when half my body is incapacitated?
More than the pain, the uncertainty is killing me.
If you are out there and trying to lose weight, quit procrastinating. Start NOW. You never know what the future might bring. You could hurt your back tomorrow. You could be in a car accident. You could fall and not be able to get up. Don't give up. Don't be complacent.
I'm not giving up. I'm going to continue working on losing weight. Sure, walking is no longer an option until I figure out what exactly is wrong, and what to do to fix it. It might be surgery. It might me more pain meds. I don't know. I might have to be in a wheelchair for a while.
I actually look forward to being in a wheelchair. I can still go for "walks", just using my arms rather than my legs. My shoulders rather than my hips. I'm not giving up.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Not your typical Thursday
Woke up today in more pain than any other day this week (except Monday - no ambulance for me today). Took an hour to get to a standing position, and I couldn't wait for the kids to leave for school so I could get in a boiling hot shower and work off some of the stiffness.
This was my first day getting dressed without help. It took seven minutes to get my underwear and pants on, and about twenty minutes to get socks and shoes on, but I did it! I started to do a happy dance out of habit, but quickly realized that was a VERY BAD IDEA.
I knew it was going to be a busy day - all three of the children had dental appointments, and I had managed to get a doctor's appointment for myself at the same time. So Sean came home from work, and we went to pick up the younger boys.
The first person I saw in the school was the vice principal. "Oh, Mrs. Betts! I'm glad to see you - we need to talk." That's never a good thing. Turns out James had decided to sumersault down the aisles of the school bus this morning. It took me a few minutes to digest this information. Seriously? What the heck was he thinking? And when asked, he just shrugged and said "I was bored."
~groan~ He's suspended from the bus for 24 hours. This means Sean will have to drive him to and from school tomorrow, as I obviously am in no condition to walk him there.
At the dentist, we discovered the two younger children have multiple small cavities. When confronted, the they admitted they have been playing in the bathroom at night rather than brushing their teeth. One of Jacob's teeth has to be pulled, and that is scheduled for Thursday next week. I'm hoping that the experience will drive the dental care lesson home, and I hope he expresses just how very PAINFUL and ANNOYING it is to his brother, so it teaches him a lesson too. In the meantime, I am going to have to supervise their nightly brushing.
Jonathan's was a little better. He only has two small cavities that can be easily dealt with. However, he has a fragment of a baby tooth that is stubbornly hanging in there, so that will have to be extracted at the end of the month. He's a little nervous about that, but I suspect it will go fine.
After the kids saw the dentist, I went to see the doctor. I got lucky this time - the doctor I got took me seriously, didn't treat me like I was an idiot, and seemed to genuinely care about my health and well-being. She expressed amazement at how little of the pain pills I've been using, which went a long way towards convincing her I was seriously in pain as opposed to a drug-user who was just trying to get narcotics. She gave me a referral for an MRI and I scheduled it for tomorrow night.
She thinks I have a herniated disc. Fun. I'll know for sure after the MRI.
If I do have a herniated disc, this means a couple of things. First of all, long walks are going to be off the table for a while. Second, the expanded garden I was planning this year is not an option. I'm going to have to change my plans to allow for container gardening rather than in-the-ground gardening. It's a blow, but I'll work around it. Last but not least, it means surgery to fix the issue, and possibly being wheelchair bound for several weeks.
When I know more, I'll let everyone know. In the meantime, I'm just waiting for the MRI.
This was my first day getting dressed without help. It took seven minutes to get my underwear and pants on, and about twenty minutes to get socks and shoes on, but I did it! I started to do a happy dance out of habit, but quickly realized that was a VERY BAD IDEA.
I knew it was going to be a busy day - all three of the children had dental appointments, and I had managed to get a doctor's appointment for myself at the same time. So Sean came home from work, and we went to pick up the younger boys.
The first person I saw in the school was the vice principal. "Oh, Mrs. Betts! I'm glad to see you - we need to talk." That's never a good thing. Turns out James had decided to sumersault down the aisles of the school bus this morning. It took me a few minutes to digest this information. Seriously? What the heck was he thinking? And when asked, he just shrugged and said "I was bored."
~groan~ He's suspended from the bus for 24 hours. This means Sean will have to drive him to and from school tomorrow, as I obviously am in no condition to walk him there.
At the dentist, we discovered the two younger children have multiple small cavities. When confronted, the they admitted they have been playing in the bathroom at night rather than brushing their teeth. One of Jacob's teeth has to be pulled, and that is scheduled for Thursday next week. I'm hoping that the experience will drive the dental care lesson home, and I hope he expresses just how very PAINFUL and ANNOYING it is to his brother, so it teaches him a lesson too. In the meantime, I am going to have to supervise their nightly brushing.
Jonathan's was a little better. He only has two small cavities that can be easily dealt with. However, he has a fragment of a baby tooth that is stubbornly hanging in there, so that will have to be extracted at the end of the month. He's a little nervous about that, but I suspect it will go fine.
After the kids saw the dentist, I went to see the doctor. I got lucky this time - the doctor I got took me seriously, didn't treat me like I was an idiot, and seemed to genuinely care about my health and well-being. She expressed amazement at how little of the pain pills I've been using, which went a long way towards convincing her I was seriously in pain as opposed to a drug-user who was just trying to get narcotics. She gave me a referral for an MRI and I scheduled it for tomorrow night.
She thinks I have a herniated disc. Fun. I'll know for sure after the MRI.
If I do have a herniated disc, this means a couple of things. First of all, long walks are going to be off the table for a while. Second, the expanded garden I was planning this year is not an option. I'm going to have to change my plans to allow for container gardening rather than in-the-ground gardening. It's a blow, but I'll work around it. Last but not least, it means surgery to fix the issue, and possibly being wheelchair bound for several weeks.
When I know more, I'll let everyone know. In the meantime, I'm just waiting for the MRI.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Worst Monday Morning EVER
Last night I did some roughhousing with Sean, nothing unusual or weird about it. Hip felt a little sore as I went to sleep, no big deal (my hips are deformed and thus always sore anyway). Didn't have any trouble getting comfortable and falling asleep.
Around 3 am I woke to use the bathroom. Noticed an increase in soreness as I sat up, but again, no big deal. I usually stiffen up at night and need to limber up anyway.
But then I tried to stand up.
And I realized something was very very wrong.
The pain hit out of nowhere, flashing across my left hip and lower back like flame on gasoline. The shock of it made me cry out and fall back to the bed, gasping. At first I thought this was just a more severe stiffness - maybe a cold front was moving in? But as I continued to try to get out of bed, it became clear that I was injured.
Walking the ten feet from the bed to the bathroom took twenty minutes. Getting back into bed was even harder. After struggling for over an hour to get comfortable, I finally fell into a light doze, punctuated by flashes of pain.
The alarm went off at 6 am - and by then, I couldn't even get out of bed. I tried to limber up, stretching as much against the pain as I dared. At one point I managed to swing my legs off the bed (while still in a lying position), and the pain was so bad at that point, darkness was starting to creep up in the edges of my vision. After an hour of struggling to even sit up, Sean called 911, and I was taken out of my bed on a backboard.
The ER didn't run a single test for my back or hips. They simply pumped me full of pain medication until I was able to sit up on my own and shuffle three feet to a wheelchair. I was told to take the pain medication for the next few days, and if there is still no improvement over my condition, to call my regular doctor and have some tests run then.
Best case scenario? I either sprained, strained, or pulled a muscle in my lower back/hips. Worst case scenario? A compression fracture, a slipped disk, or something equally nasty. I won't know for sure until it has time to heal.
There is never a good time to be injured, but this time period hit particularly hard. I have signed up for a 100 Mile March challenge this month, and thanks to the flu I had last week, plus this injury, I haven't been able to walk a single mile. I was looking forward to spring cleaning. I've really been getting more on top of housework, and now I fear it's all going to slid downhill while I am recovering.
So if you don't see me online much in the next couple weeks, it's because I am in too much pain to sit on our beat-up office chair to type. I'll try to regularly update, but I can't make any promises.
I just hope it's nothing serious.
Around 3 am I woke to use the bathroom. Noticed an increase in soreness as I sat up, but again, no big deal. I usually stiffen up at night and need to limber up anyway.
But then I tried to stand up.
And I realized something was very very wrong.
The pain hit out of nowhere, flashing across my left hip and lower back like flame on gasoline. The shock of it made me cry out and fall back to the bed, gasping. At first I thought this was just a more severe stiffness - maybe a cold front was moving in? But as I continued to try to get out of bed, it became clear that I was injured.
Walking the ten feet from the bed to the bathroom took twenty minutes. Getting back into bed was even harder. After struggling for over an hour to get comfortable, I finally fell into a light doze, punctuated by flashes of pain.
The alarm went off at 6 am - and by then, I couldn't even get out of bed. I tried to limber up, stretching as much against the pain as I dared. At one point I managed to swing my legs off the bed (while still in a lying position), and the pain was so bad at that point, darkness was starting to creep up in the edges of my vision. After an hour of struggling to even sit up, Sean called 911, and I was taken out of my bed on a backboard.
The ER didn't run a single test for my back or hips. They simply pumped me full of pain medication until I was able to sit up on my own and shuffle three feet to a wheelchair. I was told to take the pain medication for the next few days, and if there is still no improvement over my condition, to call my regular doctor and have some tests run then.
Best case scenario? I either sprained, strained, or pulled a muscle in my lower back/hips. Worst case scenario? A compression fracture, a slipped disk, or something equally nasty. I won't know for sure until it has time to heal.
There is never a good time to be injured, but this time period hit particularly hard. I have signed up for a 100 Mile March challenge this month, and thanks to the flu I had last week, plus this injury, I haven't been able to walk a single mile. I was looking forward to spring cleaning. I've really been getting more on top of housework, and now I fear it's all going to slid downhill while I am recovering.
So if you don't see me online much in the next couple weeks, it's because I am in too much pain to sit on our beat-up office chair to type. I'll try to regularly update, but I can't make any promises.
I just hope it's nothing serious.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Book Review - "Feed" by Mira Grant
Every so often I come across a series, or a new author, that really gets me going - the kind of story that is so good I sit up 'til the early hours of the morning because I just can't put it down. The kind of book that is so good, I dream about the plot in my sleep. The kind that leaves me crying when a tragedy happens to a character I empathized with.
Last week I read a book that did all three. "Feed" gripped me in the second chapter and refused to let go until it had rung every drop of adrenaline and emotion from my body, leaving me as limp and exhausted as a bride on her wedding night - and all that without a single mention of sexual behavior or activities. Unusual, to say the least.
One of the things that really struck me was how the author handled the news organization. In the last two decades, our society has seen a huge changed in how the news is delivered. Newspapers used to be the number one source of news, but now most young people have never even read a newspaper. Television news used to be considered reliable, with hard-hitting and ethical reporters braving war zones to inform the people. But nowadays, major media tends to be biased, and opinions are given more weight than facts.
In Mira Grant's world, the same thing happened. And when the zombie outbreak occurred, those news organizations were quick to announce that there was nothing to fear. "It's just a new type of flu, very localized and quick to recover from." The truth was released by a new form of media - bloggers. They had no organization breathing down their backs and demanding that they conform their reports to the accepted story, and it was their posts that brought the walking dead to light. This power continued past "The Rising".
We live in a world where internet protests shut down SOPA, and the overthrow of violent regimes are being organized on Facebook and Twitter. This makes Mira Grant's world even more believable. And I love how she organized the different bloggers - those who report straight facts are Newsies. Then you have the Stewarts, who report opinion informed by fact. And those who go out and harass danger to give the viewers a little thrill? Irwins. I have to admit that made me crack up.
The focus of the book is less on the zombies (though they do make several appearances), and more on the sociological changes brought about by the apocalypse. Even the simplest activities that were taken for granted are no longer available. For example, sending your children out to play on a warm day used to be the norm. Now, it's considered child abuse. Owning a family dog is suddenly fraught with danger. Even a shower is no longer a simple thing.
Midway through this book, the wind moaned around my house and sent branches tapping against my window. I nearly jumped out of my skin! If you only pick up one new book this month, make it "Feed" - and perhaps follow it up with the second book in the series, "Deadline". The third book is due out this summer.
(I should also mention that the author has published several books under a different name, Seanan McGuire. I haven't read those yet, but they are on my kindle and waiting for me.)
Friday, February 24, 2012
Peaceful
This morning we woke up to that eerie utter stillness that says snow fell during the night. I looked outside and saw that our neighborhood had been blessed with about five inches of very heavy snow. The pine trees in our backyard are bent over from the weight of the flakes, and in the early dawn light, the entire world glistened in pure innocence.
The boys were up at 6am, asking if they could read until breakfast. I sadly had to tell them no, not yet - snow means work. The driveway had to be shoveled so Sean could leave for work, and Jonathan jumped on that chore. Sean's breakfast, lunch, and dinner also needed to be packed (he works 24 hour shifts), and James and Jacob helped with bagging chips and washing fruit. We managed to have everything ready in plenty of time for Sean to leave early, which seemed smart, since we don't know the road conditions.
School is delayed two hours, and I'm grateful. Normally, right now, I would be rushing around making sure the boys are ready to leave ("Jacob, you need to wear layers for warmth" followed by "Um, Jacob, by layers I didn't mean to wear eight tee-shirts. Just one tee-shirt and a sweater is enough!"). But thanks to the late start, I am able to type this while oatmeal simmers on the stove, and the boys are mashing bananas to make bread. We'll all be able to take some time to cuddle on the couch with our books and read together. And our morning won't be rushed at all.
I wish every day was a late-start day.
The boys were up at 6am, asking if they could read until breakfast. I sadly had to tell them no, not yet - snow means work. The driveway had to be shoveled so Sean could leave for work, and Jonathan jumped on that chore. Sean's breakfast, lunch, and dinner also needed to be packed (he works 24 hour shifts), and James and Jacob helped with bagging chips and washing fruit. We managed to have everything ready in plenty of time for Sean to leave early, which seemed smart, since we don't know the road conditions.
School is delayed two hours, and I'm grateful. Normally, right now, I would be rushing around making sure the boys are ready to leave ("Jacob, you need to wear layers for warmth" followed by "Um, Jacob, by layers I didn't mean to wear eight tee-shirts. Just one tee-shirt and a sweater is enough!"). But thanks to the late start, I am able to type this while oatmeal simmers on the stove, and the boys are mashing bananas to make bread. We'll all be able to take some time to cuddle on the couch with our books and read together. And our morning won't be rushed at all.
I wish every day was a late-start day.
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