Groovy Gma with FND

Unfiltered thoughts from a woman who's seen too much, hurts too often, and still finds a way to keep going.

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about

I’m Ivy-a groovy grandma navigating life with Functional Neurological Disorder, chronic, pain, mental health issues, and a whole lot of grit. I live in the middle of the United States, surrounded by grandkid giggles, cats with big personalities, and late-night thoughts that turn into blog posts. Writing helps me makes sense of the chaos-it’s my way of turning pain into perspective, frustration into laughter, and sleepless nights into something that might make someone else feel a little less alone.

  • A Lot of Shit for a Little Kid

    No one should have gone through the number of traumas I’ve been through…in my first ten years of life. The trauma counter continued to click off as I lived my life, but I’m going to focus on the first ten-ish years first. I have a feeling that this is where the FND is coming from.

    I was born near Los Angeles County in the early 70’s; My mom was in labor for 36 hours before those assholes finally decided that she needed a C-section. I was born with the impression of the inside of my mom’s pelvis on my head, like a halo.

    After bringing me home from the hospital, my parents noticed that my right foot stayed turned outward. They asked the pediatrician about it, but he didn’t seem concerned. My parents took me to an orthopedic doctor that discover the dislocated right hip that was present at birth. I was admitted to the hospital. My paternal grandma was with me when the nurse was trying to put me in the giant metal traction unit. The nurse was really struggling with it and at one point even dropped it on my head.

    The subsequent body cast was a nightmare for my parents. There was a hole cut at my crotch so they could attempt to keep me clean. Apparently, it was a messy process. They bought a special stroller that allowed them to take me out; I was usually laying down. They would also prop me up on the couch…. I wasn’t going anywhere. I eventually learned to walk but was closer to 3 years of age when I was walking well.

    My parents owned a 2-bedroom 1 bath home in Gardena, and one of the features was a floor heater. There was a control unit of the wall, and the same size cutout in the floor where the heat came from. It’s not something that 3-year-old should be walking on, but I sure did while it was scalding hot. To this day my feet are incredibly sensitive to EVERYTHING. Even just casual dirt on my kitchen floor makes me want to climb the walls. I’m never in anything less than socks.

    I’m suspicious of my dentists’ intentions. My mom took me to her childhood dentist while we lived near Los Angeles. He had lots of tiny animal erasers sitting along the arms of the dental light and the tray that holds the tools. He would take one or two down and dance them around on my body as I lay in the chair. I always thought that was weird.

    In the late 70’s, my family followed the trend of LAPD, LAFD and other people that worked in Los Angeles were buying homes in the San Fernando Valley. The homes in ‘The Valley” were less expensive and just under an hour commute. We landed in Simi Valley which I loved and miss the good ole days. My grandparents were still in Los Angeles County, and we would visit regularly.

    When I was about six, we were having a family Hanukkah party at my paternal grandma’s house. She had bunk beds in one of her bedrooms. My female cousin that is 9months younger than me and I were on the top bunk. Her drunk dad came along, grabbed us by the ankles and pulled us off that top bunk. I remember hitting the floor and getting the wind knocked out of me. I went crying to my parents and was told to stop crying and quit being a baby.

    My brother, my only sibling, was born in 1980, when I was almost 8 years old. After my mom had recovered enough from her C-section, we hopped into her red Dodge Colt Wagon and headed to my maternal grandmother’s home in Torrance. I’m pretty sure she was expecting us, as this would be the first time she’s meeting my brand-new brother. We pull in the driveway, I run to the front door, passing the beautiful fragrant roses on my left that sat just outside one of two garage windows. My 8-year-old self climbed the 2 or 3 cement steps and knocked on the door. No answer. The door was locked. I could hear Tippy the mini poodle inside barking.

    My mom and I went around the house to the backyard. There was a shed in the backyard, a clothesline full of clothes. I could see into the house as the back had lots of windows. I could see Tippy running around in the house. We didn’t see anyone in the house.

    We turn to the door that leads to the garage, a standard door with no window. There is a small window above the door. My mom says, “I’m gonna boost you up. See if Grandma’s car is in the garage.”

    She picks me up; I pull myself up to the tiny window and peer inside. I see the car, a bright blue and white 2 door Dodge Colt, then I see grandma…. hanging from an off-white cord by her neck. She was wearing a navy-blue sweater, white button-down blouse, navy slacks with the seam sewn in, navy blue Keds. I could see blood drops on her white blouse and on the hood of the car. I immediately start screaming.

    Everything after that is a massive blur. I remember lots of men standing around. I remember the stretcher. I remember my paternal grandmother coming to pick me up while my mom and dad handled my grandma’s situation. This is when I remember her telling a cashier at JCPenney’s that I “cry at the drop of a hat” and what had just happened to me.

    The funeral is sad…quiet, not many people arrive. My family is quiet, keep to themselves and it still applies to my parents and my brother to this day. I remember it was a pretty casket, but no details. I remember being bored.

    Her suicide was the third in a chain. When I was 5 years old, my uncle used his Army service rifle to shoot himself in the head after his girlfriend broke up with him. I didn’t go to that funeral. When I was 6 years old, my aunt took a ton of sleeping pills. I remember her funeral; pine box, nice music, not many people, bored again. The catalyst may have been my grandpa’s massive cardiac arrest when I was 5 years old. My mom says that he always said that he wanted to die doing whatever he wanted, not following the rules of the doctors.

    My parents send me to a therapist while I was in elementary school after all that happened. I’d started peeing my pants, hiding food, and crying more than usual. The counselor was an older man with really droopy eyelids. All I remember are his eyelids and how he complained about them every time I saw him.

    That’s a lot of shit, right?

  • The Day My Fob Betrayed Me

    I live in a brand-new apartment complex that has secure doors to the buildings, and all unit entries are indoors. You can use either a fob that is issued at move-in, or a code is assigned to your unit. I provide the code to Amazon, UPS, FedEx, etc. so they have access to my building to deliver packages. They’re relatively reliable.

    Because of the bilateral foot drop from the stupid FND, I walk with either two canes, or a walker with a cane in reserve. On the morning of October 2, returning home with a few grocery bags and my two canes, I attempted to enter my building. I set one cane down, leaned against the glass wall adjacent to the door. I wave my fob in front of the panel that is mounted on a wall about 3′ away from the door. The door beeps and clicks, I reach for the door, and it clicks again. My pull on the door is futile. It locked already.

    I’m irritated. I scan the fob again. I turn to open the door, and it clicks a millisecond before I can pull it open. Then my bipolar kicks in… remember that “bipolar angry” I mentioned in an earlier post? Yep, it was the bipolar’s fault.

    I kicked the door. I didn’t just kick the door…. I KICKED THAT MF DOOR MF HARD BECAUSE STUPID MF BIPOLAR. I kicked that door so hard that it was vibrating for a few seconds after. I immediately had severe pain when bearing weight. I scanned the fob again and finally got into the building. I hobbled to the elevator, then to my apt, which is luckily, very close to the elevator.

    Once in my apartment, the swelling was instantaneous. The bruising surfaced within a few hours but was only on the bottom of my foot. It eventually spread to the top of my foot. I have extensive medical background so between that and good old Google, I quickly deduced that I had a Lisfranc injury, severity unknown.

    I went to urgent care. They did a plain x-ray and as usual, Lisfranc’s aren’t seen on plain films, and only sometimes on weight-bearing films, which urgent care could not do. A few days later I went to the ER with my prediction of the Lisfranc requesting the weight-bearing x-ray. As a retired healthcare provider, healthcare providers don’t like when the patient comes in with spouting a diagnosis before any imaging has been done, but the symptoms are classic, however, this isn’t an injury that happens very often. Philadelphia Eagles starting middle linebacker Nakobe Dean recently sustained a Lisfranc sprain in his left foot and will be out of the lineup indefinitely.

    I reached out to the VA, incessantly, for weeks, providing pictures of my foot, the swelling and the bruising patterns. Finally, 3 weeks after my injury, my PCP agrees to order the CT of my foot. Lisfranc confirmed, surgical podiatry referral in place. I finally see the RIGHT physician 4 weeks after my injury happened.

    Luckily, although I have a true fracture, it is not displaced at all, so I didn’t need surgery. I’ve been in a boot anytime I’m on my feet. I had a follow up appointment today and the doc is happy with the progress. They are scheduling imaging for another three weeks out and I’m allowed to start bearing some weight without the boot. Thank goodness this is almost over, and I’ll only have three things wrong with my right leg. Yippee!!!

  • Do You Smell What I Smell?

    I have a little female cat named Sammie. She’s a black and brown shorthaired tabby, tiny girl, very sweet. I got her when I was living at my old apartment; it had carpet which smelled like cat pee when I moved in March 2021, and Sammie moved in 2024. She immediately started peeing on the carpet spots that already smelled like pee. I covered those areas with enzymatic cleaner and big plastic totes so she would not have access to them, and she converted back to the box full-time months before I moved to the new apartment in Summer 2025.

    I started smelling exhaust while living in the old apartment and didn’t think anything of it because of my bedroom location. The large window overlooked the parking lot and being on the second floor meant I only had to climb ten stairs to get there…. most first floor apartments are partially sunk in the ground…and at higher risk of flooding in torrential downpours. I was close to the parking lot, it wasn’t a good part of town, lots of people had ‘beater cars’ that gave off lots of stinky exhaust.

    When I moved to the brand new never lived in 4th floor apartment in Summer 2025 was when the exhaust smell became more obvious. I was smelling it while in my bedroom with the windows closed, I was smelling it when I sat on my balcony to smoke a joint. I could smell it when I was at the store….it didn’t matter where I was, the exhaust was there.

    I also smell cat pee. I mentioned it earlier in another post but wanted to elaborate about it here. Remember Sammie? Well, I started smelling cat pee around my brand-new apartment. I immediately blame Sammie and start hunting for the evidence. I searched for over an hour in my 667′ apartment and never found anything. That’s when I knew it was the FND.

    When I have body odor, it always smells like cat pee to me, but it does not to other people.

    Today is my birthday. I baked my cake this morning and when I opened the door to the oven to take it out, I was inundated with the smell of fish, not chocolate cake. What a damn disappointment. I take it out and set it on the stove so it can cool. I haven’t smelled it up close yet. I’m kind of afraid. I never did eat the gnocchi that had the cat pee smell.

    Per Bing: “Phantosmia, or olfactory hallucinations, can occur in individuals with Functional Neurologic Disorder (FND). It is characterized by the detection of smells that are not present in the environment, which can be either pleasant or unpleasant. In FND, phantosmia may be a symptom that arises due to the brain’s abnormal functioning, which is not directly related to any structural damage.
    The exact cause of phantosmia in FND is not fully understood, but it is believed to be linked to the brain’s response to stress or trauma. This condition can manifest in various ways, including the detection of phantom smells in one or both nostrils.
    While phantosmia is not a common condition, it can be a significant symptom for those with FND. It may require medical attention to rule out other serious conditions. Treatment for FND typically involves a multidisciplinary approach, including physical therapy, psychological therapy, occupational therapy, and sometimes medication to manage symptoms.    “

    Fantastic….

  • Notes from a Groovy Gma: Cannabis Edition

    I have used cannabis for a VERY long time; I had my first real hit of a burning joint in 1993, after meeting the man that would become my husband. He was a AMS2 and Drug Counselor at North Island when I was transferred from boot camp to Hospital Corpsman A school in San Diego. If you don’t know, North Island is an amazing drive up The Strand from when he lived in Imperial Beach to an amazing town called Coronado, it’s beautiful and expensive! (I wrote about how we met in “Young, Dumb and In Love”)

    Little did I know, Ray was deep in the drug world, even as an active-duty Navy member AND drug counselor. He was in the perfect position to beat the tests, and help others beat the test, which he did on a regular basis. He was using methamphetimes, cocaine, marijuana. He wasn’t using needles, but hung out with guys that did, specifically a gay male couple that were both HIV positive…. hence why Ray didn’t shoot meth with them. They also had another single guy that was their “little brown friend”, a five foot two black guy that never said more than three words each time I met him. Ray was honorably discharged from the Navy after coming forward about his drug problem.

    I had my first joint with him, and while in the Navy. I was amazed at how relaxed it made me feel. Not a care in the world…I was always very tense, and still am if I’m not medicating/medicated. I worry constantly about so many things. We listened to music, played dice, had sex. As long as I was back at the base for school or watch, I was otherwise at his house. He has endless access to it because of the neighbors, and I NEVER touched anything else.

    I was transferred to the New England area for my first duty station. Once we were settled in Navy housing, we discovered a neighbor had a plug for weed. YAY! However, I was pregnant so I stayed off it till our daughter was born. I failed at breastfeeding and quickly started smoking again…not often, maybe a couple-few nights a week.

    My next duty station in 1994 was a ship, and I was whisked away to sea shortly after reporting. I didn’t have any more cannabis until I got out of the Navy in late 1995, then moved back to Oregon in early 1996. My brother had been living in Southern Oregon since 1992 and had developed plugs. My use became steadier once we were settled in Oregon, and was more on than off until I obtained my first medical card.

    I applied for and was approved for my first medical marijuana card in Oregon in 2013 while a student in a community college. I’ve had my medical card since then, except for 2021-2023 because I had moved to CO and didn’t want to change my license to CO. I was still pretty attached to Oregon after leaving my now ex-husband.

    My use has changed very recently. I used to have a dab rig and a torch but switched to a Puff Co Proxy 2. I used to smoke preroll joints, now I use a dry herb vape called the Venty. I’m able to use my cannabis indoors and there’s no smell. I used to smoke inside my old apartment, so the cold weather wasn’t an issue. Now that I’m in a brand-new place, I don’t want to stink it up. I use edibles intermittently and at bedtime as well.

  • Young, Dumb and ‘In Love’: The Story of Us

    I finished Navy boot camp just before New Years in 1992. I opted for the two weeks of leave after boot camp, with only a one-week reduction in accumulation if we put in four hours at the recruiter’s office each day x 5 days. I was happy to do that. I was VERY proud of completing boot camp and wanted to encourage others. I’m the type of person, “If I can do it, ANYONE can do it”.

    I had a little hiccup in boot camp and was pulled from my company for a few days. Little did I know, that was the precursor to my bipolar coming out once I was transferred to a ship after my daughter was born…..another post! That did not effect my graduation date. I participated in choir and because of that, I didn’t have to participate in work week. The stories I heard about work week turned my stomach, and i was SO grateful that I volunteered for choir and was accepted. The only downside? I had to endure the gas chamber twice, once with my company and once with choir. Again, another post!

    At the end of boot camp we learn where we’re going for school. At the time, Hospital Corpsman was being taught in San Diego or Great Lakes. I was hoping and praying for San Diego because I am from the L.A area and had family there still and in San Diego. BINGO! I got it!!

    There was another gal in my boot camp company that was also from Oregon and also was assigned to Hospital Corps School in San Diego. Once it was time to report to San Diego, she took a bus to my city, then we drove to San Diego in my ’88 Honda Civic sedan. It was so fun and scary to be on my own at 19. We arrived at the old Balboa hospital on 1/17/1993 that had been converted into barracks. We were actually late, so we faked stomachaches and went to sick call so we wouldn’t get into trouble!

    The next day, my boot camp friend and I were driving around San Diego on the freeways, trying to get a feel for the city. Suddenly, a white Suzuki Samurai was struggling to get being us. Keep in mind what my friend and I look like; two 19-year-old gals, white Honda Civic, loud music, tooling around having a good time. I’m wearing Ray-Ban Cats Eyes with a pink and purple mosaic across the top and on the arms, my long auburn hair blowing in the wind. I’m young and free.

    I get nervous when these two obviously older, and obviously military (hello high n tight), seemed desperate to talk to us. Again, I was nervous, so I pulled off the freeway and into a 7-Eleven and they followed us. They parked a couple cars away and when we all got out of our cars, the guy that would become my husband said, “I am so sorry. you look exactly like a gal I know from Oregon. I thought you were her and she just didn’t tell me she was in town.”

    I was shy and empowered being on my own for the first time. We engaged in small talk, quickly realizing that we’re both Navy. He’s an AMS2 at North Island and the Drug Counselor for his unit. He’s, at the time we met, an instructor for his rate. He’d been on three Westpac’s, all on the USS Carl Vinson. In 8 years, he never left San Diego/North Island.

    “Today is my birthday. I’m 26.” He invites me and my friend to his house for a ‘party’ that he says he has planned. His friend that was driving the Samauri is talking to my friend. He tells Martin, “Let’s have them over for my party tonight.” Martin agrees, Ray gives me his address, and we part ways.

    It’s 1993 and no one has a GPS. I had to buy a map to figure out how to get to his house. It ended up being pretty easy. He lived in a small two-bedroom 1 bath home that was one of four on a small parcel behind a gas station and across the street from a strip mall that has a 96c store, a NY pizza restaurant, a Mexican food place, etc. The other three houses contained another Navy guy, a Navy Veteran and his girlfriend, and the fourth was a Mexican family with ties to cartel. It wasn’t uncommon to smell horse piss coming from that little place. Ray was on very good terms with them…come to find out much later, Ray was buying from them.

    There was no party. It was just the four of us, and the guys had bought wine coolers. We hung out listening to music, played dice and dominoes. As the wine coolers disappeared, so did my clothes. Ray refused to let me into his room, and I never did find out why. Martin and my friend went into his room and closed the door. That one night turned into 28 years’, a long 28 years.

  • When family is untreated

    My now exhusband and I both have bipolar disorder; I have type One, I haven’t spoken to him in almost five years and have no idea where he is at in his mental health battle. I am the mom to two chilldren with him, Jane is about to be 32 and Tom is 28.

    As you can imagine, both of my kids have bipolar. My son, thank goodness, is going to therapy. My daughter, on the other hand, is a volatile mess. She explodes at the tiniest stuff. I know because I recognize my behaviors in her. She’s quick to pass blame, pull things from the past to throw in my face, breaks stuff on a regular basis. She’s put a few dents in her boyfriend’s car…but only after finding out he’s talking to 20+ women on various dating sites and SnapChat. She discovers this on a very regular basis, and for the entirety of their relationship.

    I’m also pretty confident that her gestational diabetes with her second child born Summer 2023 did not convert back. She’s had mornings after carb heavy meals that she’s vomiting. She’s been heavy her whole life and has been diagnosed, about ten years ago, with PCOS. Just another hurdle with her weight. She’s always been heavy in her midsection.

    My parents kept food from me, trying to keep me thin. Because of that experience, I didn’t hold back with my kids. I didn’t want them to miss out on trends like I did as a kid. My now exhusband was a helicopter mechanic and made, at times, six figures a year…because of that, we were able to afford more expensive food. McDonald was a favorite, pizza too. We’d always go all out and buy extra. We were a fat family.

    Now that my daughter is dealing with all this medical crap, I worry constantly. I worry about her safety. When I would get ‘bipolar angry’ I used to self-harm. I had a tendency to hit my head. She likes to punch things and has caused very deep bruises on herself. This, I believe, makes my depression and anxiety worse.

    I’m increasing my asenapine, trying to get back to a therapeutic dose. The knucklehead pharmacist that was managing my meds had me at 2.5mg QAM and 5mg QPM. The MH PA that started me on it in 2021 had me at 20mg QPM and that was helping. I’m trying to get back there. I don’t see the new medication manager until December 30, but a car trip to Oregon and back with a minimum of 20 hours each way with my volatile daughter is making me want to make sure my bipolar is under control.

  • cat screams and headlights at 3am

    I live in a brand-new apartment complex and right next-door is a construction site. On Friday the semis started arriving at about 4 AM. This morning, Tuesday, they started arriving before 3 AM. The LED headlights are flashing in my bedroom window at about the same time that my cat Frank decides to start tormenting my cat, Buddy. The combination of things woke me up and I was not happy about it. I started to call the police to complain about the construction site, but nothing I say is gonna stop them. I gave up on that and picked up my phone and started playing my Zombie Miner game. I’m on mine 80. I love that this game is one that I can pick up and play a little and it’s OK if I set it down and let it go for a few hours. Sometimes distraction is the only peace I get.

    The first thing I feel when I wake up in the morning is a headache. I have headaches every single day. I suffer from multiple headache issues, migraines, headaches from sleep apnea. I have a cervical artery dissection that causes headaches; if I don’t eat over the course of several hours, I’ll develop a headache, I get stress and tension headaches as well.

    Then the physical pain sets in as I start to move. Bilateral shoulder pain, neck pain, low back pain, pelvic pain in my SI joints, my knee that has needed surgery for nearly ten years, my broken foot from kicking a door in early October 2025. I don’t dare do a full body stretch because that can lead to severe pain in any number of areas.

    I get tired of pretending it’s all manageable. It’s not. Some nights I just sit in the dark and lket the noise, the pain, and the anger wash over me until it dulls a little. Then I take a breath, feed my cats, and start another day. It’s not strength-it’s survival.

  • Veterans Day

    I am a veteran and now that I’m single, I like to go out and take advantage of a free lunch or two. My anxiety/PTSD keeps me home if Veterans Day is on the weekend, because I know there’s going to be a million ppl out. Weekday lunches are so much better because so many veterans do work….and luckily, I don’t.

    The last time I went out for lunch on Veterans Day was in 2021. I’m determined to fight the anxiety and do this. I’m planning to snag a pizza from Little Caesars and stash it in my car, then onto Outback Steakhouse for a sit-down meal. I will eat the baked potato there, sip on some water, then get the bread and steak to go. I may even stop at another sit-down place to snag another meal to store in my fridge. I haven’t had a free vet lunch in 4 years…a couple extras won’t hurt anyone.

    My other obstacle besides the anxiety/PTSD is the FND disability. I walk with a 4 wheeled walker when I go in public to help with my bilateral foot drop. I also have bilateral SI joint dysfunction, and my foot is broken, so getting around is incredibly difficult for me. I cannot stand unaided for more than a few minutes. I cannot sit on any hard surface. I cannot have my broken foot down for too long because it aches SO bad.

    Another issue associated with the FND is that my sense of smell is whack. About 50% of the time, I smell car exhaust or cat pee. When I want to eat something and that’s all I can smell, it makes food less appealing. Unfortunately, it hasn’t affected my weight yet. hahahahaha

    I’m gonna relax for a bit, get a shower, and prepare myself for the trip out. Have a great day and Happy Veterans Day to any and all servicemembers!

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  • My gnocchi smelled like cat pee

    I’m a daughter, a sister, an ex-wife, a mom, a grandma, a veteran, a retired medical assistant, among other things. The main thing I’m going to focus on is the Functional Neurological Disorder (FND) and how it effects my life.

    I was diagnosed in March 2025 by an internal medicine physician while I was inpatient for what we thought was Cauda Equina Syndrome, which is a medical emergency that happens when an injury or herniated disk compresses nerve roots at the bottom of your spinal cord. I had low back pain, numb legs, urinary incontinence; I presented to the civilian ER closest to me and was quickly added to the long list of other people in the hospital also waiting for an MRI that afternoon. Due to the potential for a catastrophe with my back if I did indeed have cauda equina, I was admitted for observation; I was 57th in line for my MRI. During my stay, someone started a second IV in my right antecubital fossa. I was in pain from the moment they put it in, and to this day. I have numbness and tingling that radiate down my arm and into my DOMINATE hand. I’m bitter about the bad IV stick.

    They finally came to get me for the MRI about 18 hours into my stay. It took a few hours, but a female internal medicine physician came into my room. She explained that the MRI did not show Cauda Equina Syndrome. That was when she sprung the FND diagnosis on me. She explained it poorly; “all your symptoms are fake.” Could she have said a worse statement? Me/ Faking? Um, no bitch. I’m real. I’m not a liar. I’m not a drug seeker. I’m retired medical personnel. I would NEVER fake a medical condition.

    I got pissed, got dressed, and went down to the exit adjacent to the ER. I was waiting for my daughter to come pick me up. One of the RNs that was also an Army Nurse came down to d/c the super painful IV that I walked away with. I exclaimed to her that I’m not faking it, that I have real pain and I couldn’t understand why I was being treated this way. She shrugged her shoulders and walked away.

    Since then, I’ve seen 3 neurologists from 3 different health systems that all say they can’t help me because they don’t understand FND. They easily rule out the illnesses that the symptoms mimic because they aren’t 100% accurate to any diagnosis. They thought I had MS, but the imaging doesn’t match. I have severe left upper quadrant abdominal pain that comes and goes. I’ve had an abdominal CT with contrast and there was nothing there. I smell car exhaust and cat urine about 50% of the time, even when I’m alone in my apt with all the windows closed. I was cooking gnocci for the first time tonight and all I could smell was cat pee. I wasn’t able to eat it, and will go to bed hungry because if it smells gross even if you know it smells good, it’s not appetizing.

    Every time I have a new ache or pain, i wonder if it’s the stupid FND or something real…. not that the FND isn’t real…. but all the symptoms are so damn vague that it can be difficult to treat. My widespread body pain can get overwhelming, and the VA isn’t very good at providing pain medication, so I suffer. I cannot take ibuprofen because of my family cardiac risk, and I have to be careful with Tylenol because I have a fatty liver. Norco gives me a migraine. I have Tramadol 50mg, but I need 1.5 tablets for any real relief.

    I love to write and have had an interesting life, so I’m hoping to get more of my life ‘on paper’.