It has indeed been a very long time since I have written anything on wee PAs Blog. That is mostly in part, because it is my full time duty to take care of her. And indeed again, she has not been very well, for a very long time. In fact, after a rather long hiatus, she is now only beginning to write on her Blog again.
Earlier today, she decided it would be a good idea to try after so long, to clean up her Blog. This, once again after several failed attempts. She feels it is a:
“Goddamn piece of shit and a total mess. A total disaster and so fucked up that it’s a surprise that anyone is reading it at all because it’s totally gone to hell just like her.”
“She can’t believe she’s been writing all of these Posts on it that just look like crusty sheep barf on a barbed wire fence. Actually, she’s the one that should be covered her own barf every day, barf from everyone on the street, barf from everyone on Television and never, ever, ever be allowed to shower again. If it rains, she should be bound in chains inside her apartment and have more barf poured over her in extra buckets because the rain will make her long desperately with every pathetic piece of tissue in her body for a shower.”
“FUCK MY BLOG AND FUCK ME TOO!!!”
Oh, dear. I think you can see that I have more on my flippers than I can handle right now?
I believe it best to remove wee PA from all forms of Technology now. However, I might have to wrestle with her to stop clenched fists reaching for a mobile phone. Seizing her Mac is easy enough. I will simply use my “Flipper-Slip” and slide it into the its case when she wanders away to do something else.
Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day to work on her Blog. She might be more up to task. Right now, I bet my stakes high it is certainly not a good time!
Oh. Well, look what we have here? I am heaving a hugh sigh of relief! We are are currently experiencing a thunder storm with lightening. Wee PA positively loves them. This might make my job a lot easier.
They’re still working on getting me an appointment at the Stroke Management Clinic. Which is fine. Referrals can vary for time periods.
Sometimes you have to appear sick by the Doctors, sometimes healthy by them, maybe be their best friend, or kiss lots of nurses in the “Paperwork Closet.”
Or just get lucky. Apart from any Paperwork Closet Activity.
When I called yesterday, it turned out the paperwork hadn’t been sent. This, from the (third now) hotel, the Ambulances have always chauffeured me to, and upon arrival, with great aplomb. The Orderlies should be playing, “Pomp and Circumstance” EVERY time.
So the Stroking, I mean Striking Woman gave me the exact number to call at the other hotel, to have my Paperwork (Closeted or Otherwise) sent over to their hotel.
Closeted or not Closeted?! Have we not moved past the Stone Age and given all of these people their Rights and Freedoms! Ho! Oh, Ho! Ho!
Is this sounding like a bad Monty Python Sketch yet? I’m doing my best.
The Paperwork was sent but it was basically end of day. So, call back today. I thought the Striking Woman would just give me an appointment as typically, all Medical Administration Assistants do. But I received a nasty surprise.
“Okay, PA…I’ll put you through to Triage now…” Click.
Okay. Yes, when you are chauffeured to hotels you go through ER Triage. Who is about to die? Who has cut their finger? Although, children are Triaged quite quickly and with great care.
Look up the word: IATROPHOBIA.
Never did I expect to be transferred to a person over the phone, to discuss my problems in any “Triage Manner.” If ANYTHING, I thought they would Triage appointments based upon Doctor Reporting from the patient, the full examination, all workups, tests.
And boy did I have a FULL Neurological Exam! Things were done to me a million miles beyond so many basic ones I can do in my sleep!
At one point, he was testing my leg joints, mobility in different ways, and other reflexology–not just the “sit and tap the knee.” Wait. He did do that apart from all the others. I just wasn’t sitting.
My legs were up in the air. And there was no need for a woman in the room! I had my pants on. But at one point, it was like a combination of two gentle forms of Shiatsu and Swedish.
ASIDE: I am addicted to Shiatsu.
The strangest Neurological question he asked, was the most bizarre I’ve ever heard. Probably will remain so.
“If you comb or brush your hair, does it ever hurt? On one side of your head? Both? Nothing?”
Holy All the Elephants in Africa Pause! “Erm…maybe my right. Yes, when it’s tangled? Yeah, my right.”
WHOA! HOLY MEMORY! I screamed like hell having my hair brushed and combed as a kid! What on earth does that mean?
Anyway, what does the title of this mean? I started to drift off into TIA Land on the phone with the Triage Guy.
God, we were almost coming to blows. I have to warn EVERYONE new I talk to that I don’t mean to sound like a “Professional Patient.” I’ve studied Medicine. I was going to pursue a Career in Medicine. It’s just that sometimes life doesn’t always go as planned.
I also said I was unprepared! I had to make a list of so many things! So much happens (in the back of my mind to argue against your pseudo-points!)
So, fine. Conversation ending, then WHAM! I said right now, happening, told him what was going on. Speech starting to slur, rambling, needed dark glasses immediately!
He said he’d let me go and rest.
But what timing. *sighs*
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I’m not sure, but I think this might be the worst thing a sister could do to her own. This sister, who is an Aunt to her other’s two daughters and one son. Even worse, this sister who learned all about it from their Mother. Charming.
The information happened in stages. Actually, I should correct myself. I’m not sure if our Mother knew the third part, but that is irrelevant. This is about ME.
I can’t believe she didn’t tell me any of this. Much more her “excuses.”
My youngest niece moved about a three hour drive from where I live. This was several months ago. Then she got married approximately two months ago. After the marriage had settled in for a while with both of them, they planned to move across the country.
I never see my nieces and nephew. They love me so much, as I do them. At least I’ve always been told that IN THE PAST. What of the love of my sister she always said she had for me in the past?
Oh, that pretty much disappeared years ago.
So I thought I’d just give her a ding to chat recently. “Hey, what’s up?” I had actually forgotten what Mom had even told me–until the end of our conversation.
Of course I asked why didn’t she tell me about the wedding! I let her moving well before aside because the wedding was more important. If nothing more it would have been nice to meet the Groom!
“Oh, well, I’ve told SO many people I couldn’t even REMEMBER anymore! And there were so many problems with transportation! My car’s a piece of junk and couldn’t make it so we were switching cars all over the place to try and get everybody there. And, oh my god! Her Mother-In-Law just took over everything at the last minute, so it was a TOTAL nightmare! So after everything calms down, they’re moving to (said Province.”)
So now we’ve got the stunning excuses but the REAL BOMB at the end.
People, Canada is a very large Country. For me to fly to where she’s going takes the same time for me to fly to London, England.
That’s just the epicenter within the Province as well. It could take me longer for several other places that would require Transferred Flights to get them.
I’ve been there before. Once it was about seven hours due to a delay of a Transfer. I just sat in the Airport and got drunk to amuse myself. It was late at night and there was nothing else to do!
I kept my cool and made a joke that it was a good thing they were moving if her Mother-In-Law was going to be like that! My sister just laughed and agreed.
My heart is breaking as I’m writing this.
So we stopped chatting and I decided it was time, after so long, to unleash the damn Elephant in the Room! Email!
However. Kid Gloves! Time to really use my writing to the Max! So push those words out properly. Bend, twist, roll, turn them upside down but not a complete 360° Get into her head.
Keep it brief, no drama, non-confrontational, nice and even, and toss out the Elephant. Hopefully get it through her thick skull, I will not be her personal little punching bag any longer. That’s also apart from this story.
I told her “it was a bit of an ouch” that she didn’t tell me. I would like to think that being all of her kid’s Aunt, I’d be at the top of the list of people to tell.
I continued that we were so close years ago, but I didn’t think we were anymore (ELEPHANT!!!) That was alright though. Things change. If we weren’t so close, then at least we can be honest about it and have peace.
Oh, wait. I must have forgotten. There were two Elephants? That final statement was the one that could barely FIT in the room.
No response, naturally. Some kind of blame placed on me for something, naturally. That’s fine.
I’ll take my own blame for everything I ever did to hurt us. But I’m not putting up with her abuse anymore.
I still feel a bit scared of her, but I feel some relief now, too.
Nonetheless, I’m staying far, far away. Even if that means never speaking to her again.
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Okay. How long ago did I say I was going to start Blogging about this subject? I even added a Category for it. Which is not even lying dormant or hibernating, but catatonic. No, it’s DEAD.
I had to write some “Introductory Material” for everyone to read, before jumping into pots, and frying pans, and trash bins. I despise litter but some of you might even have wished to defenestrate what you prepared.
Or, throw it all over your neighbour’s door if they’re really mean to you.
Perhaps the possibilities are endless. It might simply depend upon who you are as a person, and what dish you’ve prepared. Both? If you’ve made yourself vomit or not?
Let’s not focus on the NEGATIVE though! I’ve made some awesome stuff that’s NEVER made me
I’m emetophobic so I can’t vomit! Thus, I have complete confidence that you too could become the best Experimental Cook beyond your wildest dreams. In fact, you will be an “Experimental Chef!”
A Susur Lee, Anthony Bourdain, many more (only you’ll have partial, prefrontal cortex damage.) Maybe a Gordon Ramsay? Granted he has no frontal cortex in his brain period!
I think I know where the Notes are for my “Introductory Material.” I’ll go on a wild goose chase now.
However, that’s one thing I DO remember. Wild Geese aren’t in my Notes. I’ve never even tried to cook a Wild Goose, much less chase one!
That paragraph was Groaner Central. Almost, embarrassingly so! My apologies to you all. Clearly, I need more tea.
But no cooking today.
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Yes, more Bedbug crap.
I can’t get anyone to help me with my apartment that still looks like a garbage dump with all the millions of trash bags all over it.
Could I get anymore frustrated? Oh, you bet I could! I want to take my mobile and throw it across the room until it shatters into bits. Impossible. Futile.
IT WOULD JUST KEEP LANDING ON GARBAGE BAGS!!!
When should I attack “The Bags?”
I want to be really, really, really sure there won’t be any problems. I’m still supposed to wash all the clothes in my closet.
Because I couldn’t get any help beyond doing regular laundry.
In four days. Who could do that period?
ASIDE: How do you wash and dry a lovely, wool, winter coat where the length is mid-calf?
YOU CAN’T! YOU NEVER WASH AND DRY WOOL!
So I went to the Building Manager. We can get this white powder that supposedly is really effective for the stupid, little…
But as I was leaving, he said, “Be SURE to wear a mask.”
Oh, my god. Where does that rate on the “Pesticide Meter.”
When the real Treatments were done, we had to leave our apartments for four to six hours. I waited six and was still breathing toxic fumes with a fan and window open.
I have a couple of N95 masks from hospital. I’ve been put into Iso (the Isolation Department in the ER) four times for pneumonia! Not kidding!
Why Iso? I get fevers so high (104°F?) they don’t know what’s wrong with me. Even though I do.
Although, with temperatures that high, you don’t fool around. Slight increase? Forget Iso. You’re now in the Morgue.
Still, on the medical side I am very sick. People don’t want to risk getting as sick as I am, or put others at risk.
They also need to get into me IV fluids to rehydrate, reduce the fevers, antibiotics, painkillers… One time it was Morphine.
That was ordered for the worst time ever. Pain for the coughing and a way to try and relax the muscle spasms of my lungs.
It didn’t work but I felt pretty relaxed otherwise. I wanted to ask the nurse for more since I was pretty confident I’d cough up one of my lungs through the constant tissue damage anyway. I knew she wouldn’t shoot me up again though.
By that, I mean through a secondary IV Port, set up with a super fast drip for the bolus. She didn’t cook it up and go straight for a vein.
Oh, yes. A bolus? It’s not something that sounds like your cat or dog puked up. It’s just a tinier IV Bag. It would probably have something special in it. Medically required and used specifically. And again, probably with a pretty fast drip because they want to get it into quickly.
However, in some emergency situations, they can grab a spoon, cook up fast and shoot you up in a jiffy. Then, hopefully you’ll be feeling REALLY GOOD.
Certainly a hell of a lot better than you weren’t feeling before.
I emailed my Building Manager about this Powder because I’m not taking any chances. My Immune System is more messed up apart from the Respiratory business.
The N95 masks are better than the Medical Procedure ones I already have. I tried to sleep in one when I came home to my toxic garbage dump, but they’re round. Sure, that’s comfy.
I can sleep in my Procedures because they’re basically flat. But even then, they can get tossed across the room if they bug me, or I’m having a fitful sleep, bad dreams, who knows.
There are some things I can put away. Things that aren’t clothing related, stuff treated like all my stationary, other objects.
I just can’t find them.
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Some people who know me might have seen loads of Tweets from me about Footie (aka Soccer but the WRONG name.)
They might be questioning what is that all about? Well, quite simply, it’s a love of my life since I was a child. The first sport I ever leaned to play.
And I fought to play it. I grew up in a small town so trying to get Teams together for anything included the town kids, ones that lived out on farms.
I was the only girl. Some boys screamed no girls, others didn’t care. But I wouldn’t leave. No way.
I’m the kind of person if you tell me I shouldn’t do it; demeaning tells me not to do it? LOOK OUT!!!
If it’s stated because I’m a woman? Oh, you think me sticking with the Football team? That was just me as a child.
As an adult? You might not want to be in that place someone told me where I shouldn’t be–because I was I was a woman.
Sure, my Blog will still be Psych and Med focussed. I won’t say it’s a “trap” but it just evolved that way more and more. Both because of my readership and me as well.
THE BLOGGING CRISIS.
We’ve all been there. Too the point of even trashing the whole thing completely!
I’m a writer so it’s the typical cursor flashing on the white screen. You can’t produce. Or you’re stuck in monotonous babble (or so it feels?)
You just shutdown and leave the online world. Then you come back. Then you leave. Then you… A total Yo-Yo.
I don’t know about anyone else but this behaviour leaves me deliriously confused, and extremely guilty. I feel like I’m letting people down.
A wonderful friend of mine who is also a Blogger always told me to try and mix things up. Write about different things.
Ugh. I cannot tell you how distressing that was. Even though I wanted to do it.
So the Footie example is just one thing I want to try and do on my Blog differently.
How about not proofing this too? Yep. No proofing.
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Someone might be checking me out now. Looking at my blog to find out more about me. I’m not sure.
But that’s okay. In fact, it’s great! I want you to know me!
However, if you are looking at my Blog and checking me out, know that I am SO much more than these words.
If you are reading, I hope you see this. If you took a look and don’t come back? I’ll be so mad of not thinking of this sooner!
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I was talking about Bedbug Treatment earlier. They run like crazy through our vents so if one person can get them, in can be a bloody Five Alarm Pesticide Fire for the rest of us.
Due to this “New and Improved” (I love that oxyMORON) the MORONS around here are making us wash our entire living spaces. And I don’t mean that annoying Febreeze™ commercial. I mean it for real.
It’s even more fun because I live in a Bachelor. Not at least a one bedroom.
Anything you can imagine putting in a washer and dryer to clean, we (I) have to do it. Alright, a wee dose of sarcasm, BUT NOT THAT WEE!
Afterward, secure tightly in a garbage bag for Pest Control Treatment. Which I find yet another thing oxyMORONIC.
I doesn’t hurt my other valuables that I would NEVER put in a washer and dryer. Like my BOSE WAVE III. So, if they’re worried about Bedbugs in every single stitch of our clothes, linens, every piece of fabric that touches us, why do we have to launder it over and over?
So here’s what I want to know.
It doesn’t affect stuff on bedside tables, art on walls, books, CDs and DVDs, Televisions, dishes that might be out because you didn’t get a chance to wash them all yet, food in cupboards, misc. things on shelves, blinds, curtains, any kitchen appliances…
Well, why the hell don’t you just leave all the fabric stuff out in the open and have it all sprayed too!
Oh, and on Tuesday they’re treating my place for ants and mice. However, we have “special ants.” They’re called Pharaoh Ants. Very easy to deal with.
They like water, so just keep any damp areas wiped dry. Then they go away.
Although, they can be Techie Ants too. I’ve found them skirting around my Laptop screen when using it. Maybe they were just curious as to what I was writing. Either way, no harm, no foul. They didn’t cause any damage.
Back to the Bedbugs. I believe my Second Treatment will be on Thursday. I couldn’t even manage to do all Preparations for the first.
You see, under my “regular” health conditions, I need to take a guy I know to go grocery shopping with me. I can’t lift the heavy bags!
I also have him help me with laundry because it gets pretty bad going up and down, up and down…
A bag of clothes slung over my shoulder with one hand. The other, holding my cane and a jug of Detergent.
I’m not complaining here. Know that. Just the facts of the case. What I will complain about is that our Laundry Room has five Washers and 10 Dryers.
Now, we have the above and a head injury so unbelievable…well, it is quite unbelievable so try to imagine it when washing my apartment with it!
I get migraines that appear like I’m having strokes. Neat, huh?
A stroke. Picture that. Even on it’s own.
Granted, sometimes they are not as bad, and SO symptomatic; waving a huge flag with every sign listed. That was when it started and I first went to hospital. In my Chart, they Rubber Stamped: STROKE PATIENT!
However, after Discharge I did have another that sent me back to hospital. Thus, this “thing” is highly unpredictable. And painful. And weakening. And EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.
I lose a significant (more than?) degree of both gross and fine motor skills. PA fall down go BOOM. In fact, I almost did doing the damn laundry the FIRST time for this!
Wait. I did fall a bit. I remember because I immediately wrapped and curled my arms and hands around my head. To protect it if I went all the way down. Like my head isn’t (severely!) enough?
I’m also visually impaired so wraparound sunglasses mandatory. Really sick makes being bedridden mandatory. So can my awful TBI Sleep.
TBI is an acronym for Traumatic Brain Injury. The term is generally used for a head injury that’s more than a bump on the bean that you’ll get. One that won’t significantly affect you, and will heal quickly. Like a mild Concussion.
However, a more serious Concussion that takes too long to heal, acquires problems, and possible chances something might not heal? Post-Concussion Syndrome? That would then be shifted to a TBI.
All head injuries can make you SO tired and want to sleep. That can be part of the healing process. But when stuck with massive, permanent, can be treated or not, your degrees of sleep can be astonishing.
I’m minimum 12hrs a day, but sometimes more. On some days I would kill for more. Caffeine or not. Like today.
The information and guidelines to prepare for this Bedbug Treatment? It’s more like something actually written by the Gestapo. It makes me wonder if anyone without any challenges could do it all?
Moreover, it’s given to you four days in advance. Moreover, moreover, I live in a Co-Op. The By-Laws state, if you need help for any health conditions, you are to obtain a Doctor’s Letter stating why you need help–and what your issues are.
FOUR DAYS??? I got mine for the First Treatment on a Friday. Thanks for that. So I was at least ready for the Second. This was charming.
Despite my letter being Crystal Clear, I was told I had to explain exactly what I needed help with. In Detail. Then, the Co-Op would see what they could do. They could only do so much.
I began citing the portion of the By-Laws regarding all of this, only to be interrupted, that I had to read them, “properly.”
I have a wonderful relationship with our Manager. We talk, we joke, he knows I know the By-Laws back to front. I do things to make this place run a lot easier for him.
Why is he not doing the same?
My emails to him now. *laughing* I’m trying to “maintain” a Business Tone. Have I reached the Antagonistic Tone yet? I don’t mean to sound that way. But it’s called: Documentation.
I found a little cart I have that I thought was broken. One of those metal, grid-like ones you can use for shopping. It turns out it’s not broken at all.
I could use it for laundry. Still, there is absolutely NO WAY I can do what is required (again, like I have a stroke, and only having a few days.)
I think I could do my laundry with my little cart. It actually supports me evenly, so no cane! Completely irrelevant though.
I’m going to have more tea. Try and wake up. Then do a couple of loads? It’s so late now nobody will be in there.
God help me. Well, he can’t. Agnostic Theorists won’t make it happen.
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I miss you. As I lie on my bed listening to my Wittner.
You said you’d never play for me. The one you had was too beat up and broken. You’d do much better on a new one.
I didn’t care. All I wanted was just a few notes? Anything? Even just record a scale on an .mp3?
Did I tell you about my Grandparents Wittner? I don’t think I did. We never talked about using the tools to learn. You had already reached your highest level of Certification.
Wittners are the best ever made. The one my Grandparents had was already an antique when I played with it as a child.
It would last forever. Turn the golden ring on the side until tight. Then after, do it again, so long it would run, so long it would never stop!
Beautiful oak(?) What does or did such dark wood look to a child. Unvarnished as an antique but only a couple of small scratches?
That was because it was actually used. The middle son played music fabulously. I don’t think without a single lesson either.
He was the quiet one. He and his wife were the nicest ones to me.
In fact, I realized that none of them were really nice to me at all. Over all the years no matter who came and went. That’s because as an adult many, many years later, I found out they had ALL kept a secret from me.
I wasn’t blood related to them. I was conceived with another man of another race. It happened while overseas while my supposed father was working in Pakistan in the 1960’s.
Back then, Companies paid for entire families to travel anywhere if someone had to go there to work. So my mother and my older sister went too.
And my mommy fell in love with my biological daddy. Or actually, it was the other way around. My mommy was shy and he fell for her at first sight.
I don’t talk to anyone who is not biologically related to me anymore. Except for one person who never cared about it, and I didn’t realize how much he loved me. Until he told me so.
But I miss that Wittner. So I bought two smaller ones for myself. Although suppose I don’t need to miss their Wittner. Because I don’t miss any of them.
But I still miss you. R.
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