I Got the Heebie-Jeebie, Heart-Thumpin', Fight-or-Flight Blues

I don't often feel like this, thank goodness, but the past few days I've had it bad. I don't want to read. I don't want to watch shows or movies. I don't want to learn anything new. I don't want to write or talk or laugh. I don't want to do any of the things that usually help me cope, because I am beyond coping right now. I don't want to cry, either, though sometimes I do in spite of myself. I don't feel spiritual. I don't feel hope. I don't even feel like I'm a part of the world. I feel most like a fly trapped in amber.

It's as if my life is made of quicksand and I'm gradually sinking down into it, to the point where, eventually, I will disappear altogether. But I won't be dead. I'll just be there, somewhere under the surface, smothering but never being released by death. Just unable to breathe or break free, forever. And no one will be able to help me because I've disappeared so they don't know they can. I become part of the past, faded and eventually forgotten.

I am unutterably dismal. This level of misery is inevitably dramatic and I apologize for that. I'm being unfair to people who love me. I apologize for that, too. Feeling this way is selfish and egocentric, as all pain is. No excuse. Just reasons.

There's no point to this blog entry. I was thinking maybe putting it into written words would help somehow. I don't know if it's helped me or not.

But I do know what I want to do. I want to go to sleep and stay asleep until things get better. Because, as I told my therapist, at least in my dreams I can walk.

Sorry for the downer. 

I'll keep these in mind: ❤️

Not Again

Yep, it's been about a month since my last entry. I spent about a week of that month in the hospital. Again. I had atrial fibrillation. Again. At least my blood pressure and heart rate haven't been high since then. They've even been a little low. In the hospital, my heart rate went down, at one point, to 30. But not to worry. It's been in the 40s and 50s since then. Can't complain. Once in awhile I feel like I'm riding a very slow carousel, except that I'm lying still and the world is spinning around.

I got up in my baby-buggy "wheelchair" last week. It was OK for awhile. I had my mental health therapy session sitting up, which was a nice change, and it was a good session. He pointed out that I usually go into a depression after I've been sick, and I realized the truth in that. He said something about how, then, I had to start from the beginning again. But that didn't ring true to me. So I said, "No... Not really, because I'm not the same person I was a year ago. I've evolved since then."

He slowly nodded his head. "You're right," he agreed, "and I'm happy you recognize that."

When our session was over he wheeled me into the dining room, situated me at a table with some ladies where I could I could see most of the room and went on his way. I was enjoying listening to the hub-bub in the room and had struck up a conversation with a couple of the ladies. I was really enjoying myself.

Without warning, someone came up behind me, saying something about that being somebody's spot and started pulling me away. I had to scramble to get all my things off the table in order not to leave them behind, it was so fast. This person preemptorily moved me to an empty table near the wall and parked me there. My chair is built so that I'm unable to see behind me or to either side of me, so I could only see a small bit of the room. Lunch was served. I ate alone.

About 12:30 I saw one of the aides from my hall and told her I needed to go back to my room. She said that as soon as she could get the lift (there is only one in the entire building, and it keeps breaking down) they would do that. The next time I saw her, sometime in the next hour, she was coming out of the break room, presumably coming off her break. She crossed the opposite side of the room and didn't make eye contact with me.

Meanwhile, I noticed that my colostomy bag was about to burst. So a request had turned into an emergency situation. Eventually, a nurse, (in order to protect her identity, I'll just call her Nurse Bitch) wandered by and I waved her down. I explained the situation and asked her to tell the aides on my hall what was going on. Twenty or so minutes later, I waved her down again and asked her what they said.

She answered, "Oh, I don't know. They were busy putting somebody to bed."

So I said, "Well, you know, if this busts, everybody's going to be unhappy."

With a little smirk,  she told  me, "Well, I won't be unhappy because I won't have to deal with it!" And she walked off.

I was on the verge of a meltdown by then, So I got out my cellphone and called the front desk. I told the nurse who answered the whole story and we hung up. Next thing I knew she was paging the nursing home administrator. He found me, pushed me down the hall and parked me just outside my room, then headed to find the aides and tell them to get me taken care of.

It wasn't their fault. They were insanely busy and didn't know about my emergency because Nurse Bitch had never talked to them.

By the time The administrator got involved I was in full meltdown mode: crying, angry, swearing. You name it. And I told him that these kinds of situations were exactly the reasons I never wanted to get up in my chair.

I was finally put back to bed at 3 pm, 2-1/2 hours after I had been promised it would be in a few minutes.

This happens almost every time I get up. I can't move my chair 1/4 inch. Someone else has to move it. And when I first found out about it, I predicted that I would just be parked somewhere and forgotten. I'd say a good 90-95% of the time that's exactly what happens. It's not like I'm a person. I'm just a lump of meat sitting, forgotten, in some out of the way place.

I hate it. I'd just as soon stay in bed. It's more cheerful and more comfortable. And at least I can push a button to get help when I need it.

So don't ask me when I'll be getting up in my chair again. It may be quite awhile from now.

Thanks for plowing through this canticle of negativity. I appreciate your caring hearts. ❤️

Stating the Obvious

Part 2 of my hospital stay revelations.

I was feeling a lot more myself after a few days and my throat wasn't hurting, so I went back to being my chatterbox self. A great guy named Vince came on shift as my tech. So, while he was doing things around my room, I told him about Lyra. Of course I did. I tell EVERYBODY about Lyra. I enjoy telling people about her because I like sharing her story with others and because it helps me keep her alive in my mind.

Vince was extremely receptive to me and seemed to enjoy listening about Lyra so, over a couple of days, I went into greater detail about her. He just gobbled it all up. He turned out to be not only receptive but open-mindedly spiritual as well.

Since Lyra died I've been struggling to figure out why I'm still alive. For a long while I felt like I was utterly useless, and I truly was. I'm still unable to do anything for myself or anyone else and I've lost almost any semblance of independence. So I was at a total loss as to what my purpose in life could possibly be. And I yearned to leave this life and go Home to spirit. I even had a plan and was slowly putting it into motion. But when I thought back to all the potentially fatal  illnesses I've survived, like hemmoraging after a tonsillectomy in 1952, and having emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder in the 1970s, and having Hepatitis A in the 1970s, and having the flesh-eating bacterium invade my abdomen in 1998, then getting bacterial meningitis which is what caused my paraplegia in 2010, I figured there must be SOME reason for me to be alive. But what? I could not imagine what it could be.

Eventually I realized that I could use my one and only talent of putting words together. That was the only power I had left. But I had no idea what to write. So I started this blog, and have been writing it, somewhat sporadically, for nearly a year. But, I knew, it wasn't the answer to my question.

So I was lying in my hospital bed, regaling Vince with tales of Lyra's life when he turned, looked at me, and said, "You should write about Lyra's story." And in my mind I heard what sounded like a chorus of angels and saw a light brighter than the sun. And I thought, "Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" It was so obvious I couldn't imagine why I hadn't thought of it myself. But I knew, the second Vince said it, that THIS is my purpose!

I told Vince that and, later, told him that if Lyra's story ever gets published as a book, I will say in the acknowledgements, "Many thanks to Vince, for stating the obvious."

So, as has always been my habit before writing, I am mulling this around in the back of my mind. I'm also thinking about who I need permission from to include their names and possibly pictures. This is, after all, a true story about Lyra's life. However, I will change names and omit photos of those who want to stay anonymous. 

There you have my second revelation. It seems kind of stupid that I had to be in the hospital and suffer so much pain just to get a couple of revelations, especially since writing about Lyra wasn't a new idea. In fact, that had been suggested to me by other people. I guess I wasn't ready for it before. I wasn't in a place of acceptance until my illness wiped away all of my other concerns and left the way open for Vince to reach my inner self. Who knows? I just know that it feels right, and I have no doubt that I will accomplish my goal.

And now, there's not even a thought or wish of dying. I want to live because I know what my purpose is for being here.

Thank you to all that made this suggestion. Sorry it fell on deaf ears. Love, hope, and peace to you all.

Lyra as a baby. She was grinning, of course. ❤️

:-D

When Angels Speak

Revelation time. Most of the time I was in the hospital for an impacted bowel I was either in too much pain or felt just plain too awful to think coherently. Also, I was averaging 4 hours of sleep a day because, at night, somebody was waking me up every two hours to do something to me and, days, somebody was always pretty much constantly doing something to me or for me. Being a patient in a hospital is not for the faint of heart.

After a few days of sleep deprivation I felt well enough to dig in my heels . I was determined to get some sleep. I didn't want to watch tv. I didn't want to play on the internet. I didn't want to read, nor listen to music. I wanted to sleep. So around 2 in the afternoon I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep. At around 4:30 I gave up.

It later occurred to me that, while I lay there, awake and relaxed, I entered a kind of meditative state. I am a big failure at meditation. My thoughts buzz randomly around my head like out of control drivers traveling at high speeds around a traffic circle in Rome. A few minutes of trying to meditate and my thoughts sprint in all directions at one time. So I give up.

That's why I'm astounded that I managed to quiet my mind that day. I think it must have been the combination of exhaustion, illness, and desperation that got me to that point.

I was brought up in the Methodist church so I've heard about guardian angels all my life. I gave up on organized religion long ago, but started seeking out spiritual truths after my little girl died from cancer in 2011. That, coming fairly soon after I lost the ability to walk, had laid me pretty low, emotionally. I confess, I wallowed in that chasm of despair for a couple of years.

But learning about and exploring spirituality, and the help of a mental health therapist, saved me. I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, ready to step off into eternal oblivion.

So the first of my two spiritual revelations happened while I lay there trying to sleep. I'd read a lot about how to contact my angels, but never managed to do it. Maybe that was because I'm skeptical about things I can't see for myself. But I was feeling pretty desperate so I figured what the hey -- I may as well give it another try.

I said to them, silently, "Angels, help me. Help me cope. I don't know what to do. Please help me." And I thanked them with love.

Then, almost immediately, they answered me in my mind. It wasn't in words, exactly, or in pictures. It was kind of both and neither at the same time. Because of that, I can't quote what they said. But the message was very clear. They told me I need to love myself unconditionally, I need to forgive myself for all the mistakes I've made in this lifetime, and I need to accept myself completely, just the way I am.

This sounds crazy, right? Was I actually just having a chat with my own subconcious? Who knows? They didn't tell me how to go about doing these things, but I did get a mental picture of me opening up my inner self like one would open a treasure chest full of radiant light. And I felt at peace. That's stuck with me, with just a couple of short dips into sadness. I guess it doesn't really matter where the message came from. It just matters that I received it.

I want everyone to understand that I don't expect anyone to believe me, or to take any of this as an invitation to adopt my beliefs. We are, I think, each on our own journey. We can walk together for awhile and share in each other's journey, but I'm pretty sure we each have to find our own way the best we can. My intention is not to convince anyone that I'm right and they're wrong. I'm simply offering this to you as food for thought. Or you can dismiss it out of hand, even laugh at it. It doesn't matter in the long run. We each have free will, and so we can choose whatever path we want to travel.

Well, again, this is awfully long. The other revelation I experienced will have to wait until my next blog entry. Sorry. I promise I will do my best to write about it tomorrow.

Thank you for letting me share my story with you. Peace and joy to you all.

What happened?

You might be wondering that, because it's been over a month since I wrote my last blog entry. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure what happened, but I'll try to figure it out.  First, I got tired of beating my head againts walls and backed way off from trying, futiley, to fight my way out of going nowhere. I didn't give up, exactly, but I did realize that I need to choose my battles more wisely. Once I did, I was much happier. For awhile all I did was watch tv shows and movies, along with a few documentaries, on my iPad. I was kicking back, trying to renew my mental, emotional and spiritual energy. It worked pretty well and that also made me happier.

However, I had some infections going that had me feeling bad and causing me pain. My doctor doesn't like prescribing medicine, especially pain meds and antibiotics.  So, for weeks, I just lay in bed feeling pretty awful. It culminated, eventually, into a severe pain on my left side. I was sent to the emergecy room. They did a ct scan but couldn't see anything so they sent me back to the nursing home. The next day, the pain got worse and worse until my stomach grew distended and hard and I spent the entire night screaming with pain. It wasn't as painful as giving birth, but it was close.

So the next morning I went back to the emergency room. This time they did an x-ray and found the problem. I had a bowel impaction, which meant that nothing was getting through. Think about that for a quick moment. Don't dwell on it, though, because it's an icky mental image.

So they put a tube down my nose and admitted me into the hospital. I was there 8 days.

I won't go into the gritty details of my treatments. They, happily, involved getting intravenous antibiotics, which coincidently cleared up my infections, so yay for that. And I got this dandy IV pain medicine which, when given too quickly, made me throw up, which you do NOT want to do when you have a tube going down your throat. But, at the same time, it gave me a hell of a rush, which sent me back to the '60s. I never actually shot anything up back then, but the rush from my pain med gave me a better understanding of why people get hooked on that kind of thing. And how it can turn into a very steep slippery slope. I even considered lying about my pain to get more, but, thankfully, resisted the urge.

Gradually, day by day, I got better and better. They finally took the tube out of my nose, and my sore throat got better until I could talk again. Not being able to talk -- now, THAT was painful.

The experience was extremely educational and I learned some real spiritual lessons, as well. In fact, I had a true spirtual revelation. Two of them.

This entry is too long to tell you about them today, but I will explain about these revelations in my next entry. I promise not to let 6 weeks go by between entries this time.

Thank you to everyone who gave me love and support while I was sick. You're the best. Love and peace. ❤️

Life. Don't talk to me about life.

I have scabies. If, like me, you have never heard of this before, especially not in regard to it invading your own personal body, here's the down-low:

Scabies consists of itty-bitty, teeny-tiny mites that burrow under your skin and lay eggs. And, oh god, does it itch! This causes the kind of itching that makes you want to run around like a hysterical cartoon character, howling and trying to dig them out of your skin.

I noticed some bumps on my scalp many weeks ago and had my doctor take a look at them. His response all those weeks ago was to wait and see. It didn't take long for the mites to find their way down to my forearm. It itched, I scratched, and now I have a bunch of angry-looking red spots on my arm.

How did I get scabies? I don't really know, since I have been up in my baby buggy (aka wheelchair that someone has to push me around in) exactly once since I first noticed something terribly wrong was happening on/in my scalp. So, since I have been in bed and only ever have two visitors -- and my therapist sits across the room from me -- I have to assume they either hitched a ride on someone who works here, or on my bed linens. Who knows?

Once my doc came back and it dawned on him what was happening, he said he'd prescribe a cream to apply from the neck down. I asked, "But what about my scalp?" He didn't answer. He just kept walking away. So I repeated, a little more loudly, "But what about my scalp? He just kept walking toward the door. So I said, with a lot more emphasis, "BUT WHAT ABOUT MY SCAAAAALP?" He reached the door and left.

So today the nurse walked in with the tube of cream he'd ordered. I told her it would be a waste of time and money to apply it without treating my scalp at the same time. At my request, she called the doc's office and requested a prescription for medicated shampoo. He answered, succinctly, that there was no shampoo to treat this. No suggestions, no ideas, just no. I searched far and wide on the net and, sure enough, he is right, except for some horse shampoo. I could use that, diluted with some regular shampoo, but decided this idea of covering every inch of my body with one small tube of cream, then leaving it on for 24 hours and showering it off the following day was a pretty stupid idea if I can't treat my scalp, too. So I asked them to call back and tell the doc I want the pill version of treatment. He hates prescribing any kind of medicine so chances are he'll refuse. 

If that happens, then I'll let them lather me with the cream he prescribed. I know they can't put it on my scalp because he ordered it to be applied from the neck down. But I can defy his orders. I'll just yank the tube away from the aide, put a globfull in my hand and massage my scalp with it, myself. I don't know what else I could do. But taking a couple of pills would be so much easier and more effective.

My life just gets more and more delightful as time goes on, doesn't it? Why, I'm a veritable ray of sunshine.

Hope your life is constantly on the upswing. And avoid scabies at all costs.

Here I Go Again

Sorry it's been so long since I wrote my blog. I pretty much backed away from everything and everybody for awhile because I was so directionless and confused that even my own thoughts were like trying to walk through a whirlwind.

I had been working on tearing down the walls of my best and most effective defense mechanism, which was excellent when I was in grades 5 through 12, but had the unfortunate effect of shutting out a lot of emotions and spontaneity when I became an adult. But I made one major error. I didn't have anything ready to take its place. Like I told my therapist, I was like a hit and run victim for any emotion that came along. They were out of control, and I had some panic attacks that proved it.

So I pulled back into my cave to try and sort things out. It was not a good existence, but was necessary if I didn't want my life to become one long panic attack.

The good part of trying that panic-filled experiment was that it loosened up my inhibitions a bit. When I hear catchy music, I just start dancing and don't care who sees me. I'm sure I look comical, reclining in bed with my arms waving, shoulders twitching and moving my torso around as best I can. If someone sees me, then fine. They can dance, too. The last time was when I was listening to Slacker Radio and they played "Staying Alive" by the BeeGees. I just couldn't help myself.

So I'm having more fun now.

Then I was blessed with a visit from my best friend and, awhile later, from my daughter, Josi, who lives too far away from me to visit often. That visit was wonderful. It really lifted my spirits.

Oh, by the way, I may be mentioning Dialectical Behavior Therapy a lot. I read an overview of it and, from what I could tell, it looks a lot like what I'd come up with to make my life easier. I was attracted to it because it is structured, so much better than what I have been doing, which was bouncing around different ideas like an out of control super-bouncy-ball which had been thrown into a tiny empty closet. That was exhausting, because I was the ball.

From now on, my mottos will be, "que será será," "c'est la vie" and "shit happens." 

So root for me. Right now I'm still riding the high from my daughter's visit, but that won't last forever, and dark days are sure to roll in like unexpected thunderstorms. Me, myself and I will be working to learn how not to get struck by emotional lightning when they arrive.

Love and serenity to you all. ❤️