Health update
For my marvellous readers still with me, I have a news.
Neither good news, nor bad. Just news.
There is very little that medicine can do for my wrists. And also, very little that they can do for my heels.
The Spurs I have are a symptom rather than a cause. They show that I have ligaments that are pulling on the bottom of my heels.
All I can be done, in both cases, is the liberal application of anti-inflammation cream, and whatever I can do to make myself comfortable.
I paid $60 to learn this. And I will pay a further $75 just to see the expert to tell me what kind of shoes I need to wear. That will happen in June. [I swear I might kill somebody if the expert just says ‘wear the shoes you are already wearing now’]
I’ll do what I can do heal between then and now.
We’re also doing whatever we can to find better software, that will allow me to write, without using my wrists. The current system, as it exists, is a pain in the arse.
I don’t know how much longer I can hold out without writing.
Thank you, everybody, for your patience with me. It means the world.
I just took a look at my x-rays
I have a matched set of spurs in my heels.
And zero ideas about what might be wrong with my wrist.
This is why we still need experts.
My humblest of apologies…
Today’s story may well be my last.
Not for lack of prompts. I have lots of prompts.
Not for lack of sales. I would do this even if my own mother never purchased a story.
It’s nothing you did or omitted. I promise.
It’s this fucking wrist. I did some damage to myself [NEVER SLEEP WITH ELASTIC ‘SOCK’ BRACER/BANDAGES ON, KIDDIES!] and I need to take a break from writing.
If you need me, I shall be going quietly insane because writing fucking hurts and I can’t not write.
You can help by paying money for my books. Yay.
O… someone give me some good fucking news, today. I need it.
?
My right wrist is starting to ache, and I need it to do my day job.
I need my day job.
I still need to get X-rayed and ultra-sounded to find out what, exactly, has gone wrong this time. But I also need to minimise the driving I do.
Fun times.
As is typical for me, I am dragging my feet about making the appointment to get myself looked at. Sigh.
Beloved needs to be a little more pushy, methinks, about making me do the thing. Or to do the thing for me, no arguments.
I have hard bracers for both wrists, now. Juggling betwixt cutting off circulation and actual relief from pain.
Not writing is leading me into depression. Fun times.
I need some fucking good news.
Some good news, dear readers! I now have dictation software, so I can attempt to too write without writing. Obviously, I need to put in punctuation later… which is gonna be a pain in the keister, but I can deal.
(via internutter)
My humblest of apologies…
Today’s story may well be my last.
Not for lack of prompts. I have lots of prompts.
Not for lack of sales. I would do this even if my own mother never purchased a story.
It’s nothing you did or omitted. I promise.
It’s this fucking wrist. I did some damage to myself [NEVER SLEEP WITH ELASTIC ‘SOCK’ BRACER/BANDAGES ON, KIDDIES!] and I need to take a break from writing.
If you need me, I shall be going quietly insane because writing fucking hurts and I can’t not write.
You can help by paying money for my books. Yay.
O… someone give me some good fucking news, today. I need it.
?
My right wrist is starting to ache, and I need it to do my day job.
I need my day job.
I still need to get X-rayed and ultra-sounded to find out what, exactly, has gone wrong this time. But I also need to minimise the driving I do.
Fun times.
As is typical for me, I am dragging my feet about making the appointment to get myself looked at. Sigh.
Beloved needs to be a little more pushy, methinks, about making me do the thing. Or to do the thing for me, no arguments.
I have hard bracers for both wrists, now. Juggling betwixt cutting off circulation and actual relief from pain.
Not writing is leading me into depression. Fun times.
I need some fucking good news.
(via internutter)
My humblest of apologies…
Today’s story may well be my last.
Not for lack of prompts. I have lots of prompts.
Not for lack of sales. I would do this even if my own mother never purchased a story.
It’s nothing you did or omitted. I promise.
It’s this fucking wrist. I did some damage to myself [NEVER SLEEP WITH ELASTIC ‘SOCK’ BRACER/BANDAGES ON, KIDDIES!] and I need to take a break from writing.
If you need me, I shall be going quietly insane because writing fucking hurts and I can’t not write.
You can help by paying money for my books. Yay.
O… someone give me some good fucking news, today. I need it.
?
My right wrist is starting to ache, and I need it to do my day job.
I need my day job.
I still need to get X-rayed and ultra-sounded to find out what, exactly, has gone wrong this time. But I also need to minimise the driving I do.
Fun times.