Archive for October, 2015


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!

Harrumph.

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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In zoned voice to Receptionist with rising tears toward end:

“Hi, it’s me.  I know we talked about delaying things because of my living situation.  Yes, not knowing about the second Bedbug Treatment.  And not hearing back from the maintenance guy about ANOTHER flood from the woman upstairs.

Well, I finally heard back from him, and would have called you earlier but the office was closed.  We need to reschedule the appointment.  In fact, I don’t even know when I can do the bloods.  You see…even if for the time…
when.

..
.
…well, uh, wait, they’re doing more pest control.  Ants and mice.  And I was told my second Bedbug one was two days after?

Things have been damaged I’ve found.  I’m making a list for my Insurance Company because I did everything right.  And the medical letter? It said everything right! But now I have to tell them everything!

Snniff,snifff, I’m sorry.  So it’s not just my living situation and all I have to do there and I don’t know how, but the bloods, and I don’t care.

First week of the month.  That’s when I get my period and the catamenial migraines that mimic strokes and it was so bad this time and real migraines gr…uhhh…ummm Sssoorrryyy…

So no way I could do them on time, in bed for days and I don’t care.  Ahhh…ohhh..snifff…shighff.  I don’t care about my dying liver, having all three Hepatitis A, B and C or dying.  I don’t care.

I can’t do anything about anything.  What’s the point? Who cares and all I have to do is going to take forever anyway so everything is just going to have to wait.  I can’t do anything about anything.

The only thing I can do is get my hair cut.  That’s all I can do.  Get my hair cut.  And dye it too.  That’s all I want to do.  Maybe if I can do that.

So I guess I’ll have to call you back when all of this has to be done.  Thanks, hon.”

The tears will be full throttle if you couldn’t tell.  The call would not be aggressive in any manner whatsoever.

The “hon” is because I have a very special rapport with my portion of the Staff (Sweetie GP’s Staff.)

They would probably (definitely!) ask me if I wanted a call from Sweetie GP. 

With the call I would continue to be so upset, I’d be confused and anything could pop out of my mouth. 

Although note it would not be Passive-aggressive if it sounded like it, because of our relationship.  It would be purely because I was falling apart all over.

This will basically be the call I will have to make to the office tomorrow or Monday.  And sadly, that’s how it will go.

Unless I just shutdown completely and state we must postpone.  However, if I’m asked any questions? Then I might start falling apart.

I think I’ll go for the second option.  Shutdown.  The Receptionists are always busy.

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Your Liver is both a Recycling Bin and a Garbage Dump.  When you put everything into you, it all swirls around, various organs wake up or go to sleep, but your Liver basically has insomnia.

It works non-stop.  If there’s anything left that’s good from what you stuffed in you, cool! We’ll clean that up and chuck it back into you, fresh blood added, no charge!

Blech.  What was THAT?

This is the Garbage Dump Situation.  Too much Toxic Waste and your Liver.  Well? Who on earth has internal HAZMAT Suits for all of their organs!

It appears, mine might be more of a Garbage Dump right now.  Maybe? Not worthy of HAZMAT though.

I have a whack of bloods to do.  And one “serum.”  A, B, C…serum! There are no types of blood screenings for Hepatitis C.

Yes, Sweetie GP is thorough! Either that, or my Liver is a massive Garbage Dump and I’m really sick.

Hep?

It all started with an elevated enzyme but which one? I don’t know.  One nurse in the office wasn’t available to go over all the results and give me all the levels of anything off.

I know it’s related to alcohol.  Mostly.  20+ years of “Drink Any Man Under the Table Bipolar” has done that to me.  I wish it hadn’t.

And please don’t blame me for blaming it for blaming me.  Bipolar does many awful things.  Things where you have no control when not treated.  So I say, under certain circumstances, “Blame The Beast.”

But not all of them.

I can’t believe all of the other enzymes she’s ordered that she’s never done with me before.  There are basic ones that are always done with just standard Physical Exams.  But…

Still, here I sit.  Still drinking.  Right now, actually.

It’s hard being an addict.

And yet, she could tell me I have three months to live and I’d be fine with that.  Enough time to get my affairs in order, work with her for what I wanted and needed…and have her there.

I’m not afraid of death.  It surrounds me. 

Forever wanting to work in the Funeral Industry, working in an HIV/AIDS Hospice, pursuing a career in Medicine as a Palliative Nurse.

Attempting suicide and ending up in a coma for three days.  I still wonder if I did clinically die before being fully intubated and put on a respirator.  The records are too spotty to tell.  I should have been dead.

Why do I feel so scared now?

Is it because I had complete control over death in all of those situations?

Is it now because I’m staring at a piece of paper I don’t understand?

Is it a piece of paper that could lead to a place where I have no control?

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