To ER Is Human

"Over the years your bodies become walking autobiographies, telling friends and strangers alike of the minor and major stresses of your lives." Mayilyn Ferguson

After days of recurring chest pain, shortness of breath, racing pulse, and high BP, I finally went to the ER. They ran a host of cardiac tests, gave me some Nitropaste, a shot of Morphine, and decided to keep me overnight for "observation", which apparently means warehousing me in an uncomfortable bed while half a dozen nurses talk, LOUDLY, right outside my room.

It is entirely impossible to sleep in hospital.

When I finally decided, at three fifteen, to stop trying to sleep and do some reading (I'd thought ahead and brought a book) five minutes after I cranked the bed to its upright position and turned on the light, the power went out.

Yeah. Blackout at the hospital. Emergency lights were on in the hallway.

Found out later that the hospital was having a new computer system installed so they cut non-essential power for two hours during the night shifts.

Can you believe they do not have 24 hour room service in hospitals? Really. Savages, all of them.

On the good side, my heart does not appear to be damaged. On the bad side, my doc is blaming the whole incident on "emotional stress and musculoskeletal pain".

So, my pain was caused by pain. Well, that clears it up nicely, don't you think?

As for the emotional stress, well, that's a shocker. Stress, I'm not stressed. (Insert hysterical laughter here)

At 6:30 I began fasting for tomorrow's stress test. Even though the doc told me there was nothing wrong with my heart, he still ordered a stress test. Hmmm. CYA? Or are we perhaps not so sure? If there's nothing wrong with my heart, why do I need a stress test?

One of the doctors in the ER launched into a speech about how I just had to let things go and relax. Ahem. He was Indian, and proceeded to tell me about the rampant poverty in his "part of the world." I nearly grabbed him by the tie and asked, "So what are you saying, that all the shit that's going on in my life is my fucking KARMA and I should just 'let it go' and accept it?" I should have told him I was moments away from violating my vow of ahimsa and bitch-slapping him.

Forgive me for being stressed and concerned about a nearly impossible schedule, no employment, looming foreclosure, my dying grandmother, my failing marriage, my laundry list of health problems.

Oy.

When I told him I had a brain injury, this same doctor said, "Really? How do you know?" I almost slapped him again.

I know that people who didn't know me before the accident usually can't tell that I have anything wrong with me. That doesn't mean it didn't happen. That doesn't mean I don't have problems. No doubt most of the people he sees in the ER can't spell their own names, however, I was incredibly annoyed by his question.

"Did you lose consciousness in the accident?" he asked. Duh. YEAH. And then I let loose with the list of issues resulting from the injury: aphasia, concentration difficulties, executive function problems, personality changes, vision changes, a Central Auditory Processing problem, oh, yeah, and, by the way, my IQ dropped two standard deviations. "Yeah, Doc," I wanted to say, "I know you know what that meas. Luckily I was smart to start with so I'm still probably as smart as you are now." Ugh.

See, that's my anger management problem - also one of the many MTBI symptoms. Well, that one might be a sign. You know the difference, right? Symptoms are self-reported, "signs" are observable by others. Thus, my anger could be considered both a sign and a symptom.

So I spent the night on the Cardiac Floor listening to the loud nurses talking about glitter tattoos and how one of them has ducks and her ducks are so fat this year because they're eating all the bugs, and there are so many bugs this year that the ducks aren't bothering to eat any of the duck food because they're just eating the bugs. This, loudly, at four in the morning, is not what you want to hear while trying to sleep in a profoundly uncomfortable bed, which is stuck in the upright position, so you're curled up like a lima bean in the valley of the bed trying to find a position that both blocks your ears and accommodates the cardiac monitor and the IV line and the O2 getup.

For tonight I think that's probably enough bitching from me. Bed is calling me. Tonight, I'm getting some sleep. 6 am is gonna come mighty early.

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.