Sidewalk artistry.

Sidewalk chalk is fun. I took some pictures of the more exciting stuff that my room mate and I did. I couldn't get the giant happy face that we drew in the middle of the road that said "HAVE A NICE DAY" over top into the camera though so no pictures of that.

My room mate drew these two:
And I drew these ones:



I can't get the ones I drew to stop going sideways like that. Weird. Anyway, the second one is an eye if you can't tell. And I wish I could say something like "They look better in real life" but they don't. Ah well. Enjoy!

Dr. Mike

I must have a seriously boring blog to read. Every second post is about my desire to be a doctor or about being sick. Well I don't care. Here's another doctor one.

Damn, I want to be a doctor. The way the body works is so fascinating but what's even more fascinating are all the little things that can go wrong. Don't get me wrong. This copy of Gray's Anatomy (note the A in grays. It's the text book. Not the show) is very interesting. I especially like reading about the heart and blood and all that. But I really wish I had a book that told me more about heart attacks. Think of the physiological rollar coaster that must go on during one of those. Oooh, goosebumps.

Yeah, I'm a nut. I decided a few months ago that I couldn't do the doctor thing. I'm not a dedicated enough student and I'm not single minded enough to succeed. I mean when you're in med school, that's your entire life. I like doing things like drawing or building things or taking apart radios and fiddling with them to make them fit my needs (I'll write about my hard hat that I'm modifying when I get it finished). Hell, I just bought a 99 peice bucket of sidewalk chalk yesterday so that I can go nuts on the big slabs of concrete that make up half my back yard. I won't be able to do a lot of those things if I'm working 36 hour shifts. (common for residence).

But dammit, I'm going to try. If I do find out that I have ALS, I could only have like 5 years left and there is no way I could be a doctor in only 5 years. But I'll die trying. And if I don't have ALS, I will still have been scared enough to make me see it through to the end.

Okay, I'm going to the UofA now (best medical school in Canada and I live 25 minutes away. That's a good sign). I wonder if they'll help me during the summer. Ah well, only one way to find out.

Sexier as a cartoon.

Well, my comic has slowed down again but don't any of you worry. It's still going to happen. I'm still drawing a lot though. The only reason I have no comics done are that I'm a crappy writer and it takes me a while to think of them. I want a joke in every strip I do. I don't want to end up like MegaTokyo where it gets all dramatic. Cliff hangers are good for story but not when you're reading a comedy.

Anyway, none of that has anything to do with this entry. I've decided that even though I'm not doing comics, it's no excuse for me not to be drawing my characters because I seriously need the practise. So from now on when an entry is good to have a picture of me, it'll be my cartoon counterpart doing whatever it is that my entry suggested. Here he is.
Sexy, yes? I know. So just letting you all know so that when I make an entry about me gaining 100 pounds in one sitting and I draw this guy as a fat load, you won't be confused as to who it's supposed to be.

No more denial. (Sorry for length)

I must be a very stupid person. I usually consider myself quite intelligent. Before grade 11 I actually took a lot of pride in being stupid. I proudly wore a badge of ignorance. But since then I've discovered the world and I can't seem to get enough. Then why do I keep seeing things in people that aren't there?

I have two friends that I confide in. Or rather, I have two friends that confide in me and think they are doing their part to help me with my problems. On both cases I'll get calls or have MSN conversations started up where they talk about their problems for an hour and I try to help. Then when it comes to my problem, they both say something like "my mom is calling" or "I should get to my homework" or some other excuse that essentially ends the conversation before I'm even done explaining the problem.

I won't say that I never minded. But it wasn't that big a problem for me. I got used to keeping my issues inside and on some occasions I'd write a blog about it. Most times it would be deleted later that day (as this one might) but it still gives me peice.

But this time is different. Usually their problems are with boys that they like. "Oh, this guy doesn't like me but I like him" or "this guy really likes me but I don't like him and I don't know what to do about it." And both of my friends have actually become mad at me and stopped talking to me on an occasion that I didn't help them with their crushes. "You're supposed to help me." was the usual response.

I never had problems like that. I had problems where my best friend tries to kill himself because of something I did. Or having a friend hospitalized with frostbite because I broke a promise. Maybe my 'big boy' problems are too much for them.

But here I am, going paralyzed and scared and I have no one to talk with. My friends all laugh and joke and call me names like "gimpy" or "cripple". One of the people I go to has only seen me an hour and a half since I got sick and would only call when their wasn't something more important going on like dance lessons with new boyfriends or hockey games. The other friend actually told me today that she's been too busy packing for the last two months for camp to help me.

And these two people I saw the world in. Both of them hurt me on a regular bases but I never let them go. What the hell is wrong with me? And the weird thing is, I don't want to see either of them right now. I don't hate them and one of them I still love more than anyone but I don't need someone to ask me how I am and think they are doing me a favor. They would stand infront of me, give me a hug, tell me everything will be all right and then "oh, got dance" or "oh, got coffee with someone else" and be gone within 20 minutes.

I don't know. They never helped me with my problems before. I'll make time to talk to them when I'm all better. I'd hate to be a bad person and expect help or something silly like that.

New Cane.

So today I decided to actually accept the fact that a cane has a good chance of becoming a permanent peice of attire for me and I actually bought a new one. This new one though I won't really be relying on to stop me from falling over. It was just too freakin' cool not to buy.
Tacky, yes? I lurve it.

Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis

I'm just being paranoid of course but so far I've had urine tests, 11 blood tests and a 2 and a half hour EMG and needle test. They are basically all tests to prove that I have or don't have all the million things that cause progressive paralysis. Yep, it's another boring post about being sick. Gotta hate them. Hard to obsess about your mortality if no one gets to hear about it though, right?

Anyway, all tests came back normal. I'm completely healthy... except one. The needle test. Basically they stick a needle into your muscles and make you flex the muscles while a microphone essentially listens to the muscles. It came back abnormal. The reason that's a royal kick in the pants is that Multiple Sclerosis will come back normal on all the tests I've had. ALS will come back exactly the same with the exception of the needle test.

I mean the odds of me having a disease where 99% of patients are over the age of 40 is astronomical. But the fact that my doctors are unable to rule it out and so far the only diagnostic test for ALS has come back possitive. There is no diffinitive test for it. Basically a doctor has to rule out all the other million things it could be until the only thing left is ALS.

The early symptoms are varied. Foot drop (I have two), muscle weakness (got them as well) and dropping things. Believe me, I have that. Twitching (fasciculations). Yep, got them pretty feirce in the foot that's been paralyzed the longest. And thick speech. No, I don't have that. Unless of course that explains the new studder I developed a few months ago.

My MRI is in less than 3 weeks. The purpose of that is to rule out the two major causes they think is causing it. MS and a tumor. If that MRI comes back clean... ALS remains as the most likely again. It can take up to 3 years to diagnose it. With a 5 year average life span with ALS... I really hope it doesn't take that long.

People ask me how I am and I always say fine. But I'm not. I'm scared and I'm fustrated and no one can help me through it.

I really hope I'm over reacting and it's all because of something stupid like a lego man shoved up my nose.

Capn' Crunch is a ruthless pirate!

It seems like there are so many things I could be writing about lately. My paralysis, my webcomic (almost ready to go live!), my surgury in august (not related to paralysis), my other surgury on me knee (also not related), my newly found riches (okay 2500 isn't 'rich' but still made me giddy) and a bunch of other things with more depth than this (that I don't really want to describe).

But today I'm going to write about my tummy. Yes, I used the word tummy. I'm hungry! Here it is, 9am in the morning and I'm hungry. What's going on!? I usually only eat one meal in the day around 7pm... if I eat at all. I hate eating. Takes to much time and takes your hands away. Stops you from doing the all important stuff like um... puzzles or... sing alongs?

But last night I was dumb enough to make myself a proper meal and everything at around 10:30 and it got that whole metabolism thing goin' and all of sudden it's time for breakfast. Ugh, breakfast. There is a reason 2/3 of people don't eat breakfast! I'm not sure what that reason is but if that many people don't do it, then it must not be as important as they say. Unless of course the other third are the people that are successful and rich. Hmmm... I better stop complaining and get some breakfast. Odds are unlikely that a bowl of Capn' Crunch will make me wealthy but might as well take all the chances I can get.

Yay Oilers!

Okay, so I'm a hocky enthuesiast now. Well, sorta. I don't really care about the coaches corner or any of that crap and if my home team wasn't one game away from the stanly cup, I wouldn't give a flying rats oraphice.

But the oilers just won game 6 which means that one game away from the end. Hurricanes or Oilers. Only one will... etc.

Anyway, yay team.

Dammit.

It is now friday morning at 12:24am. Early, I know, but I couldn't let myself fall asleep yesterday (thursday). You see, Thursday June 15th was supposed to be the day that I got better. My doctor told me 6 weeks ago that my dropped foot will be completely better within 6 weeks. At the time he thought I had a compressed nerve. We've long since ruled that out but since we don't know what is wrong with me, they are unable to give me a time line for when I can expect to be better.

I've been real good with this paralysis thing. I haven't demanded to be taken care of. I haven't cried myself to sleep and I haven't changed my life in any dramatic way since it began. "I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet." But it's been 7 weeks since my first foot drop and it's getting hard to stay optimistic about it. They were hoping it was a viral infection that was attacking my motor nerves but the longer this lasts, the less likely it's an infection. I realize my life could be a lot harder. I could have lost the use of my entire legs. It still could happen of course but it hasn't yet so why pretend that it has? I feel bad for feeling bad about myself but dammit, I don't want this. I want to walk without people staring at me. I want to go back to work and I want to go to sleep knowing that I'll be able to climb out of bed the next morning.

But above all else. I just want someone to tell me that I'll get better. I don't care if they don't know when. I just want someone that knows to tell me that one day I'll lift my feet when I walk and be able to lift as much as I could two months ago. I just want to know it's not permanent.

Redrawing every comic. :(

So here I am, just redrawing all 5 and a half comics that I had done for my site. I hated the characters that I had on it so much that I finally just had to erase them and start over. But these characters I love. Especially the main character. It's ME! Yep, the 4 characters now are Mike, Peter, Joe and Craig (myself and my room mates). Everyone wonders at some point if their life is good enough for a TV show or story or comic. They wonder, is their life exciting and interesting enough to share with other people. Well I have news for you. No, your life isn't. But mine is. :D. And it just occured to me that I drew Peter in a scene that is supposed to have Joe instead. Crud, gotta go back and redraw it. Nurts.

Cleaning... ain't so bad.

Okay, I'm kind of getting into this cleaning thing. I've totally cleaned my desk (even scrubbed the hard bits) and I've started the rest of my house. Most of the house is near done but it's hard to tell because I'm cleaning the whole house at once. I know it's faster to do one at a time but I honestly can't help it. I'm really trying not to get distracted by other things. And if I'm lucky, one of my room mates will notice the spanking new shine everywhere and take it upon themselves to clean the washrooms. I hate them things.

So now I'm extending this past my room and desk. I'm about to completely do my car (well, once the house is clean) and I just finished cleaning out my inbox! Infact, that was one of the hardest jobs. I had:

1700 e-mails in my inbox! 1500 of them were unread but I was too lazy to delete them... I've been lazy for a while apparently.

I deleted so much. I went from 1700 to 8 in one sitting. Yes, that's right. I now have only 8 e-mails in my inbox. Tell me THAT ain't clean.

Damn dreams!

With fatique as one of my symptoms, I find myself sleeping from 16 to 18 hours a day these days. It sucks and the massive amounts of caffeine I consume are doing nothing to help. I'm actually starting to worry that there isn't enough blood in my caffiene stream.

Anyway, that's not what this post is about. It's about my stupid dreams! I dream more than I'm awake and I'm having a VERY hard time trying to remember what actually happened and what was just a dream.

The other week I was so pissed because I was driving my car and these old ladies were driving a HUGE tractor (like 50 stories) but it was too slow for their grocery shopping. So I lent them my car and just parked the giant tractor in front of my house and had a picnic on top with my friend Joe and my brother Peter and my friends cat, Jasri. (which is weird because I hate her cat). Well the old ladies didn't come back for like 10 hours and when they did they used up all my gas.

Yes, all that was a dream. But after waking up I got into my car, drove straight to the gas station and tried to fill it up. It cost me 2 bucks. I had filled it the night before! I actually thought the old ladies used up all my gas.

There are a million other cases like that from the past few weeks but too long to recount. The one that has me all mad is that I dreamt that I spent hours cleaning off my desk (seriously, hours just whiping the glass for some reason) (boring dream) and when I got up this morning I found my desk in it's usual mess... except now I actually SEE the mess! Now I have to spend all morning cleaning it up (even though I just spent hours of dream time cleaning) before I can start work on my comics. Stupid world.

Penguins bring the cold.

This house is too fricksin' hot. I need to follow a penguin to where it's cold. They always know where the cold is. The problem with penguins though is the union. You try to hire just one and you have to hire like 100 of them. I can't afford to feed 100 penguins! They'll all end up starving to death and I'll end up having the cutest but creepiest pile of dead penguins you ever saw.

Okay, the heat is making me go nuts. I'm going to go shave my entire body and stand naked infront of my refrigerator now.

EDIT: I went ahead and drew a penguin for you all.

It's like it's all starting over.

So last night (8 hours after getting home from the hospital) I was heading to bed and took a step and UP MY FOOT WENT! Yes, the foot that had died a month ago (first one to go paralyzed). It didn't go up very far though and the toes were still refusing to budge but it was still better than it had been.

I was so excited that I called up my friend Briana and left a message on her phone about it. I mean, come on. Parents get excited when babies take their first steps. Why shouldn't I?

Today I woke up and both feet started to work. I was even more excited. I still couldn't move those damn toes but why swet the petty things? But as the day progressed they moved less and less. Thinking they would get better during the day, I left my cane at home and went to the childrens festival to get my friends face painted (don't ask) and by the time we went home I was starting to stumble on the bricks that make up the walkway at the festival.

After getting home I went to sleep for another 4 hours (as extreme fatique is one of my symptoms) and upon waking I found that they are both paralyzed again. Infact, my left foot (the one that's only been paralyzed for a week) moves less than it did yesterday morning.

WHAT IS THE DEAL!?!?! Now I can't even get excited when it starts moving again. But this is good proof that it's not permanent so I guess I should look up a little.