Freedom's Just Another Word

"If you don't accept responsibility for your own actions, then you are forever chained to a position of defense." Holly Lisle, Fire In The Mist, 1992

Met with a realtor tonight to look into listing all my properties. I can't even express how angry I am at having to do this. Actually, I don't really care about two of the properties and would rather see them gone. The third, the one that houses my studio, I'd like to keep.

My husband and I are both on the mortgage for one of them, one of the ones I need to sell. Sadly, I don't think anyone will buy it, even at a reduced price. We are, or at least I am, screwed.

There is so much anger around this I don't know how I'm ever going to get past it. It is a supreme effort to even speak about this issue with anyone, especially him. I blame him for the deteriorated state of the building. I blame him for not devoting more time and energy to fixing and cleaning up the place. I blame him for not refinancing when he still had a job. I blame him for not promoting his(our) business that was supposed to be located in the space.

Months ago, heck, over a year ago, when I first started talking about the possibility of going back to school to pursue this degree, we had a long talk about this. We were also talking about having kids at that point and he actually said at one point that if I wanted to have kids, and wanted to get my doctorate than he would work while I got the degree, or play Mr. Mom if I had the better job, etc.

There were lots of promises.

The problem is that I think I mostly kept my promises. I don't know if he thinks that or not. But I definitely don't think he's kept his.

The realtor told me to get a lawyer.

Not what you want to hear, believe me. I need more stress like I need a hole in my head. Most of the time I already feel like I have a hole in my head. I laughed when he suggested that and asked if he thought I could get out of the contract on the grounds that I have a brain injury and my executive functions are impaired.

Lord knows, I wasn't thinking straight in the first nine months after the accident. I'm still not. You can't get a two year do-over just because you have brain damage, but, God, I wish I could.

Land of Confusion

"Confusion is always the most honest response." Marty Indik

Today was spent trying to organize all the paperwork from my courses and figure out a master schedule of what is due when. It's taken all day and I'm still not done. I'm also trying to organize the online class I will be teaching.

When I accepted this assignment, I thought I'd be getting a course template. I'm an adjunct and the last time I taught an online course the Dean provided me with a model course as a guideline. Actually, she suggested that I used the course as is for one semester and then decide how I wanted to change it. That worded out well.

This time, no template. Or, I should say, not a template that's ready to use. So it's up to me to design and write the course. Ugh. I never would have taken the assignment if I had known that. But now, it's the only job I have, the only course I'm teaching and since I would like to eat and be able to pay my bills, I'm teaching it.

It's hard for me to organize now. I get distracted easily. In a recent conversation, I admitted that I feel like I have an insight into what people with ADD must feel like. With me, I at least have a "normal" to refer to, but with people who have disorders like this - this IS their normal. Their lives are just difficult. They don't know why. They don't know how to change it. They don't even know there is anything else. I don't know what's worse. Knowing what you used to be, or knowing only difficulty.

Thankfully, I have good days and bad days. There are times, usually when I'm relaxed and in a good mood and have eaten well and gotten enough sleep (yeah, how often does that happen?), that I approach my pre-accident level of information processing. At other times, anything above silence is too much. When that happens, I just shut down. I can't talk, I can't think, I can't type, all I do is sit and stare.

I've been doing OK with most of the reading for classes. At least I think I have. There is still a lot that I don't retain if I'm tired or distracted. Rereading has become my new pastime. There have been times where I've reread an entire chapter and thought it was "new" until I got to the end and found a bit of highlighting or a margin note from the first time I read it. Disheartening? You bet.

Hope springs eternal that I will remember all the important bits and, thankfully, I don't think any of my classes will have fact based tests. I get the ideas. I just can't remember the names of the people who came up with the ideas.

Right, back to building my course with an eye toward clarity and economy of words.

Slippin', slippin', slippin'...

"Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana." Groucho Marx (1890 - 1977)

Today flew by. I have no idea where the time went. My uncle called to see how my grandmother was doing and asked, "What did you do today?" I was stumped. There is was five o'clock, the day was gone, and I really hadn't accomplished anything.

Ok, I made some vegetable stock, but the prep takes about 5 minutes so that didn't take up my time. I baked a cake. 20 minutes, tops. I made breakfast for myself, my mom and my grandmother. It was just a big pot of oatmeal with cherries and walnuts, so that was maybe, maybe 10 minutes start to finish.

I had about a two hour talk with my husband.

What happened to the rest of the day?

I cleaned all the fast food detritus out of the front seat of my car - again 10 minutes, tops.

This has been a problem since the accident. Time flies, literally. I no longer have the ability to accurately project how long it will take to complete a task. I also lose time. At least that's what it feels like.

Time passes differently now. I know it's just something with the way I perceive the passage of time, but it feels like my life suddenly got switched to fast forward. This, of course, throws off many things. Getting dressed in the morning. Heck, getting showered in the morning. I now find it necessary to put a clock in the bathroom where I can check it while I'm getting showered or taking a bath. If I don't keep checking the time while I'm getting ready to leave for an appointment I will, invariably, be late.

I've also found it necessary to add an extra 15 minutes to my travel time. This doesn't happen all the time, but I try. I guess I'm driving slower than I used to. That's not surprising, given the accident and the fact that I'm terrified in cars, but still, it's not something that you'd necessarily think of when getting read to go somewhere. Believe me, it's better to be early, than a) be late, or b) get panicked and end up freaking out on the highway. I've done that enough times, if I can control a situation that might lead to stress and panic, by all means, I'm going to do it.

I don't know how to correct the time issue. If it's not corrected itself by now, it probably never will. This is yet another case of "this is how I am NOW". It's just that I'm used to being much faster than I am now. Now I'm S-L-O-W, in more ways than one.

Imaginary Friends, Imaginary Activities, Imaginary Classes

"I was the kid next door's imaginary friend." Emo Phillips

Since the accident I do this thing where I think about doing something, and, because my short term memory is crap, I have to remind myself over and over, so I think about doing the thing over and over and then, at some point, without me realizing it, my brain suddenly decides that I DID whatever it was I was thinking about doing.

For example, if I need to return a phone call. I think about it. I remind myself to call Bob while I'm brushing my teeth. I remind myself to call Bob while I'm eating my breakfast. I get distracted by something and remind myself on my way to class to call Bob. When I get out of class I remind myself to call Bob. I drive home. I get distracted. I do other things. I go to bed. Days pass. Bob calls me. Bob: "Why didn't you call?" Me: "Huh? I thought I DID call you. Um. I, uh, thought about calling you."

And there you have it. This happens a lot with emails. I'll read it, start writing a response, get distracted, have to leave for an appointment, and never finish the reply. But my brain thinks I did because I started typing it.

Today's drama, however, was legitimate. Yesterday I got an letter from school listing one more class than I am actually taking. I registered for the class but phoned the registrar during the first week, our Drop/Add period, to request the course be dropped. Guess who somehow didn't get the message? Yep. So I've got this extra class and now, because it's late, the school would want me to pay for the class even if I withdrew.

Ugh.

The reason I requested the drop was because I didn't think I could handle the workload with this course. I already have this prof for another course and both courses are very time consuming. I thought it best to save one for another semester.

I called the prof. Thankfully, he was wonderful about the whole thing and agreed to let me join the class and catch up. But that means I do have to catch up. This weekend will be spent doing five weeks worth of work. I managed to complete two assignments between yesterday and today and handed them in tonight but there is a mountain of reading I need to do.

What's that saying, "No rest for the wicked?"

I must have pushed someone into an oven in a past life.

One of the assignments was a collage about your different societal roles and how you perceive yourself and what groups you fit in. I found that most of the imagery I was choosing had to do with this injury. Biology is biography, I guess. Maybe I should post a pic of the collage here.... you know, the funny part is, I'm going to spend the next day and a half thinking about doing that and end up thinking I already did it.

And no, I did not have an imaginary friend when I was a child. Or now, for that matter. Maybe I should get some. Ok, I did use to talk to a rat that lived in the drain, but that doesn't count right?

Stand Down!

"Everything is a dangerous drug except reality, which is unendurable." Cyril Connolly (1903 - 1974), "The Unquiet Grave", 1945

I can no longer control my frustration and anger. I almost hit someone tonight. Got up and raised my hand in anger, not just "oh, I almost hit him I was so mad".

I've never been like this before and I don't know how to handle it. I am scared. I am saddened. I cannot be in situations where I know I will be incredibly stressed or angered without fear of...what? Snapping like a twig and shouting obscenities? Striking someone? Breaking things?

D) all of the above.

Except, actually, when I'm really mad, I don't usually use obscenities. It's one of my quirks. Although when I'm really mad the brain doesn't work so well and sometimes I can't get out the words I want. That just adds to my anger and frustration.

It seem that everything adds to my frustration and anger these days.

I don't know what to do. I'm good, I'm SO good, so VERY GOOD and then I'm not. Everyone has their breaking points, I guess I'm learning where mine are, and God, there are a lot of them.

"Pick a Little, Talk a Little"

"Talk low, talk slow, and don't talk too much." John Wayne (1907 - 1979), Advice on acting


Fast talkers and low talkers are impossible for me to understand. Last Wednesday, in class, I couldn't understand my classmates. We had broken into two groups and were working on a project and I couldn't hear. I've obviously been relying on lip reading for some time now. I knew it was easier for me to hear if I could see the person's face but I didn't realize how much I was relying on lip reading. Last Wed., I didn't have a clue what my group members were saying if I couldn't see their faces. I only finished half of the project. Luckily, it was a group effort so it didn't cost me anything but it certainly did give me pause.

Today, a social worker came to the house to talk to my grandmother and tell us about possible support services for her, she's a fast talker, the social worker. Lovely woman, she just speaks quickly. I couldn't follow her conversation to save my life. She was offering me names and numbers and connections for possible internship opportunities, and I couldn't follow her conversation and write down what she'd just told me.

It hurt my brain.

The difficult combination of Central Auditory Processing Disorder and a decreased ability to maintain divided attention makes it almost impossible to take notes or remember anything said by a fast talker, or someone with an accent, or low talkers, or someone on a cell phone.

Have I written about Central Auditory Processing Disorders before? Well, pardon the repeat if I have. Basically a CAP is a problem with how the brain interprets sounds. My "hearing" is perfect. The biological mechanism of my ears works fine. Unfortunately, my brain doesn't always understand what my ears are hearing.

Picking out voices from background noise is a particular problem for me. I can't hear worth a damn in restaurants. Some movies are difficult. I frequently have to use the caption option even if the film is in English. Sometimes it's background music or other noise that makes it hard for me, other times it's an actor's accent. Speaking of accents, they're generally difficult, but the timbre of individual voices is also a consideration. Certain pitch levels don't work for me. This is especially true when I'm speaking to someone on a cellphone. Women are harder for me to understand than men, however, my uncle has a fairly deep voice and it, at times, impossible for me to hear.

Again, it's not really hearing. I can hear, it's interpretation.

Your ears work much like your eyes. Information is scanned by your eyes and sent to your brain which interprets what you see. Ears do the same thing. Sound comes in, it is coded and sent to your brain when the sounds are understood as words or music or whatever.

I'm in the process of trying to get a hearing aid through OVR. At present, it would cost me just over $1000. Yeah. Higher than you though, right? It's a special version that doesn't just amplify sounds, but actually picks out voices and dampens background noise via a small computer chip.

Retail price is somewhere in the $2500 range. Oh, and insurance doesn't cover hearing aids. You'd think it would, but alas, no such luck. At least my insurance doesn't cover them.

Honestly, I can't wait to get my hearing aid. It really does help tremendously. The audiologist gave me a loner to try before she wrote up the report and prescription and I couldn't believe the difference it made. I'm scared to death that I'm going to lose the thing - it's so small, but with it at least one part of me can be almost back to normal.

Experiencing life with this constellation of difficulties has, at the very least, made me more sensitive to what other people with more severe disabilities have to go through on a daily basis and I am changing my behavior. Now, when I leave phone messages, I speak slowly and make sure to repeat my number at the end of the message. SLOWLY. I can't tell you how many messages I've had to listen to again, and again just to decipher the correct phone number.

I'd like to continue this entry but I'm starting to get very tired. It's only 7:45 pm but I've had a long day, and the past few weeks have been a strain. I know I'm starting to drift because my visual focus is starting to drift, and I'm getting some doubling. There's still some reading I need to do for class tomorrow so I'll have to end things here.

Remember, speak slowly, stop mumbling and speak up. Please.

Don't Eat That

"If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun." Katherine Hepburn

Weeks ago I wrote a rant about MSG and how I need to avoid it. Today I didn't. I ate THAT. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry now.

I hate the rhythm of my life. There is no pattern, no routine, or at least no workable, comfortable, healthy routine. I eat in my car, on the go. I eat crap. Then I feel like crap.

I want a schedule. I want to stop racing around from appointment to appointment to meeting to class to sleep to wake to appointment to class to appointmen to sleep.

I wouldn't treat someone else like this. I wouldn't feed someone else the crap I put in my own body, so why am I doing it to myself?

Hold That Thought

"You must not come lightly to the blank page." Stephen King (1947 - ) On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, 2000

I'm not writing here tonight. Magritte would approve of that sentence.

I'm in pain, having massively strained my back and knee pushing a cart full of supplies for a wedding cake I am attempting to bake for a former client. In another incarnation, I owned a catering business.

Last night, in lieu of writing here, I spent my time digging maggots out of a four week old kitten's ear canal. This afternoon I had to euthanize him. I'll rant about this later.

Today was my first day of practicum. I'll write about this later as well and how much this brain injury experience has really taught me.

I have to be asleep NOW if I'm going to get up and be safe to drive to class tomorrow morning. It's an hour plus commute.

On Saturday, I'm going to hear Paul Winter perform. I know, New Age geeky, right? It's like telling someone you like Yanni. For the record, I do NOT listen to Yanni. I did however, listen to the Paul Winter Consort all the time back in the late 80's. Whatever. Mock me if you must.

On Sunday, I'm going to hear Dr. Kevorkian speak. I'm going to ask him how he feels about euthanizing kittens that have maggots infesting their brains and what he thinks about euthanizing the crazy Cat Lady who feeds the sickly herd that produced said kitten.

I needed to be asleep two hours ago.

Crushing

"When one is happy there is no time to be fatigued; being happy engrosses the whole attention." E. F. Benson


Not counting illnesses or post-op, I am more fatigued than I have ever been in my life. Perhaps I am coming down with something. I've decided not to go see my grandmother this evening just in case. (I spent some time with her this afternoon, but I still feel like a heel.)

It is completely bone-crushing. This may just be my brain hitting a wall. Lifting a glass of water for a drink requires my weighing the pros and cons before commencing the action. Yes, I am that tired. More than anything else at this moment I want to just sit. Sit, and do nothing. Ok, I could stare at something meaningless on TV that requires no attention, but beyond that, nada.

So much "stuff" still needs to be done around the house. There is laundry. There are bills. There is homework. There is prep work for the class I'm supposedly teaching at the end of the month. There are phone calls to be made and emails to be sent. I was supposed to pick up info from the class I missed last week. I haven't. The class is tomorrow. (My phone is broken and I can't access my numbers. Bah.)

Did I mention that I start my practicum on Thursday, and that is also the day my grandmother may come home? That means I will definitely be moving my base of operations to the "Big House" (her house) so that I can be with her during the day.

It's not that I want to sleep either. At 4 p.m. I called my husband and told him how crappy I felt. He's had a stomach thing for the last few days and suggested I might be getting whatever he had. "But you weren't tired," I said, "you were just sick." "Well, yeah." We decided that I would try to take a nap and he would wake me up when he got home at 5. I tried. I was too wiped out to sleep.

Instead, I went online and got malpractice insurance, something that I'd forgotten I needed until today.

Four days with no responsibility would be just the ticket. That was what I'd hoped for with the trip to Jersey. Alas, it was not to be. At times like this it's hard to envision a time when I will feel whole again, and rested, and calm. It must happen, though, I'll die if it doesn't. That sounds dramatic, I know, but I feel myself slipping. I've missed several classes already due to the grandmother situation, etc., and that isn't like me. It's a slippery slope, and I am teetering on the brink.

I can't live like this anymore. This isn't living. This is barely surviving.

Takin' the Red Eye

"Hysteria is only possible with an audience." Chuck Palahnuik (1962 - ), Invisible Monsters, 1999.

The small red marks under the eye in the picture are called petechial hemorrhaging and are caused by asphyxia. I get them when I cry. Hysteria's a bitch, no? And although I do enjoy Chuck's writing, I have to disagree with him on hysteria - you can absolutely get hysterical all by yourself.

I like to do it in cars. Ha. That should have been the opening line for this post. At least it would have been an attention getter. What I meant was, I like to get hysterical in cars. Cars provide a measure of privacy, if not invisibility. We've all see those solo drivers, finger three knuckles deep in the left nostril. They're taking advantage of "Auto Invisibility", the ridiculous, yet appealling, idea that when you are in the privacy of your own car, no one else can see you.

Auto Invisibility also comes into play when I need to blow off a little steam, or have a minor breakdown. It's six of one, half a dozen of the other. The problem with my cunning plan to avoid detection of my hysterical meltdown is the fact that I cry so hard that I break blood vessels in my face.

I had a little meltdown today, and now look like I was slapped around by my pimp.

Just for the record, I don't have a pimp.

What I did have was a bad day. Not even that, I had a moment when I needed to freak out a little. A good cry can be very healing and helpful. I'm having them more and more these days. Sometimes it seems like my emotions are right under my skin, if I stand in front of a bright light, you can see them, like the delicate capillaries in a cat's ear.

I do not want to wear my distress like a badge. The red badge of my lack of courage. But the petechial hemorrhages, facial rashes, hives, blotchiness, tears - I can't hide anything anymore, and now is the time I most need to hide my weaknesses. Unfortunately, now is also the time I am least able to compensate and cover.

Thank god for makeup.

Here and Now

"It's also helpful to realize that this very body that we have, that's sitting right here right now... with its aches and its pleasures... is exactly what we need to be fully human, fully awake, fully alive." Pema Chodron






This experience with my grandmother, along with my own experiences with my new brain are definitely teaching me how to be present.

Two of my doctors keep telling me to practice mindfulness, which I keep attempting, but life keeps getting in the way. At the moment I think it's more important to stay mindful in the actual moment, IN my life, with the people in my life, than to "practice" mindfulness. I am practicing it. At least I'm trying my best.

My grandmother was doing fairly well today, but the good days, bad days, weigh on me. There is no sense of relief, no safety. I will feel better when she comes home.

I'm angry, people close to me have stopped talking to me. I'm stressed over work and schedules which I keep screwing up spectacularly. I have to start my practicum this week. I've dozens of phone calls to make and will have to be up at dawn tomorrow to get everything done and be able to visit the hospital. I've taken my nightly doses of, well, everything and will be heading to bed at once.

I'm trying to stay strong and not tear up at appropriate moments. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I want as much time with my grandmother as I can get. I want to be there for her, and for my mom who is really the one who bears the brunt of all this stress. They've supported me my whole life, now it's my turn.

My Grandmother's Night Nurse

"No man, not even a doctor, ever gives any other definition of what a nurse should be than this 'devoted and obedient'. This definition would do just as well for a porter. It might even do for a horse.It would not do for a policeman. "
-Nightingale, Florence Notes on Nursing.

Devoted and obedient are a pipe dream, at this point I'd settle for simply kind and respectful. My grandmother's night nurse is evil. She is condescending, rude, loud, coarse and uncaring.

I was ready to let fly with a slew of invectives before leaving the hospital, or, more precisely, before she kicked me, and my mother, out of Gram's room. The only thing that stopped me was the impotent knowledge that, had I pissed her off, she would be even more inconsiderate, if not downright mean, to my grandmother, and that was that last thing I wanted.

I even went so far as to tell Gram not to argue with her. Gram said she awoke at 2 am last night, Nurse Ratchet, proceeded to argue with her, which frustrated and angered my grandmother, who was already upset due to a downturn and a new symptom - what she described as excruciating pain in her feet.

It's possible she has gout and the Lasix has caused it to flare. Nurse R., didn't give a rat's ass that Gram couldn't put pressure on her feet to walk to the bathroom unassisted, or, with assistance. The afternoon nurses had put a "potty chair" in her room in case she didn't feel she could walk to the bathroom.

Nurse R., bitchily told her she had to walk to the bathroom because she did it last night and she would have to if she wanted to go home. I wanted to take her home on the spot, not trusting her care to this angry person.

She is clearly someone who hates her job and does night shifts hoping that her charges are all asleep, knowing that she won't have to deal with patients' families. WHY, in the name of God, so awful people who don't give a shit about other human beings go into careers like nursing? Is it the money? This woman is clearly the first person in her family who has seen the inside of a college. But seriously, get a job in a Dr's office, do billing, do something other that direct patient care.

I swear to god, if she hurts my grandmother, or upsets her, or mistreats her in any way... well, let's just leave it at that. Y'all know that one of my side effects is extreme inhibition when angry.

If you're reading this, please send good and healing thoughts to my Gram. She needs it. So do I.

Gram

"Her grandmother, as she gets older, is not fading but rather becoming more concentrated." Paulette Bates Alden, 'Legacies,' Feeding the Eagles, 1988

She's doing better. They drained the fluid and her bnP which is the indicator for congestive heart failure has dropped from 700 to 300. 250 is the goal. 100 is normal.

I keep having fits of crying both when I'm at the hospital with her and when I'm alone. Part of it is just the situation. I'm sure my mom has had her share of crying jags in the last few days. Part of it is hormonal. And part of it is my brain. Emotions can run high with TBI folks.

I don't know how to do this - say goodbye to someone I love in stages. Everyone I've ever known who has died has died suddenly. On some levels that's the preferable way to go. Lord knows, it's the way I'd like to shuffle off this mortal coil.

I know that I'm decompressing now because it looks like she'll be coming home and be ok for a while. This condition is manageable; she could live for years. I hope she does. Death is inevitable, sure. But this experience is teaching me that we, as a society, really do not have any good transitional rituals to accompany the process. There certainly aren't any to facilitate the process for the dying.

God, I hate this. I don't even know how to write about everything I'm feeling. She is so precious to me. As frustrating as she is, and as much as I have wished for her to do and say different things in the past, she's perfect and I see that now. It's a gift, really, being able to see this and know this now, while I still have her.

With any luck, I may be able to remember this and apply it to all the other people that I love. I have a sneaking suspicion that they are precious and perfect in their own ways as well.

Aqualung

"For the preservation of chastity, an empty and rumbling stomach and fevered lungs are indispensable." Saint Jerome

Was without Internet for three days and then called home because Gram was admitted to the hospital. She has congestive heart failure, or something, one report said she did, one said she didn't. She DID have fluid around her lung and was "tapped" and had the fluid removed via a needle. The doctor removed over a liter of fluid. She's got more in there.

Both my mother and I are exhausted as we've been trying to stay with her as long as we can each day. She had a roommate but they moved her to the regular (non cardiac) floor, which is good, but when I left she was alone in the room. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem but she's never been alone - never even stayed alone in the house. Yeah, bizarre, eh? So she's a little freaky about it. And the last time she was in the hospital was when she delivered my mom 61 years ago.

I'm going to bed right now. My computer time stamp is off, but it's quarter after 8pm, and I. AM. GOING. TO. BED.

I have a 9 am class tomorrow and missed the last one so I have to be there. Ugh.

Ok....that's it for tonight. Tomorrow I can write about what stress and sleeplessness does to a bashed up brain.

Cheap, No Pics Entry

Fine. Forget it. I'm not using my computer at the moment and for some reason this one won' t let me paste in the quote I wanted to use. It was a quote by Dan Millman about moderation. Maybe I'll use it later.

Now I'm moderately angry that I can't get this machine to do what I want it to do. Technology makes our lives easier, right?

I was going to write about how I dropped a class because the work load was going to fry me, and how ambivalent I am about doing so. I was also going to talk about starting new ventures and the wondrous power of silence and the ocean and family.

But I'm just teasing and I'll have to do all that at another time as well, because I have to sleep RIGHT NOW. I'm like a baby crazy woman trying to get pregnant - one of those gals who is constantly monitoring her temp, ready to hump her husband the minute her fertility alarm goes off, except in my case it's sleep not eggs that are the issue. That's not to say that my eggs aren't at issue as well, just not at the moment.

At the moment I'm tired and SOMEONE just FUCKING disturbed me which has now made me angry and ruined my tired buzz. Damn people. I hate people at times. (Like right now.) Really, I don't want to speak to anyone from like 8 pm until I wake up the next day. That would be a perfect world. I can't understand why people can't just shut up and exist in silence. You won't explode from a lack of speaking, or singing, or listening to music or tv. Trust me, I've done it, and I survived.

Oy. Ok, I'm going to bed because I have to get up at 5:30 am tomorrow and that's gonna hurt no matter how you phrase it. No pics tonight either. Sleep is my primary goal.

Turtle Neck or Back or Something

"Behold the turtle. He makes progress only when he sticks his neck out." James B. Conant

But what happens when he has a pain in the neck? Turtles get to stay in their shells. Humans aren't so lucky.

My neck's been feeling better the last few days but I'm having more back pain lately, which may be due to my new obsession with beading. Poor posture perhaps? Probably.

I try. I do. But I don't always sit as straight as I should, and I'm working in several different locations, at my house and at my mom's when I'm "watching" my grandmother. We finally got her one of those call button I've-fallen-and-I-can't-get-up things. She's not thrilled but we fell better.

My increased pain is also probably due to a lack of sleep. I've been sleeping horribly. Trying to sleep with a snorer is challenging for the best of sleepers, for me, it's an impossibility. He's got a C-PAP (I think that's what it's called) but it doesn't seal quite right over his beard and so he's still snoring, or the darn thing shuts itself off, or he rolls over and suddenly it's like having an exhaust fan blowing in my ear.

So I'm sleeping at the 'rents for the last two days and tonight. It got to the point where I was near delirium. I finally said, "Look, I can "sleep" with you and go slowly crazy and be in pain and hate you because you keep me up, or, I can sleep in another room and actually sleep and be pleasant (ok, more pleasant) and in less pain and generally better to be around." Last night I had almost 10 hours and I felt great today. Tonight is going to be a different story.

I started some new PT exercises today and I'm sore now. I'm also supposed to be up early for a class tomorrow, that means I'll be panicking if I'm not falling asleep. Actually, I'm panicking now because I'm already counting the hours and realizing I won't have enough.

So basically, I'd better go to bed NOW and stop writing here.

Giant Ear Ache

"The 2 common causes of otitis externa are trapped moisture and minor injury to the ear canal. Otitis media is caused by bacteria growing in the middle ear behind the eardrum." http://www.emedicinehealth.com/

Ok, my ear hurts. A lot. I used to get earaches all the time when I was a kid. One doctor said I had, "the most tortuous ear canals" he had ever seen.

At present I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do over the weekend, and how I can avoid the ear thing getting any worse. If the ear keeps hurting, I'm not going to be doing much of anything.

(Like I need something else on my body hurting? Oy.)

This is going to sound like voodoo but I'm going to use these ear drops - they're garlic and grapefruit seed oil - that have worked in the past. A few drops and a bit of cotton and with any luck I'll be as good as new. Without luck, I'll be sitting in yet another doctor's office.

Sorry this is such a short entry. New pain makes me cranky.

Dormez vous?

O sleep, O gentle sleep,

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,

That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down

And steep my sense in forgetfulness?

-William Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I

I can't sleep - again. As god is my witness, I'm going to be in bed in fifteen minutes. If I don't get some good sleep tonight, I'm going to be useless tomorrow.

Don't have much to report today since I spent much of my time calling and arguing with insurance companies, and doctor's offices. Recently, I received a bill from a hospital network where one of my treating physician's works. He sends me a bill for his services, and then the hospital network send me a separate bill.

The bill from the hospital - which is, as far as I can figure, a charge for merely setting my foot inside the door, was $194.00.

One hundred and ninety four dollars to walk in the door. Seriously?

I did very well though, and manged not to lose my cool when dealing with multiple business office people on the phone. Actually, they were for the most part helpful and competent. But it is still crap I wish I didn't have to deal with right now. There are so many other things things that are more important and need my attention.

Someday I will stop seeing all these doctors. It may be sooner rather than later. I'm losing patience, and those co-pays really do add up.

My bed is calling me and I've missed my fifteen minute window. I've got another med appointment tomorrow at 9:30 am, so I need to be asleep in about half an hour. Do you think part of my difficulty is the pressure to fall asleep by a certain time so I get my required number of hours?

Quick, relax! SLEEP! SLEEP NOW!!!