Tag orthostatic hypotension

Gunk and other updates

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

It is Saturday, December 28, around 8:30 a.m. when I start this. Do not expect much eloquence from me, as the gunk Eva passed on to me from her recent illness is still interfering with my ability to think and sleep. It has instead given me a lovely cough, which now after more than a week is getting “wet” and “productive.”

I FINALLY finished my medical intake at the St. Luke’s Medical Fitness program. Because of my paused membership, I’m not sure when my end date in the Thrive program is but let’s assume mid-February for now. This whole journey started in early November when I visited my neurologist-physiatrist to talk to her about my recent mobility issues and any concerns she had about me returning to an exercise program.

The older I get, the more I worry that my cerebral palsy will cause me to hurt myself because I tend not to notice when my body is doing the wrong things.

Eva has worked really hard on remodeling the garage and including a space for a home gym, so I need to pay some attention to myself in that regard. But I’m out of shape, and falling more than usual, so I’m scared.

My neurologist referred me to the medical fitness program, and I had my first medical intake appointment on November 11. My blood pressure spiked during that appointment, so they sent me home without doing the baseline exercise portion of the intake. I returned two days later, and they almost sent me to the ER because my blood pressure was still bad.

Here are the previous entries recalling all of that, when it was happening.

Two trips to the primary care doctor, two trips to the cardiologist, and two or three falls (depending how you count, one was a trip, but I still believe it happened because of balance issues which makes it a fall) later, my blood pressure seems under control again.

And of course, yesterday, when I turned up at the gym in the basement of the hospital, it was 130/90.

Since I’ve been fighting the gunk, I almost canceled the appointment, but I filled a water bottle with my electrolyte flavor, grabbed a scarf, forgot a mask, and hopped in the car. My fear was that if I canceled the appointment, the intake would have to wait until after my colonoscopy and I was worried that one thing would lead to another and I’d never get this done.

When I arrived, I forgot my water bottle in the car, still couldn’t find a mask, and realized I had no idea where my membership/gym tag was. In the back of my mind, I knew I had packed a gym bag at my last attempt and that the tag was in the gym bag. But where was the gym bag? And what bag did I use?

Lots of hand sanitizer and frequent hand washing and I refused to shake the young man’s hand. I also told him if I continued to cough and he had to send me home, I understood. But I reiterated that I had had many trials to get to this point and I would rather be sent home than continue the cycle of not trying.

Onto the fancy scale I went (168) and I know that body fat percentage was in the forties, wish I could remember what it was when I was super lean a decade ago. Turns out that information may only exist in paper journals in my attic.

39-year-old Angel … with something to prove before hitting 40

The Angel in the pictures is 45 pounds lighter than me, and I think those 45 pounds, age and stress have had a ridiculous impact on my blood pressure and my mobility. (And for the record– the sweatpants worn by Angel in the pictures were my favorite sweatpants ever.)

I have learned that my body reacts strongly to salt and sugar, and that I “do better” when I cook, and that I have no self-control with processed snack foods like potato chips and doritos.

The trainer I met with yesterday talked about maximum heart rate and how hearts slow down as we age. The highest my heart rate reached in 2024, according to my AppleWatch, was 186. 207 was the highest since I got the watch. The online calculators I have seen suggest that my maximum heart rate for my age is between 170 and 179.

The trainer, and maybe his name was Ryan but maybe I invented that, would like to see me four times a week. I still have the mental mindset to make this work, but my physical stamina and fortitude have worn me out to the point where I can talk myself out of my own efforts.

I found this post from when I started my journey with Apex Training in 2021.

Maybe, someday, I will get my discipline under control and be one of those old ladies who powerlift. Screw the whole red hat/purple dress thing.

Meanwhile, Monday is my first colonoscopy. It was supposed to be the Monday after Thanksgiving but the doctor had a death in the family. Tomorrow I start my official bowel prep, and it scares me, because I get shaky without food, and low blood pressure without salt, and I already have a mobility disability. Then they will knock me out on Monday, and I tend to have a heavy reaction to medications and anesthesia. So none of this makes me comfortable. The actual colonoscopy, that doesn’t scare me. But everything else does.

So tomorrow, unless I experience miraculous healing today, I will be expelling mucus from my lungs and all the poop from my bum.

Tell me to keep going.

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

I feel unseen and unheard. I’m cold and I’m tired. And I have a headache.

The cold is easy to explain but not easy to remedy. My furnace started acting odd last winter, and I invested more than $600 into a possible fix that was nothing more than a guess and a bandaid– and it worked for last winter.

My heat is on 58-degrees right now, because I keep my heat low to save money and it doesn’t go up to 62 degrees until I’m consistently cold. And it only goes higher than 62 on special occasions.If you balk at those numbers, then you’ve never been poor.

Today the furnace refuses to work in any capacity. I called my heating people and they said they could come tomorrow, but I have special plans tomorrow (reading– the wine and book pairing at Cellar Beast Winehouse in Andreas, Pa. Buy tickets here) and I don’t want the stress of knowing if I’ll be without heat this winter. Because the furnace might really be dead. I’m hoping maybe it’s the thermostat, but that might be delusional thinking on my part.

[Help Angel heat her house this winter! Buy Parisian Phoenix books! 30 to choose from! Here’s our affiliate store on Bookshop.org— https://bookshop.org/shop/ParisianPhoenix— where you can support me, my authors and your favorite independent bookstore all at the same time without leaving your house, which I hope is warm!]

They are coming Tuesday afternoon, at my request.

If you follow this blog, you may already know that I signed up and paid for the Thrive Medical Fitness program at St. Luke’s Hospital.

Past blogs regarding this:

How I learned about the program

Medical Fitness Intake, part 1

Medical Fitness Intake, part 2

So, when I got home last night, I tracked my blood pressure for the hour after I returned and watched it come down to normal. Then, I ate Wing Stop. I had previously eaten about 850 calories that day with about 50 grams of protein and yeah, when Eva said she was starving and wanted Wing Stop I ordered it. I got a chicken sandwich, 5 boneless wings and an order of the fried corn with parmesan instead of the seasoning. I hoped I wouldn’t eat it all, but I did, which brought my protein totals for the day to around 125 grams and my calories to probably slightly more than 2,550.

My weight this morning did not change. My heart rate also appeared normal. My blood pressure before my beta blocker dose was 116/84. I skipped my morning coffee, drank a glass of electrolyte water and even wore my AppleWatch in the shower to see how my heart rate responded to the hot water.

At the doctor’s office, my weight had not changed. My heart rate was 77! That’s so ridiculously good for me as usually when I walk in the door it skyrockets. My blood pressure was 150/96. And they still have my height listed as 5′ 3″ which makes me obese. I’m 5′ 4″!

I saw a doctor that was not my own, and while he seemed like a very nice person, he didn’t see or hear me. He spent five minutes with me and prescribed a new medication. My history shows I have an issue with anxiety and my blood pressure, and I’m not saying I don’t have an issue, but no one seems to care that my blood pressure only escalates when I am outside of my house!

And I mentioned I struggle with orthostatic hypotension so I’m really concerned about changing my medications.

I am waiting for the pharmacy to fill the meds, and I made the follow-up nurse visit, but I also made an appointment with my cardiologist. But it’s hard to take care of yourself when you don’t have the same financial resources or the same “normal” body as everyone else.

I decided to cheer myself up and do something positive I made a coffee bar at the end of my desk.

Initial reactions to Omada (and Papa Johns almost made my heart explode)

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I am not a patient person. As I type this, I am listening to an Omada lesson– because of my weight and my health issues, my insurance company has enrolled me in Omada’s weight management system. At least, I think that’s what it is. I’m already annoyed by the ASMR style voice of the narrator for the lesson. And the lesson is audio-based, which is not the best way to get my attention.

Papa Johns Cheeseburger Pizza

They sent me a scale, and the scale automatically sends my weight to my account (including to my coach). Last night, I ordered Papa John’s pizza, and ate more than a should have even past when I was not only full but comfortable. This unnecessary gluttony reinforced what I already know; salt has a huge effect on my health and my heart.

Ten minutes after eating the pizza (that summer special cheeseburger pizza is covered with pickled and tastes like a Big Mac), my heartrate soared to 120 beats per minute resting, for about 20 minutes, until I finally went into the house and took my regularly scheduled beta blocker.

If I don’t eat enough salt, I get orthostatic hypotension, which means I get dizzy and become more at risk to fall when I stand. Which is great as someone who already has a mobility disability.

Omada has set my step goal for 7,500 a day. A good day for me is 6K. An average day is 4K. I know this is part of the problem. My overall goal for this week– according to the app– is to meal track to build awareness. As if I don’t know what I put in my mouth… Their app does not include calories on their meal tracking system, instead it makes you click little stars to rate if it was healthy, or home prepared, and rate how full you feel.

They want you to create habits (and habits are exactly what I need) and awareness. (I am aware I either eat like a vegan health nut or a fast food addict.)

So we’ll see how it goes.

What makes today a good day might change tomorrow

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

This week presented many challenges. Monday I was hurting, probably from too much computer work during my 10-hour weekend editing sessions each day. I survived Monday, but barely, only to learn that Tuesday I would be moved to a different station in the Stitch Fix warehouse.

Change is never easy– but in this particular instance, as a person with a documented disability and doctor-derived medical accommodations, I struggle in my normal environment to perform at the same level as an ordinary employee. And that’s my job, to do the work, with a reasonable amount of help.

The main consideration used by management to determine assignments on the warehouse floor is table height. Is the work surface the appropriate height to match the ergonomic needs of the employee? In my case, my performance also relies on which side of the line I am on and who is “on support” that day. I work on “the B side” which does not mean I am not a radio song. It means the conveyance system that moves the fixes to the next stage of the process is on my left side.

I rely on my left side for balance. Therefore, to minimize potential issues with my hip and ensure my balance and stability, I need to work on the side where I turn to the left to put my boxes on the line.

My original table assignment for Tuesday was on the right, or the A side.

Requesting a B-assignment got me moved from line two to line four, which meant I would no longer have my regular support team. (That’s the role of the people who deliver work and supplies to those of us who fold the clothes.) I have been told that it’s my job to remind these folks of my medical needs. And they don’t always like that. So it makes me uncomfortable. Because in my view, it’s not my job to tell someone else how to do their job.

And to make matters more fun, it’s up to the individual to decide how to provide my accommodations. The deviations are small, but the impacts are major. The cart typically arrives with eight fixes on four shelves, with five to eight boxes lying horizontally on top of the cart. Most people move the boxes (I often take them) and pile the work from the bottom of the cart on the top. Some people even put the fixes from the two bottom shelves and place them in boxes on top.

I don’t even ask that pack slips be placed with them. I have myself trained to flip them to match the new order. Which confuses everyone but me.

This particular day, my support person, who I believe is a delight, so this is no reflection of who she is as a person, decided she would place the clothes around the boxes without moving the boxes at all. She tucked them all over the boxes. Which meant if I moved the cart to my station or reached for the boxes, the clothes fell on the floor. How does this help me? Keep in mind– I go through three carts an hour.

I eventually complained to a supervisor and said something like this:

“I know it’s too late now, as we’re closing, but there really should be a system in place where Stitch Fix defines what the accommodation is for the doctor’s orders, because it really shouldn’t rely on individuals who don’t understand the disability. And maybe it’s a violation of privacy, but those of use who need the extra attention should be arranged together so support automatically knows if we’re in that section, we have an accommodation and it would also cut down on people requesting accommodations when they haven’t done the paperwork.”

The supervisor said that was a great idea and lamented that I hadn’t mentioned it earlier. I didn’t mention it because it’s basic logic.

Somehow, I survive, and I make numbers. My body is so twisted I can feel that if I move wrong I’m going to pull a muscle in my lower back. But it’s okay because I have the chiropractor on Wednesday.

And then I get the table from hell on Wednesday. It’s the right height, right side, good support people. But it’s a front-of-the-line table, so I have to keep pushing the boxes toward the end. The fan keeps blowing my pack slips, which means I need to tuck them under my craft paper roll instead of on my laptop keyboard. But I keep forgetting, which means every cart I repeat chasing a paper, and tucking the others under my craft paper roll. My scanner keeps disconnecting from my computer. And if I need to go get a large box, which is common now as we are transitioning into winter clothes, I have to walk to the back of the line to get it.

These things add ten to thirty seconds to every fix. That’s 40 minutes over the course of the day. And I finished at 91% which is bad enough to get me a warning. And so I’m stressing, which tenses my muscles, and since my neurological condition already creates issues with my muscles not relaxing just makes everything worse.

And midday, the leaders got out an inflatable beach ball so every one could bounce it around to each other. That upset me more because I don’t have time to have fun. How dare they think I might be able to survive this and have fun?

Nicole Jensen of Back in Line Chiropractic aligned my lower body and stretched out my legs and I left her able to stand up straight and move my legs without stabbing pain.

This is where the difficult mental part of disability takes over. It’s so much easier to give in, to rest, to eat ice cream and watch TV and be done. But I knew my body needed to stretch and move in order to correct whatever issues had been caused by my misalignment and muscle tightness.

My brain and my muscles don’t have good conversations– so it seems like I can to manually perform a motion for a while to teach my body how to do it, even if that is reminding it how feet go or how a gait is supposed to work. That’s why I go to the gym. Not just so someone forces me to exercise, but also so someone can make sure I am using body parts correctly.

But I have to tell you, I dreaded going to the gym. I had been in pain all day. I wanted to take a hot shower and go to bed.

Andrew texted. He had a situation at work. Maybe the universe thought I needed a break. When Nicole works on me after such bad body pain, I’m often achy the next day.

Then Thursday went fine. Great even. But the pain crept back Friday, not nearly as bad but it took me most of my day to get my metrics at work to solid ground. And Friday night I went to the gym, and despite how I was feeling, I had fun and did well with some heavy weights.

I made some salmon and trendy smashed potatoes with vegan tzaziki sauce for dinner and the Teenager loved it. I fleshed out the writer’s proof for the erotica book. And went to bed feeling like I had been successful.

This morning I got up, discovered I had low blood pressure after I took my beta blocker (oops) and had a light breakfast– coffee with PB2 and cream, PowderVitamin Electrolyte Powder Plus in strawberry cucumber and these breakfast biscuits from Olyra. I thought they’d resemble a Reese’s peanut butter cup or a Tastykake Kandykake.

They were hard, dry and the peanut butter cream was minuscule and didn’t even moisten the cookie. Terrible. And I love their yogurt breakfast biscuits so how could this taste like someone managed to shape chocolate-flavored protein powder into a cookie?

Anyway, the moral of the story is: sometimes what you can achieve one day is much less than what you achieved on a different day.

Feeling heard (and a week gone by)

Angel Ackerman 3 Comments

Folks, I don’t feel like writing this. I’ve had so many demands on my time that I don’t even think about what I can write or when I might have the time to do it. I’ve had one job interview, told one I wasn’t interested and have a third coming up Monday. Today was the first day at least this week that I didn’t feel like my leg would fail to support me.

I had some incidents last week where my overscheduled life led to idiocy (like leaving the rats in their play area, leaving the house and driving 20 minutes away before I remembered them) and some joyful times too, but honestly I feel like I write my calendar out on Sunday and don’t even have a chance to look at it until Thursday.

I gave my doctor the new paperwork for the absence management company last Thursday and I haven’t seen any evidence that they received it. I continue to struggle through my issues at work (though today was the day where I didn’t feel like my body was falling apart all day but more on that in a minute) meanwhile… I have a hard time keeping my feelings in check when I see others milking whatever they can to get special treatment at work.

One woman had a migraine all week but did her job.

Today we had a massive barbecue at work, and an appreciation luncheon yesterday, as the local managers rush to spend their budgets before we lose our jobs. Despite this feasting, I have lost 2 pounds according to the doctor’s office (and I hope that it might be more since I have increased my sodium so much that their should be some water retention with that).

In the photos, you can see some of us going through the food line, my friends concentrating on their bingo cards, and a friend’s demolished plate.

After all of this, I went to a new cardiologist. A female. I swear I know her from my nonprofit work and I have to wonder if she served on a board somewhere I worked. Yesterday, I went to the chiropractor, my beloved Nicole Jensen of Back in Line, and then went to work out with Andrew at Apex Training.

So, I told everyone my theory. And to date, no one, including the new cardiologist, has disagreed.

Fact: In January, my blood pressure went up. I don’t know why. I was taking Lexapro at the time to try and keep my blood pressure lower, because it was due to stress (and I had lost my father a year early and don’t hear from my other family members, even when I try to reach out so the idea of a low dose SSRI didn’t seem like a bad idea). I had been on that medication about a year. I also take baclofen to help my legs move better, which I started more consistently in November, but had been taking since May. My doctor advised me to watch my diet and my sodium.

Event 1: March 1 I dove down the eight concrete stairs at work, smashed my finger (in a bad sprain that has left it still quite bent) and almost passed out after the event. My blood pressure was fine.

Anecdotal evidence: I had eaten a lot of fast food that weekend.

Sidenote: Saw the hand rehab specialist/occupational therapist for the first time during the day March 13, went to work late, and had set up balance physical therapy to begin March 20 at the request of my doctor.

Event 2: At the end of the day March 13, about 7:30 p.m., I fell down the stairs going up to my room after a big meal. I had had Little Ceasars and Taco Bell that weekend. The bruising on my back knocked the wind out of me and my face was gushing blood where I had slammed it into the air conditioner that my daughter had rested on the floor. Went to the ER for stitches, found out I was in afib.

It took some time after that to get the results of the heart monitor back (I’m fine), and it took some dickering so the beta blocker didn’t give me low blood pressure and postural hypotension. But I kept having episodes of each.

Later, in June, I was told to stop taking the SSRI because I had a risk of fatal arrhythmia.

I asked my doctor to see the nutritionist and she said I was not eating enough salt because of the cardiac diet recommended and washing what sodium I did eat out of my system. Within three days, I felt 90% of myself.

Now, I mention all of this because one of my original theories about why this had happened addressed salt. I had thought the universe was punishing me for eating all that bad food, and my first cardiologist whom I saw in the hospital, pushed the idea away. And that’s why I went to a new doctor.

I also believe the afib could have been caused by the bodily trauma of my fall down the stairs. And that I feel so awful when my blood pressure is 110/60 because of my cerebral palsy– that my body just needs more than that to make this body move.

And my new doctor believes that I’m on the right track. That:

  1. Lack of salt might have initiated the symptoms which led to the falls in the first place.
  2. I might never have an incident of afib again.
  3. And — when I’m ready– we can potentially change or eliminate the beta blocker.

Honestly, with losing my job this fall, I’m not sure now is the time to take my heart off anything that helps keep me calm. She also mentioned that I might do better on an extended release formula.

That’s all I got. And this took up the last of my free time. Sigh.

Almost two weeks later…

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Please do not expect this blog entry to tell a smooth story or to make sense. I don’t even know what will flow out of my fingers as I type this now. I did not plan anything special for this post, nor did I intend to miss nearly two weeks of writing.

After mere days of tracking my sodium and “eating normally” as the dietician suggested, my constant lightheadedness and episodes of low blood pressure significantly decreased. My physiatrist (who is also a neurologist, you may recall) saw me last Thursday afternoon for my post incident follow-up. She’s excited about my approval for the service dog, sorry that I’m losing my job, has promised to buy Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money, and she and her nurse both appreciate the way I advocate for myself and try to do as much as I can to improve my body and my health.

Speaking of which, tracking food had led me to discover that when “eating normally” I was only getting 1500-1800 mg of sodium AND drinking 100 ounces of water in the humid, hot warehouse. I can only imagine how little sodium I was eating while sticking to “heart-healthy,” “low sodium” choices. And it might explain why I really love me a bag of salty potato chips.

The physiatrist and I had a lovely conversation about B-vitamins, apparently she’s low and had to start getting B12 shots so I mentioned that I sprinkled nutritional yeast on everything. She googled it and she plans on buying a jar.

The teenager also asked me to organize her bookshelf, a calming activity that brings me much satisfaction.

In a future blog, I hope to write The Saga of the Quail, now that the birds have gone home and I can no longer get in trouble for illegally housing game birds in a residential area.

Somewhere in the last two weeks I deadlifted 120 lbs– which is three-quarters of my current body weight.

And the “tube” to the outdoor kennel the teenager built for the cats has been popular.

She even put a cat door leading from the porch to the kitchen so the cats have access 24/7. Touch of Grey, our foster with a hysterical and sometimes volatile personality, has made the back porch/mud room her new domain.

I had a mental health therapy appointment and will have a job coaching session next week. Speaking of which, we are having a Women’s Outbound meeting at work on Monday and everyone is having their break after regardless of whether we normally break at this time. I’m guessing Stitch Fix has either decided our official end dates or they will be announcing more information regarding when and how we will receive this information.

We had a massive pot luck yesterday at work for our team and another roster, and I ate so much food I didn’t eat again for 24 hours.

Friday food and health

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This will be a shorter blog entry to record my health update. And my food diary. I hope to follow it up with a real essay. On being prepared for the unexpected side of advocating for yourself when it comes to your needs and your disability.

I woke up even more lightheaded today and by 9 a.m. I felt like I might either fall over or faint, so I took my intermittent medical leave and clocked out at 9:14 a.m. When I got home, I took a one hour nap, after which I could at least hold my head up without swaying. My heart rate was experiencing some highs and lows– highs of 130, lows of 44, within a short range. My blood pressure was111/67.

Food “today”:

  • 7:30 p.m. yesterday: after not having dinner last night, I watched an old episode from season 2 of Rescue 9-1-1 and ate about 2.5 servings of Sahale Asian Sesame Edamame Bean & Nut Mix– with around 15% of your RDA in sodium and 6 grams of protein per serving.
  • 4:30 a.m. Don’t judge me, but this morning I had about 10 ounces of water and a Coke Zero for breakfast. Despite having almost 8 hours sleep, I could still barely get myself out the door.
  • 8:30 a.m. I was hoping food would help me feel better. I had grabbed the Brekki oats again as I ran out the door, but today they didn’t have my Greek yogurt in the breakroom so I grabbed a serving of JIF peanut butter to fatten up my dairy-free, gluten-free, vegan and goodness knows what other trend oats.
  • 12:30 p.m. After my nap, I reheated my leftover pasta with jarred red sauce, a tad of mozzarella, and some tiny pieces of meatloaf for meatballs. My water level for the day, besides the 10 ounces this morning, is an additional 24 ounces.
  • 1 p.m. peppermint coffee with half and half.

Still lightheaded (and goodies from the Stitch Fix Hizzies)

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I spent all day lightheaded, with it getting progressively worse all day. I altered my food today to include more sodium. I even brought my electrolyte powder to work, but no improvement. And yes– I did email my doctor. I had tried to schedule an appointment but with his current vacation schedule and his tendency to be heavily booked, I might be best served by my late August wellness visit.

When the lightheadedness threatens to become full dizziness, my heartrate is in the 110-115 beats per minute range, which scares me. But still no signs of Afib.

At work today I did 162 fixes, which was our goal when we were still on 10-hour shifts. Now it’s 164. But I spent 40 minutes at the safety team. We discussed resumes.

Speaking of Stitch Fix… my Freestyle order from last week came, or at least 75% of it came. It’s ridiculous how long it took to get here.

Now, I have to be up at 3:45 a.m. to start my ten-hour shift at 5:30 a.m. so let’s get on to the food diary…

  • 4:15 a.m.: I made 26 ounces of Supercoffee with half and half. I put it in my thermal mug and it took me three-quarters of the day to drink half of it. Then I put ice in the other half and put it in the fridge.
  • 8:30 a.m.: probably drank 24 ounces of water so far at work. First break was Cabot cottage cheese, sipping my coffee and enjoying a golden kiwi. The cottage cheese had 18% of my RDA in sodium.
  • 11:30 a.m.: Wendy’s chicken sandwich, the super basic one and I asked them to remove the mayo and add ranch and pickles, but they didn’t listen and merely removed the mayo. Added my own ranch and pickles. Had some sliced packaged apples and plaintain chips. The plaintain chips have minimal sodium and some vitamins. The chicken sandwich was processed so it had to be salty, but none of it made me feel better.
  • 1:30 p.m.: probably drank about 24 more ounces of water and drank 1/2 my mason jar of water with my electrolyte powder. I finished it after work. Also had a bag of cashews.
  • 6 p.m.: the teenager made dinner. Caesar salad with fried chicken, red peppers and cucumbers. I had two big bowls. And a glass of unsweetened iced tea, Earl Grey.

Then I packed a meatloaf sandwich on rye with creamy miso and nutritional yeast, another kiwi and licorice bites for lunch tomorrow. I also set the coffee pot to brew more Supercoffee at 4 a.m. and added some organic cacao into the coffee grounds.

Let’s get the holiday weekend started

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Last night, after the representative from Susquehanna Service Dogs left, The Teenager and I went to Taco Bell because it was late and I was famished. Despite eating my meal and half of the teenagers– somehow I woke this morning extremely lightheaded and with a blood pressure of 110/60. The issue did not resolve until 5 hours later.

When we settled into the house last night, I noticed a wrapper on the floor.

“Hey, when did you get Nutter Butters?” I asked the Teenager.

Apparently, the dog had stolen them and eaten most of the pack. The dog just looked at us guiltily and wagged her tail.

And we had bought her a cheesy roll at Taco Bell.

I told some leads and supervisors about my service dog approval at work today and then when those closest to me had heard the news from me, I sent an official email.

It’s not my most eloquent work, because I’m utterly exhausted. It says, “I have been placed on the list for a service dog. It’s about a three year wait because they raise a puppy with my input for me. I don’t know what the next three years will bring— but regardless of whether I still work here or move on, I would like to initiate a conversation about whether a service dog would be considered a reasonable accommodation. Legally, it is considered reasonable if it helps me with my disability while at work, does not put any person or company interest in danger, and if the dog would be safe and not exposed to danger for its own welfare. The dog could help prevent falls and help me get clothes and other items out of the cart and off the floor.

We have a couple years to pursue this conversation and I have 2-3 years to raise the $5,000 to pay for the dog. So to have that investment pay off, I want to bring the dog to work.Also I am working with Susquehanna Service Dogs which is a very reputable and supportive program.”

One of the other people at work asked me what I would name the dog. I pointed out that I think financial donors get to name the puppies and so once I met my puppy and learned its name I would probably develop a nickname for it. He wants to know the potential nicknames.

I haven’t named a dog since the late 1970s. Preschooler me named our Old English sheep dog mutt “Cheezie” because she liked cheese.

And a local professional offered me a discount on his services so that I could use the extra funds to put aside for my service dog. That was super kind, and just goes to show that when you walk in the world with kindness and try to support those who support your community, that the karma comes back.

I came home from work and The Teenager had planted my flower from Southern Candy, exactly as I envisioned it.

I did some work for the publishing company, drank a cup of coffee and headed to the gym since I missed Wednesday having fallen asleep at 6 p.m. Andrew promised to go easy on me, because lately my blood pressure is high, my heart rate is low, and my blood oxygen keeps dipping to 94%.

I had a great workout, and even made it home without a fall or incident.

I shared my basic granola formula with Andrew, made salmon and couscous for dinner, and finished the gummy bears with The Teenager.

Being that it’s Friday night, I’m up a little late as The Teenager and I were talking about service dog gear, Gunnar kennels, and ADA service dog rule cards.

Then I came up to take my shower and Opie shot out of my room and Louise followed him. Louise is the tripod foster from Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab scheduled for adoption June 10. She hasn’t voluntarily left my room since I worked second shift. When the house was quiet at 1 a.m. she would normally follow me to the bathroom.

Flirting with control

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I have no idea what this blog post will say. I’m only writing it because I came home from work, took my blood pressure, swallowed my medication and made a cup of coffee… and wasn’t sure what I wanted to do this evening. But I knew I wanted to write. So here I am.

I titled it “flirting with control,” because I’m looking at my house and my list of phone calls I need to make (check with physical therapist, reschedule Ob/Gyn, schedule annual service and car inspection, see if I can get a rental car from the insurance company of the person who hit my car in February.) Thinking of the chores I need to do. And everything I want to achieve for the business…

And I realize, everyday I am merely flirting with the idea of having control of my own life.

My blood pressure was 115/73, which is excellently consistent. I have to say I had a few times today where I felt off– so I used the EKG function on my Apple Watch and hit the heart rate button periodically. It’s been two weeks since I had my last “high heart rate scare” and today I saw my heart rate jump from 90 (which was already on the high side for standing at my table at work) to 165 in one movement. Not gradual, just BAM, and back again. It did this at least twice. But the watch registered a 176 also around this time that I didn’t notice.

To be on the safe side, I took the voluntary time off offered for tomorrow.

I don’t feel bad. In fact, I feel 90-95% of myself. But I get tired easily, and I often get a weird sensation that I describe as lightheaded, but it’s more like my body internally swaying. And my ears have been ringing for months and my headaches are getting more frequent.

After hearing about my unfortunate experience at the cardiologist, I have been collecting opinions from people. Some requested, some not.

And among the solicited type of advice came this gem: “You might want to get a second opinion from a FEMALE cardiologist. Its known, researched, and documented that female patients have a greater chance of being untreated for cardiac concerns. Just consider.” That person even recommended a doctor, though by the time I got the name, I had already booked a doctor from my own research.

I don’t know if the average person realizes this, but with the modern computerized booking systems, most hospital networks will allow you to schedule appointments online, even with specialists you haven’t seen, because most physicians have an open scheduling block even if it is only a few appointments once a month.

So I researched female cardiologists affiliated with the hospital with which I routinely deal. I scanned their reviews and quickly discovered that the hospital has a women’s heart center and encourages, at least according to the web site, any woman with concerned to schedule an appointment.

And that’s what I did. I won’t see her until August, but by then all the other specialists will have run their tests and hopefully we will have more answers. And regardless, I want to sit with someone and review what has happened to me, what’s normal, what’s not and what of that is concerning. My current cardiologist doesn’t want to see me again for six months, and his schedule hasn’t been released that far out, so I may not even go back.

I told all of this to someone at work, and he reminded me of something he has said to me in the past. The Lehigh Valley sometimes lacks medical talent. And then he added, “and I suppose I can tell you that I always seek out female physicians.” And proceeded to explain that women have a different attention toward symptoms and how they fit together.

In the meantime, I also have a list of other professionals I want to see as I hash out my own plan for how to care for myself. I know I already mentioned a hospital-affiliated dietician, but I also want to talk to the clinical pharmacist at my doctor’s office because I don’t think I should be or need to be on some of these medications together.

Oh and I got a survey for the smug little doctor man. I gave him a 5/10. I wish I would have recorded my comments which went something like this: “I didn’t ask questions because I couldn’t put my finger on it but he seemed dismissive. I went home and read his notes and realized he had come to conclusions about my symptoms that he did not discuss with me and were based on assumptions made because of my congenital disability which contradicted the concerns of my entire care team. That was a shame as he was a charming man and his office is close to my home.”