Oops.

Gee sorry. Holy smokes. I didn't realze it had been so long since I'd been here.

So lets see. Since I was here last we had rain. So everything went from dry and managable to soggy and soupy. It dried out only to get cold and windy. Our weekend stint at one of the bigger dairies I go to went well, but was cold. I worked about 1/3 of it. I let Bill work the rest. While I felt good, it was a good place to ease in. Next week I'm back on my own.
The next day I rounded up the kids (2 legged) to round up the baby goats (kids). It took way longer than it should have but we had to make a catch pen for them and then catch them. This is the biggest drag about dam raised kids, they are crazy nuts. It took an hour just to catch them, then an hour to work them through. I had some de-horning to touch up. It seems I wasn't letting my iron heat up enough between sides on about 4. We also gave them shots and wormed them. We had plans to look over the kids and start the culling process, however the smaller kids wouldn't stay in the catch pen so we'll have to gather again in a couple weeks.

*Jen* made a comment several posts ago about pushing my self so hard and the fact that maybe I shouldn't. I felt a little like I should address that.
I push myself because it's all I know. Understand first that if I was a "normal" person with a "normal" body, the whole idea of rest until healed would make since. My body would heal then and I would not likely face this same fight again in the future. I would be cured.

First you have to understand that I wasn't born normal. I was born with a degenerative terminal lung disease. I wasn't diagnosed until I was 13. Why? We're told because of the way I was raised. How was that you ask? I grew up on a farm. I had chores and animals and jobs from the time I could work. I rode horses until I was 16 and was forced to give them up. I raised calves for neighbors, moved irrigation pipes (I hate that job), milked cows, hauled hay, raised rabbits, chickens, goats, dogs, cats. I also played sports. Basketball (as good as any 5'3" person can), softball, and I even had a short lived stint on the track team. I have NO idea what they were thinking.

I was active. I pushed myself or rather I was pushed. You only got a free pass from chores if you had a fever. Runny nose? Wear a hat. Cough? Wear a hat and a scarf! But first! Swallow some foul syrup to make you feel better! I stayed active and therefor probably saved my life.

I am now, by training, not a person who can sit around. I don't sit around my house and do nothing. I am up and pushing myself to do something. Even on the days where I felt the 20 step walk to the kitchen would kill me, I would get up twice a day and drag my ass there to make the milk for the babies. I might not have always been able to stomach the walk out to the barn to feed the kids, and had to pawn alot of extra stuff off on my kid, but I did a part.

And slowly it's paying off. For weeks it was a miracle when I had a few good hours. Then it was inspiring to have a few good hours each day. Then it was great when it was one whole good day a week. I'm now averaging a great day more often and STILL having good parts of the day each and every day.

Yes I am still whacking around with my meds, but only a little. I was hopeful I would grow accustomed to the medication that made me all wacky in the head. The medication that I was given in it's place makes my throat sore and doesn't seem as effective. However, the first drug still makes me icky, so it's the second one for now. I'm still taking my antibiotics. The drug he'd like me to take is too cost prohibitive. It looked like it was going to turn out to be 15000 a month. 20% of that is just too much.

This weekend I'm taking one of our friends kids down to look at some goats. Why me? Oh lets not get into that here. It goes a little like.... her parents have asked her to reschedule this trip now twice and were going to ask her to do it again. She's made contact with one of the most prestiges breeder in the state for the breed she wants, got her to not only agree to see her, but to sell her a goat. And not just a kid, a milker if she wanted. (Breeder is a total sweetie, I just imagine she is often sold out early) I was afraid she was going to get the rep. as a flake if she backed out again, and the breeder was going to start blowing her off. I can tell you as a breeder, that's what I would start to think. She's worked really hard for this, done everything right, researched, priced, shopped, make contact, and now she's going to get to go. Even if it costs me an arm and a leg. Dammit.

So it looks like a weekend road trip with one preteen boy, a teenage girl, and a 5 month old puppy (on the way back we'll have a baby goat!). God help me. I think the stoke killed the part of my brain that housed common sense, because really? WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING.