The landscaping crew was out shoveling and salting. One of the crew was shoveling our walk, all the way to the door. Jarvis was at the window next to the door without uttering a peep.
Me: Um, not a sound for that person approaching?
Jarvis: Meh.
Me: Meh?! What do you mean, "meh"? You lose your shit when someone parks out front and shuts their door.
Jarvis: Well they may be dangerous.
Me: Oh. My. God. They just get out of their car and don't come near the door. This person is at our door with a shovel!
Jarvis: But, I don't need to bark.
Me: Quite frankly, you almost never need to bark at anyone.
Jarvis: This person is good.
Me: What do you mean?
Jarvis: This person is working with me, not against me for your safety.
Me: Thanks for looking out for us, buddy.
Friday, November 22, 2019
Tuesday, October 29, 2019
Two months of intense caring
Two. Months.
August 16th - September 16th
I start this with August 16th when my dad was actually admitted to the hospital on August 13th. I flew in from my home in Colorado, leaving Shawn and Jarvis to hold down the proverbial fort. From the 13th through the 19th, my dad was on a medical floor. That's were he was being treated for all the things jacked up by his liver. Then, the 19th through the 28th he moved to a skilled nursing floor (SNF) for inpatient physical and occupational therapies. On the 27th he went to ICU in a desperate attempt to get him to the Main Campus of the Cleveland Clinic where they had a unit that would focus on his liver which wasn't available at the Euclid Hospital satellite branch of the Cleveland Clinic. That attempt didn't work, so he was transferred back to the medical floor. Then, on the 31st, he made his way to Main Campus. His time at Main was August 31st through September 5th. And, finally, back to Euclid's SNF and lots of PT and OT from September 5th through September 16th. Then home.
So, month 1 was all about the hospital stays. He was having procedures. We were talking to doctors and NPs and nurses and aides and physical therapists and occupational therapist throughout all of that time. I was learning things I had known nothing about, such as, the body has ammonia in it. For real, ammonia. The liver is supposed to flush it out and when it doesn't it goes to the brain and turns you into a different person. My mom and I spent most of our time with him. We worked on crossword puzzles and watched TV as he dosed in and out. I would help him with his meals because opening his drinks and other sealed items took fine motor skills he didn't quite have. On SNF, he could wear regular clothes to go to therapy. In the evening, he would go back to his gown and, at times, I would help him change. One day, I noticed his legs were dripping fluid. That was something I could have done without seeing. Some days I had to brace myself for visitors who were not my cup of tea. That's a tough one. There was one afternoon when my mom and I had gone to get something to eat. My mom decided to call the priest from their parish to have him visit, maybe bring communion, too, I can't remember. She found out that he had just been up their. When we got back, my dad was in a terrible state, almost completely reclined. His respiratory therapist came in for his afternoon treatment and he shooed her away. He asked me to come over and I bent over to hear him. He whispered to me that he didn't think he was going to make, that he was going to die. Believe me, this is not anything you want to hear from anyone you love's mouth. We heard from others that sometimes, when a minister of some sort visits and bestows a blessing, the patient can take a turn because they see that experience as a sign of impending death. Thankfully, he perked up. He was quite an ornery patient and I often had to explain things to him. Sometimes, he would understand, and other times he would continue to be difficult.
September 16th came, and he was discharged.
September 16th - October 16th
This begins my last month. This period of time may have been worse. There was no aide to ring for to go to the bathroom. No nurses to be the bad guys dispensing his meds, especially his lactulose. It was the medication to help his ammonia levels lower. It's a disgusting, orange, syrup about which he would grumble when having to take it. My mom was trying to come up with meals that would meet up to the special dietary restrictions he needed to maintain outside of the hospital. I was working on a family calendar for people to help my mom with getting my dad to appointments. I was also sending emails to my siblings to summarize the hospital discharge notes and any other information from other appointments. One thing I never saw myself as having to do is empty out a portable urinal, but there I was. Some days were shitty, literally and figuratively. Lying in my parents' regular bed was not working out well, so he would sleep in his recliner. It was the kind that can lift you into standing and can put you horizontal. Some nights, I'd hear him in the middle of the night. There were different things he was moaning about. One night, he needed more water. Another time, it was to tell me the newspapers on the floor next to him were ready to be recycled. He was having some hip pain and pain from a sore one night. He couldn't really roll to his side. So, I got some pillows to prop him onto his side. I had to push him and hold him on his side while trying to position the pillows. Thankfully, it helped. There was also a time where he was afraid he missed his friend's birthday. I looked through the pile of items to be mailed and told him there wasn't a card so it must have been mailed already. He then cried because it was also his favorite aunt's birthday. He went back to being upset about his friend. He talked about his friend not knowing about all that had been going on. He mentioned that he always calls his friend. So, I told him he could call his friend the next day. I wrote a note, "Call Joel for his birthday" with his phone number in large digits. I put it on the table next to the chair. Then, I can't remember how, but I found out he that it was March. I told him he could still call Joel, but I just crossed off the birthday part of the note. It was weird how the lucid moments would happen, often when visitors were around. My mom and I bore the brunt of his personality switch. We did have some good moments watching the Democratic candidates' town halls and debates.
October 16th, the day I was leaving, it was like my dad had rebuilt all his strength and channeled it into the grip he had on my arm as I was heading out the door.
Two. Weeks.
October 16th - October 29th (technically 13 days, but still)
I got back to Denver and was so lucky to be greeted by Shawn almost as enthusiastically as by Jarvis (😉) It was nice to get a message of appreciation for all that I had done over my 2 month stay. I wish I had more of that. That probably sounds selfish and needy, but so much happened in the time in Cleveland and I was exhausted. I have felt underappreciated. I don't know what to do with myself now that I'm back. My days were filled with so much and here I am doing next to nothing. I didn't capture all of the things from Cleveland in this post. The toll some people and some things took on me is significant and probably best unsaid. My mental health has taken a hit. In the end, I did my best and now that I'm back home I'll have to figure out the rest.
August 16th - September 16th
I start this with August 16th when my dad was actually admitted to the hospital on August 13th. I flew in from my home in Colorado, leaving Shawn and Jarvis to hold down the proverbial fort. From the 13th through the 19th, my dad was on a medical floor. That's were he was being treated for all the things jacked up by his liver. Then, the 19th through the 28th he moved to a skilled nursing floor (SNF) for inpatient physical and occupational therapies. On the 27th he went to ICU in a desperate attempt to get him to the Main Campus of the Cleveland Clinic where they had a unit that would focus on his liver which wasn't available at the Euclid Hospital satellite branch of the Cleveland Clinic. That attempt didn't work, so he was transferred back to the medical floor. Then, on the 31st, he made his way to Main Campus. His time at Main was August 31st through September 5th. And, finally, back to Euclid's SNF and lots of PT and OT from September 5th through September 16th. Then home.
So, month 1 was all about the hospital stays. He was having procedures. We were talking to doctors and NPs and nurses and aides and physical therapists and occupational therapist throughout all of that time. I was learning things I had known nothing about, such as, the body has ammonia in it. For real, ammonia. The liver is supposed to flush it out and when it doesn't it goes to the brain and turns you into a different person. My mom and I spent most of our time with him. We worked on crossword puzzles and watched TV as he dosed in and out. I would help him with his meals because opening his drinks and other sealed items took fine motor skills he didn't quite have. On SNF, he could wear regular clothes to go to therapy. In the evening, he would go back to his gown and, at times, I would help him change. One day, I noticed his legs were dripping fluid. That was something I could have done without seeing. Some days I had to brace myself for visitors who were not my cup of tea. That's a tough one. There was one afternoon when my mom and I had gone to get something to eat. My mom decided to call the priest from their parish to have him visit, maybe bring communion, too, I can't remember. She found out that he had just been up their. When we got back, my dad was in a terrible state, almost completely reclined. His respiratory therapist came in for his afternoon treatment and he shooed her away. He asked me to come over and I bent over to hear him. He whispered to me that he didn't think he was going to make, that he was going to die. Believe me, this is not anything you want to hear from anyone you love's mouth. We heard from others that sometimes, when a minister of some sort visits and bestows a blessing, the patient can take a turn because they see that experience as a sign of impending death. Thankfully, he perked up. He was quite an ornery patient and I often had to explain things to him. Sometimes, he would understand, and other times he would continue to be difficult.
September 16th came, and he was discharged.
September 16th - October 16th
This begins my last month. This period of time may have been worse. There was no aide to ring for to go to the bathroom. No nurses to be the bad guys dispensing his meds, especially his lactulose. It was the medication to help his ammonia levels lower. It's a disgusting, orange, syrup about which he would grumble when having to take it. My mom was trying to come up with meals that would meet up to the special dietary restrictions he needed to maintain outside of the hospital. I was working on a family calendar for people to help my mom with getting my dad to appointments. I was also sending emails to my siblings to summarize the hospital discharge notes and any other information from other appointments. One thing I never saw myself as having to do is empty out a portable urinal, but there I was. Some days were shitty, literally and figuratively. Lying in my parents' regular bed was not working out well, so he would sleep in his recliner. It was the kind that can lift you into standing and can put you horizontal. Some nights, I'd hear him in the middle of the night. There were different things he was moaning about. One night, he needed more water. Another time, it was to tell me the newspapers on the floor next to him were ready to be recycled. He was having some hip pain and pain from a sore one night. He couldn't really roll to his side. So, I got some pillows to prop him onto his side. I had to push him and hold him on his side while trying to position the pillows. Thankfully, it helped. There was also a time where he was afraid he missed his friend's birthday. I looked through the pile of items to be mailed and told him there wasn't a card so it must have been mailed already. He then cried because it was also his favorite aunt's birthday. He went back to being upset about his friend. He talked about his friend not knowing about all that had been going on. He mentioned that he always calls his friend. So, I told him he could call his friend the next day. I wrote a note, "Call Joel for his birthday" with his phone number in large digits. I put it on the table next to the chair. Then, I can't remember how, but I found out he that it was March. I told him he could still call Joel, but I just crossed off the birthday part of the note. It was weird how the lucid moments would happen, often when visitors were around. My mom and I bore the brunt of his personality switch. We did have some good moments watching the Democratic candidates' town halls and debates.
October 16th, the day I was leaving, it was like my dad had rebuilt all his strength and channeled it into the grip he had on my arm as I was heading out the door.
Two. Weeks.
October 16th - October 29th (technically 13 days, but still)
I got back to Denver and was so lucky to be greeted by Shawn almost as enthusiastically as by Jarvis (😉) It was nice to get a message of appreciation for all that I had done over my 2 month stay. I wish I had more of that. That probably sounds selfish and needy, but so much happened in the time in Cleveland and I was exhausted. I have felt underappreciated. I don't know what to do with myself now that I'm back. My days were filled with so much and here I am doing next to nothing. I didn't capture all of the things from Cleveland in this post. The toll some people and some things took on me is significant and probably best unsaid. My mental health has taken a hit. In the end, I did my best and now that I'm back home I'll have to figure out the rest.
Thursday, October 10, 2019
Oh, what a mental health day....life
It's World Mental Health Day and I feel a sense of obligation to write today. I'm just not sure what to say.
Over the last two months, I feel like my mental health has been challenged, but I haven't necessarily up for the fight. I've been tired, not just sleepy, but tired in my bones, my muscles, and my ability to handle my stress and emotions. My level of frustration and guilt has lead me to extra Ativan in the hopes of easing my anxiety and the extreme nausea it brings. I feel overwhelmed about leaving next week. I desperately want to see Shawn and, of course, Jarvis. The hope I have is that they will bring me relief and calm, they will distract me from my sense of worry.
On the topic of mental health, but not really like what I've written above, my mom and I had an interesting conversation. We both suffer from mental health issues. Her meds seem to work pretty well, so perhaps I'm the one suffering. Anyway, the other day we had a conversation which is probably not a typical one for mothers and daughters. We talked about suicide. We talked about our thoughts, our ideations. One of hers was terribly violent, if you ask me. She was young, still living at home, dealing with depression in an era in which you didn't, and saw a letter opener...to shove...in her neck. It made my car crash, overdosing, car running in the garage thoughts seem really calm. For both of us, they were suicidal ideations, they weren't actual plans. We're both still here. For me, I can't exactly say why, but I am.
In the general sense of life, I am here. I am here and I am with Shawn.
Over the last two months, I feel like my mental health has been challenged, but I haven't necessarily up for the fight. I've been tired, not just sleepy, but tired in my bones, my muscles, and my ability to handle my stress and emotions. My level of frustration and guilt has lead me to extra Ativan in the hopes of easing my anxiety and the extreme nausea it brings. I feel overwhelmed about leaving next week. I desperately want to see Shawn and, of course, Jarvis. The hope I have is that they will bring me relief and calm, they will distract me from my sense of worry.
On the topic of mental health, but not really like what I've written above, my mom and I had an interesting conversation. We both suffer from mental health issues. Her meds seem to work pretty well, so perhaps I'm the one suffering. Anyway, the other day we had a conversation which is probably not a typical one for mothers and daughters. We talked about suicide. We talked about our thoughts, our ideations. One of hers was terribly violent, if you ask me. She was young, still living at home, dealing with depression in an era in which you didn't, and saw a letter opener...to shove...in her neck. It made my car crash, overdosing, car running in the garage thoughts seem really calm. For both of us, they were suicidal ideations, they weren't actual plans. We're both still here. For me, I can't exactly say why, but I am.
In the general sense of life, I am here. I am here and I am with Shawn.
Thursday, October 3, 2019
It's a Dark Knight
Shawn: Come on, Buddy, it's dark out.
Jarvis: All the more reason to be vigilant. I may not be the hero {insert city} deserves, but I'm the hero it needs right now.
Wednesday, October 2, 2019
Two weeks left of the most difficult two months
For some reason, I thought I would be blogging more while being out here helping with my dad. Maybe it has to do with being tired and busy, I don't know. I have two weeks left and I'm ready. That probably sounds shitty, well, I've felt shitty.
I know Eleanor Roosevelt said, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." God, I wish I had her steadfastness. I'm still here feeling terrible because of the words and actions of another at a time when I really am trying to muster all the strength I have. I've been dealing with what might be considered Imposter Syndrome. I feel like I've done nothing near to what some think. I've not earned the kind words of others. Shawn says I have, so I should try harder to believe him.
I know Eleanor Roosevelt said, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." God, I wish I had her steadfastness. I'm still here feeling terrible because of the words and actions of another at a time when I really am trying to muster all the strength I have. I've been dealing with what might be considered Imposter Syndrome. I feel like I've done nothing near to what some think. I've not earned the kind words of others. Shawn says I have, so I should try harder to believe him.
But, what this entry is really about is hepatic encephalopathy again.
While talking with Shawn during one of our nightly phone calls, I told him one of the things I have come to realize. When all is said and done, whether I stay here longer than 2 months or stick to the plan, my last memories of my father will not be the way I would choose. The hepatic encephalopthy distances me from the Dad I have always known. It has changed him in ways I do not like to see. Many visitors get to see him when he is rather lucid and don't really experience what my mom and I do in what I refer to as the witching hour. No matter how much I try to remind myself that he is not himself, the "this is the disease talking" mantra works very little. I lose my patience, there is no reason to lie about that. This mean, crabby, demanding, and angry man is not my dad; it is high ammonia levels and end stage liver failure. I need to try to recognize that.
Saturday, September 21, 2019
Hepatic Encephalopathy - the biggest struggle of my life
My dad was admitted to the hospital on August 13th and I came to town on August 16th with a plan of staying until October 16th...I'm struggling with it.
This is an email I sent my family. The only thing on the list that wasn't really a reason for the visit was his Diabetes.
"I'm sending some info about Dad's various health issues we are dealing with. I think it is important for everyone to be on top of things. Mom needs support and backup when possible.
Diabetes - From what I understand, Dad is a terrible diabetic. He has manipulated his insulin to eat things he shouldn't. I have heard about this from family and friends of his. His diet is regulated at the hospital. He should only be eating what is brought to him on his tray. What he ends up eating off the tray is logged. Right now, his blood sugar is getting closer to a healthier level, which, ideally is under 140. Food should not be brought to him. He, at this point, cannot make decisions about foods that impact his diabetes negatively. His intake of fruit or cake are both an issue. Anything ending in -ose is sugar.
Grade II esophageal varices - These are, essentially, varicose veins like people have in their legs. However, these are in the esophagus. The issue with these is the possibility of rupture and bleeding. Dad is a bleeding risk and his platelets tend to be low so if this were to rupture, it would be a very serious, if not fatal, situation. When he was at the Clinic, he had a procedure to have them banded. They only band up to 6 and that was what happened with that. In a couple weeks, he will go for his first follow-up check and will continue to have things checked. I don't remember how often.
Nonalcoholic steatohepatitis (NASH) - This is his cirrhosis. The liver hardens and then things go downhill. His liver does not function properly and will not ever again. The failure is what causes the big problems. It causes the fluid that builds in his abdomen and things like the high ammonia. It just can't filter out the toxins.
Hepatic Encephalopathy - This is liver related brain malfunction. Toxins, like ammonia, that are not being filtered correctly make their way to the brain. I'm pretty sure everyone has witnessed this in Dad. The ammonia levels are a big part, but other things that aren't flushing out through the liver can add to it. The treatment for the ammonia issue is a drug called lactulose. You have probably been in his room when he has taken it. It is a syrupy orange liquid that he turns his nose up at. Today he was increased from 4 to 5 times a day. You may notice him needing to use the commode more as his body adjusts. This might get a little better, but his confusion/agitation is pretty much his new normal.
Splenomegaly - This is an enlarged spleen and it is another effect of the liver disease.
Recurrent Ascites - This is the abdominal fluid that he has to have drained. His drainage has been a little over 5 liters, 5.5 liters, and 9.5 liters. You may have noticed his abdomen on the left side looking full again. There has not been talk of another tap yet. They are trying diuretics (meds that cause urination to flush the system), but it doesn't seem a likely solution. Continuing taps will most likely be the way things go from here on out.
Thrombocytopenia - This is low platelets. He should never be on a blood thinner because of this. The severity of the bruising he has on his arms are an example of his bleeding problem.
Now, for something on the upswing that needs to be encouraged. He has physical therapy twice a day and once a day he has occupational therapy. He has surpassed expectations at this point. It's great, but once he comes home, he needs to keep things up and not go back to the sedentary lifestyle he has been living. An example of something is not spending all his time in his chair and not using the lift function in place of using his own strength. He hasn't worked on steps yet, so not sure how that will go. If he could just manage the few steps to get in and out of houses, that would be better than nothing. Getting back to Church is something he has mentioned, but again, that is not something easy and he'll really need to work on that. I'm not sure how this will all play out, but right now, he's doing more than I ever expected.
Also, family is allowed to be with him in the therapy room. The times vary, so you'll have to check. It is on the 4th floor. This can be good for moral support and giving the therapists info. He really can go off on tangents and think he's answering questions when he really isn't.
There are more things I have done, seen, heard, and learned since I got here in mid-August than I ever expected for my life. If you have questions or anything, you can ask and I'll see if I know. Or, get in touch with Mom.
Thanks"
On September 16th he got discharged after bouncing around from hospital to hospital and back to the original hospital.
Of all the things on this list, Hepatic Encephalopathy is the worst to deal with as far as care giving. He is a completely different person. At times, my mom and I look at each other with a head shake. I've said it's like dealing with a toddler sometimes. I've heard him say things I've never heard from him. His abdominal fluid issue is relieved for a time when he his tapped. This doesn't work like that. The medication used for it is only really used to try to keep things somewhat under control. Honestly, I cannot picture what he would be like without the medication.
The is the most difficult time of my life and I had ECT and lost my memory of 2016.
This is an email I sent my family. The only thing on the list that wasn't really a reason for the visit was his Diabetes.
"I'm sending some info about Dad's various health issues we are dealing with. I think it is important for everyone to be on top of things. Mom needs support and backup when possible.
Diabetes - From what I understand, Dad is a terrible diabetic. He has manipulated his insulin to eat things he shouldn't. I have heard about this from family and friends of his. His diet is regulated at the hospital. He should only be eating what is brought to him on his tray. What he ends up eating off the tray is logged. Right now, his blood sugar is getting closer to a healthier level, which, ideally is under 140. Food should not be brought to him. He, at this point, cannot make decisions about foods that impact his diabetes negatively. His intake of fruit or cake are both an issue. Anything ending in -ose is sugar.
Grade II esophageal varices - These are, essentially, varicose veins like people have in their legs. However, these are in the esophagus. The issue with these is the possibility of rupture and bleeding. Dad is a bleeding risk and his platelets tend to be low so if this were to rupture, it would be a very serious, if not fatal, situation. When he was at the Clinic, he had a procedure to have them banded. They only band up to 6 and that was what happened with that. In a couple weeks, he will go for his first follow-up check and will continue to have things checked. I don't remember how often.
Nonalcoholic steatohepatitis (NASH) - This is his cirrhosis. The liver hardens and then things go downhill. His liver does not function properly and will not ever again. The failure is what causes the big problems. It causes the fluid that builds in his abdomen and things like the high ammonia. It just can't filter out the toxins.
Hepatic Encephalopathy - This is liver related brain malfunction. Toxins, like ammonia, that are not being filtered correctly make their way to the brain. I'm pretty sure everyone has witnessed this in Dad. The ammonia levels are a big part, but other things that aren't flushing out through the liver can add to it. The treatment for the ammonia issue is a drug called lactulose. You have probably been in his room when he has taken it. It is a syrupy orange liquid that he turns his nose up at. Today he was increased from 4 to 5 times a day. You may notice him needing to use the commode more as his body adjusts. This might get a little better, but his confusion/agitation is pretty much his new normal.
Splenomegaly - This is an enlarged spleen and it is another effect of the liver disease.
Recurrent Ascites - This is the abdominal fluid that he has to have drained. His drainage has been a little over 5 liters, 5.5 liters, and 9.5 liters. You may have noticed his abdomen on the left side looking full again. There has not been talk of another tap yet. They are trying diuretics (meds that cause urination to flush the system), but it doesn't seem a likely solution. Continuing taps will most likely be the way things go from here on out.
Thrombocytopenia - This is low platelets. He should never be on a blood thinner because of this. The severity of the bruising he has on his arms are an example of his bleeding problem.
Now, for something on the upswing that needs to be encouraged. He has physical therapy twice a day and once a day he has occupational therapy. He has surpassed expectations at this point. It's great, but once he comes home, he needs to keep things up and not go back to the sedentary lifestyle he has been living. An example of something is not spending all his time in his chair and not using the lift function in place of using his own strength. He hasn't worked on steps yet, so not sure how that will go. If he could just manage the few steps to get in and out of houses, that would be better than nothing. Getting back to Church is something he has mentioned, but again, that is not something easy and he'll really need to work on that. I'm not sure how this will all play out, but right now, he's doing more than I ever expected.
Also, family is allowed to be with him in the therapy room. The times vary, so you'll have to check. It is on the 4th floor. This can be good for moral support and giving the therapists info. He really can go off on tangents and think he's answering questions when he really isn't.
There are more things I have done, seen, heard, and learned since I got here in mid-August than I ever expected for my life. If you have questions or anything, you can ask and I'll see if I know. Or, get in touch with Mom.
Thanks"
On September 16th he got discharged after bouncing around from hospital to hospital and back to the original hospital.
Of all the things on this list, Hepatic Encephalopathy is the worst to deal with as far as care giving. He is a completely different person. At times, my mom and I look at each other with a head shake. I've said it's like dealing with a toddler sometimes. I've heard him say things I've never heard from him. His abdominal fluid issue is relieved for a time when he his tapped. This doesn't work like that. The medication used for it is only really used to try to keep things somewhat under control. Honestly, I cannot picture what he would be like without the medication.
The is the most difficult time of my life and I had ECT and lost my memory of 2016.
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
Dog walking: A guest post from Shawn
Jarvis and me on a walk...
Jarvis: Hang on, I'm going to poop.
Me: Okay.
Jarvis: Okay, this is a good spot. Let me just...
Me: Hang on, don't do it there. Come over here a ways.
Jarvis: Oh, I shouldn't poop?
Me: Yes, go ahead, I just didn't want you to do it over there, right next to those people's window. Just do it over here.
Jarvis: I see, no pooping then.
Me: What? No, you can poop, just not over there. Go ahead.
Jarvis: I understand. I won't poop then.
Me: Why are you being like this? I think you're being passive-aggressive.
Jarvis: I don't know what that is. It sounds like a human thing.
Me: Are you going to poop or what?
Jarvis: No need.
Me: -sigh- Fine.
Twenty minutes later, at home...
Jarvis: Take me out, I need to poop.
***
Another walk with Jarvis...
Jarvis: GRRRRR
Me: What's the matter?
Jarvis: I hate those guys so much!
Me: Who? You mean those two dogs, that are like a block away? The ones you've never actually interacted with? You hate them?
Jarvis: SO MUCH!
Me: Why? What did they--
Jarvis: HEY ASSHOLES! YEAH, YOU! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NEVER TO COME AROUND HERE!
Me: Jarvis, they live three doors down from us.
Jarvis: DON'T ACT LIKE YOU CAN'T HEAR ME! IF I GET A HOLD OF YOU, I'M GOING TO RIP OFF YOUR HEADS AND SHOVE THEM UP EACH OTHER'S BUTTS!
Me: They're both bigger than you; I'm pretty sure they'd beat the crap out of you!
Jarvis: DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM?!?!
Me: Jesus, Jarvis, chill out! Where did that come from? Look, they're gone now, you can relax.
Jarvis: ~whine~
Me: Now what's wrong?
Jarvis: I miss those guys...
Jarvis: Hang on, I'm going to poop.
Me: Okay.
Jarvis: Okay, this is a good spot. Let me just...
Me: Hang on, don't do it there. Come over here a ways.
Jarvis: Oh, I shouldn't poop?
Me: Yes, go ahead, I just didn't want you to do it over there, right next to those people's window. Just do it over here.
Jarvis: I see, no pooping then.
Me: What? No, you can poop, just not over there. Go ahead.
Jarvis: I understand. I won't poop then.
Me: Why are you being like this? I think you're being passive-aggressive.
Jarvis: I don't know what that is. It sounds like a human thing.
Me: Are you going to poop or what?
Jarvis: No need.
Me: -sigh- Fine.
Twenty minutes later, at home...
Jarvis: Take me out, I need to poop.
***
Another walk with Jarvis...
Jarvis: GRRRRR
Me: What's the matter?
Jarvis: I hate those guys so much!
Me: Who? You mean those two dogs, that are like a block away? The ones you've never actually interacted with? You hate them?
Jarvis: SO MUCH!
Me: Why? What did they--
Jarvis: HEY ASSHOLES! YEAH, YOU! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NEVER TO COME AROUND HERE!
Me: Jarvis, they live three doors down from us.
Jarvis: DON'T ACT LIKE YOU CAN'T HEAR ME! IF I GET A HOLD OF YOU, I'M GOING TO RIP OFF YOUR HEADS AND SHOVE THEM UP EACH OTHER'S BUTTS!
Me: They're both bigger than you; I'm pretty sure they'd beat the crap out of you!
Jarvis: DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM?!?!
Me: Jesus, Jarvis, chill out! Where did that come from? Look, they're gone now, you can relax.
Jarvis: ~whine~
Me: Now what's wrong?
Jarvis: I miss those guys...
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
What's in a name?
I found out today that a man who was a big part of my childhood died. He and his wife were friends of my parents and went the church of my childhood. He and his wife were the creators of "Megala". One of my many nicknames. I decided to go through my nicknames, well, as many as I can remember.
Meg (my first ever nickname since my given name is Margaret)
Megala
Margar
Midge
Peggy
Peggy Sue
Megaroni
Megra
Meggo
Meggles
Megster
That Girl
Megger
Marge
Moony
Babe
Meg (my first ever nickname since my given name is Margaret)
Megala
Margar
Midge
Peggy
Peggy Sue
Megaroni
Megra
Meggo
Meggles
Megster
That Girl
Megger
Marge
Moony
Babe
Sunday, August 4, 2019
I am my father's daughter
I've been on the phone with my dad a couple of times this last week. His health is not good and that, in my ever so humble opinion, is also impacting his mental health. He's not happy. He tells me about how much my mom has to do for him these days. I get the vibe that he's feeling humiliated by it all. He gets choked up and tells me that he's always thanking my mom for each thing she does. She tells him he doesn't need to thank her. They've been married 51 years. I told him it is what you do.
Shawn and I will be married 11 years in a few days. As I have conversations with my dad about what my mom does for him. I get him. I relate. In our time together, Shawn has had to do so much for me in regards to my physical and my mental health. I honestly can't think of anything I have ever had to do for him. Not one damn thing. Obviously I don't wish Shawn to be sick. It's more about feeling bad that the scales are so out of balance.
They have 51 years, Shawn and I have 11. However, my dad and I are kind of in the same place.
Shawn and I will be married 11 years in a few days. As I have conversations with my dad about what my mom does for him. I get him. I relate. In our time together, Shawn has had to do so much for me in regards to my physical and my mental health. I honestly can't think of anything I have ever had to do for him. Not one damn thing. Obviously I don't wish Shawn to be sick. It's more about feeling bad that the scales are so out of balance.
They have 51 years, Shawn and I have 11. However, my dad and I are kind of in the same place.
Friday, August 2, 2019
Hold On
Yesterday, Wilson Philips' Hold On came up on my iTunes. I tried to get that song to change me in junior high. I wanted it to be my anthem. My childhood anxiety and loathing (which, we all know, has come with me into adulthood) were in need of some kind of help, especially since I was hiding things. I mean, I chose my Confirmation name (non-Catholics, it's a name you choose when confirming your faith. For me, it was in junior high) because I thought I was so terrible. The Saint whose name I chose was Augustine of Hippo. He was a sinful guy. He was hedonistic. He was a wild child. But, he turned his shit around. He became a saint. I thought this was amazing. If he could turnout to become a saint, I most certainly could be a better person than the one I was at the time.
Maybe I am a better person than I was.
But yesterday, when the song came on, it made me smile. Bridesmaids changed that song for me. Kristen Wiig and Maya Rudolph doing there jam to that song was so amazingly awesome. The whole movie is so funny, I've seen it multiple times, which I don't typically do with movies. So, it's a different anthem, I suppose.
"Things'll go your way
Maybe I am a better person than I was.
But yesterday, when the song came on, it made me smile. Bridesmaids changed that song for me. Kristen Wiig and Maya Rudolph doing there jam to that song was so amazingly awesome. The whole movie is so funny, I've seen it multiple times, which I don't typically do with movies. So, it's a different anthem, I suppose.
"Things'll go your way
If you hold on for one more day
Can you hold on for one more day
Things'll go your way
Hold on for one more day"
Can you hold on for one more day
Things'll go your way
Hold on for one more day"
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
And so...
I woke up around 2:30 this morning. It was all about the puking. It's been a good month or two since my last go 'round with my asshole stomach.
Today is the 5th anniversary of my hysterectomy. I had this thought that my stomach was trying to remind me of the whole disaster which was all my reproductive parts. Well, all except one of my ovaries. Anyway, I don't know that I really believe in something like that, but it did cross my mind.
How has it been 5 years? Each year I want it to get easier and I'm not sure that it does. Maybe it's a little more difficult this year because my remaining ovary is kind of a bitch lately. I've been thinking about having it taken out. Taking it out means instant menopause. Do I want that? I don't know.
On to another year.
Today is the 5th anniversary of my hysterectomy. I had this thought that my stomach was trying to remind me of the whole disaster which was all my reproductive parts. Well, all except one of my ovaries. Anyway, I don't know that I really believe in something like that, but it did cross my mind.
How has it been 5 years? Each year I want it to get easier and I'm not sure that it does. Maybe it's a little more difficult this year because my remaining ovary is kind of a bitch lately. I've been thinking about having it taken out. Taking it out means instant menopause. Do I want that? I don't know.
On to another year.
Friday, June 28, 2019
#InHerOwnTime
I'm pretty sure I've already touched on this subject, but here we go again. Another woman coming forward to tell her story of sexual assault years after it happened. Questioning why a victim waits to tell their story should be over by now. It's like how the same questions and statements are made after a mass shooting. We need to move beyond these questions each and every time and start to really acknowledge the problem and try to change it.
The latest story in the media is another victim of the President. E. Jean Carroll has come forward several years after her assault to tell her story. Of course the President does his typical denials and slings insults. He attacks her looks as an excuse, claiming she isn't his type. Assault isn't necessarily about attraction, it's about power, and we certainly know how much power tripping he's got going on.
Victims come forward in their own time. They have several reasons for coming in that time. Even if the President wasn't in the Oval Office, his life holds wealth, power, and fame. He had a way of using those thing before being President and of course took them with him into office.
Victims come forward in their own time. Some need time to work through the shame they felt as a result of the assault. Or, the perp was an upstanding member of society who the victim was afraid to name. Maybe they took a payoff and/or signed an NDA and later decided that was the wrong way to go. No matter what, it is always #InHerOwnTime.
The latest story in the media is another victim of the President. E. Jean Carroll has come forward several years after her assault to tell her story. Of course the President does his typical denials and slings insults. He attacks her looks as an excuse, claiming she isn't his type. Assault isn't necessarily about attraction, it's about power, and we certainly know how much power tripping he's got going on.
Victims come forward in their own time. They have several reasons for coming in that time. Even if the President wasn't in the Oval Office, his life holds wealth, power, and fame. He had a way of using those thing before being President and of course took them with him into office.
Victims come forward in their own time. Some need time to work through the shame they felt as a result of the assault. Or, the perp was an upstanding member of society who the victim was afraid to name. Maybe they took a payoff and/or signed an NDA and later decided that was the wrong way to go. No matter what, it is always #InHerOwnTime.
Wednesday, June 12, 2019
Taking America's Pulse
It was three years ago that the mass shooting took place at the LGBTQ nightclub Pulse in Orlando, FL. I'm sure I was aware of it at the time, but because of my well documented memory loss in 2016, I learned about it later.
I don't understand hating someone for loving someone else. I can't imagine not being able to be out in public with Shawn and show some sign of affection. Why not love and let love?
We had far to go in this country when it comes to homophobia, transphobia, and all the other ignorant bigotry before Pulse happened. Now, because MAGA hat wearers and other hate groups have taken a rise, I would feel less safe as a member of the LGBTQ community than ever before. This administration has emboldened so many that by taking America's pulse at this time, you can certainly feel the fear of another Pulse.
I don't understand hating someone for loving someone else. I can't imagine not being able to be out in public with Shawn and show some sign of affection. Why not love and let love?
We had far to go in this country when it comes to homophobia, transphobia, and all the other ignorant bigotry before Pulse happened. Now, because MAGA hat wearers and other hate groups have taken a rise, I would feel less safe as a member of the LGBTQ community than ever before. This administration has emboldened so many that by taking America's pulse at this time, you can certainly feel the fear of another Pulse.
Saturday, May 11, 2019
Here I go again.
I've been binge watching Six Feet Under. I watched it years ago. I'm on the final season and it's been tough. Ruth Fisher (Frances Conroy) is married to George Sibley (James Cromwell). George is struggling with psychotic depression (not what I have, to be clear). His treatment is ECT, which, we all know, is something I am very familiar with.
The way the show's style is, there are scenes that turn out to be in someone's head. You have this moment of thinking, "Is this scene for real?" So Ruth is on her own taking care of George. They are at the kitchen table and she absolutely looses her shit! She goes on about having to be his caretaker and not having help and all of the resentments that she holds tight and the rage she feels.
Where I went for my treatments, they had a social worker who would focus on being a support for the caretakers of the patients. Shawn was seeing that social worker which I didn't know, or maybe I did know but didn't remember. I mean it was ECT.
As I watched Ruth have the meltdown in her head, I thought of Shawn. I thought of what must have been, what must be in Shawn's head when it comes to me. I wondered about his sessions with the social worker. I wonder what feelings he swallows
There's another character who takes lithium and seroquel, two of my five drugs. He decides to stop. I wonder what that would be like.
The way the show's style is, there are scenes that turn out to be in someone's head. You have this moment of thinking, "Is this scene for real?" So Ruth is on her own taking care of George. They are at the kitchen table and she absolutely looses her shit! She goes on about having to be his caretaker and not having help and all of the resentments that she holds tight and the rage she feels.
Where I went for my treatments, they had a social worker who would focus on being a support for the caretakers of the patients. Shawn was seeing that social worker which I didn't know, or maybe I did know but didn't remember. I mean it was ECT.
As I watched Ruth have the meltdown in her head, I thought of Shawn. I thought of what must have been, what must be in Shawn's head when it comes to me. I wondered about his sessions with the social worker. I wonder what feelings he swallows
There's another character who takes lithium and seroquel, two of my five drugs. He decides to stop. I wonder what that would be like.
Thursday, March 21, 2019
A most gentle man
Today I found out that Dr. Frank Guerra, one of the heads of the practice where I had my ECT, had died. He was the anesthesiologist. He had cancer. It seems it was too far gone when they found it.
I've written a lot about my ECT experience. It was a significant part of my life, so I will continue to write about it whenever I see fit.
One of the strange things about my memory loss is what wasn't lost. I remember the office; the waiting room; the staff; the pre-treatment questions; getting in my gown; lying on the gurney; and being wheeled into treatment room. With all of this, I remember moments with Dr. Guerra. Some days, the nurses would have a hard time getting a vein for my IV. They would leave it for Dr. Guerra to do when I went in. He was so gentle and got it done easily. My favorite memory of interacting with him was a day when I were late to our appointment. Being late can turn into a huge trigger of my anxiety. So, I was all keyed up about it. When I got into the treatment room and he was on my right side as per usual, he brought his observation of my stress. He asked me what was going on that had me so anxious. I explained that we were late. He asked me something like, "Did you make it? Are you here?" and I said, "Yes" and he told me that that was all that mattered. He then had me relaxed and put under. He's bedside manner was sweet and kind.
My hope, that in his memory, those he taught and mentored learned one very important thing, a tender and kind bedside manner.
Thursday, March 14, 2019
Choosing battles
I have these things about social media. One is that I really need to keep myself from reading the comments. Another is that when I read a post from a "friend" I have to make a choice to comment or not to comment. Am I going to change their mind? Is it going to turn into a pissing contest? Lately, I have realized it may be best to "unfriend" and "unfollow". I've always felt weird about doing that.
Tonight, I chose to "unfriend" and "unfollow". I just didn't think commenting was going to make much difference. However, I do feel like I'm a wimp who isn't standing up for something I feel strongly about.
This "friend" posted a link to an article about the first non-binary person coming out and admitting it was a sham. The "friend" said that you had to believe this person's story even if you didn't support the source site/publication. He then went on to bring up James "Buffalo Bill" Gumb from the movie The Silence of the Lambs. He pointed out that "Buffalo Bill" was denied gender reassignment surgery because he was mentally unstable. This was so unbelievably offensive to me. As if "Buffalo Bill" should be the standard to which we hold transgenderism. He said that he wasn't going to argue transgenderism but psychological treatment must be exhausted before any harmful chemicals or surgical procedures be considered.
I started to comment. I started to say that psychological/psychiatric treatment is a part of the process. You have to be cleared for medical procedures. I wanted to school him. I wanted to be an ALLY for my friends. I wimped out, though. I went the simple route of clicking "unfriend" and "unfollow". For this, my trans friends and my friends with trans friends and family members, I wish I would have done better by you.
Tonight, I chose to "unfriend" and "unfollow". I just didn't think commenting was going to make much difference. However, I do feel like I'm a wimp who isn't standing up for something I feel strongly about.
This "friend" posted a link to an article about the first non-binary person coming out and admitting it was a sham. The "friend" said that you had to believe this person's story even if you didn't support the source site/publication. He then went on to bring up James "Buffalo Bill" Gumb from the movie The Silence of the Lambs. He pointed out that "Buffalo Bill" was denied gender reassignment surgery because he was mentally unstable. This was so unbelievably offensive to me. As if "Buffalo Bill" should be the standard to which we hold transgenderism. He said that he wasn't going to argue transgenderism but psychological treatment must be exhausted before any harmful chemicals or surgical procedures be considered.
I started to comment. I started to say that psychological/psychiatric treatment is a part of the process. You have to be cleared for medical procedures. I wanted to school him. I wanted to be an ALLY for my friends. I wimped out, though. I went the simple route of clicking "unfriend" and "unfollow". For this, my trans friends and my friends with trans friends and family members, I wish I would have done better by you.
Friday, March 8, 2019
A Smooth Criminal
I saw a bunch of social media buzz about HBO's Documentary Leaving Neverland. It's about 2 boys, now grown men who have come out with their stories about sexual abuse at the hands of Michael Jackson. I made the mistake, as often happens, of reading the comments. Some of the posts really bothered me so I felt it was a good idea to view the film. And, the comments still bother me.
Late 2017 the #MeToo movement started to erupt. People were feeling free to share their stories. Some stories were shared for those who no longer had their voice. I started to recognize that time doesn't matter. I know someone who was a victim of a sexual assault and went through some major shit trying to recover and reclaim her life. She never reported it. In these last 20-30 years, she has kept his name from being reported. I would never tell her it’s too late. No matter how soon or how far off someone comes to the point of telling their story, it is their truth on their timeline.
An now, to talk about Michael Jackson. I fully believe him to be a sexual abuser. I believe that there are times the abused becomes the abuser and really feel that is what happened here. The pedophile is a groomer and if anyone had the capacity to groom a child it would be the wealthy man-child himself. He seduced the whole family of the guys in the documentary. He was slick, some might say "smooth", and he was protected.
What really sets me off about the comment feeds on all the different social media posts. The idol worship, godlike image with which people paint him is like a level of blindness.
It bothers me that #MeToo was started as a kind of women's movement that took a little time to acknowledge the victimization of males. Out came Anthony Rapp with accusations against Kevin Spacey. Spacey is facing a felony sexual assault charge. This shows the movement knows no boundaries.
If you supported Anita Hill by saying that the time it took her should not be an issue because she had her truth to address; if you say that Dr. Christine Blasey-Ford came out when it was right for her because the truth about Kavanaugh needed to be heard; if you defend any female celebrity or otherwise for finding the strength to speak-out on her terms, her time when she felt safe, her time to be an example to all the other victims becoming survivors, you cannot tell other victims they have a curfew.
I know people who supported the women or women like them that I mentioned above. Those same people don't believe Michael Jackson's accusers and even said it is because they waited too long to report. Fine, don't believe them, support Michael Jackson, but don't use a timeline as your reasoning unless you will recant support of Hill and Blasey-Ford and countless other victims who followed their own timelines.
And, finally, some of you know damn well that if your son or daughter, your brother or sister, your best friend came to you in 10, 15, 20 years with their truth to tell, you will DAMN well support them.
Late 2017 the #MeToo movement started to erupt. People were feeling free to share their stories. Some stories were shared for those who no longer had their voice. I started to recognize that time doesn't matter. I know someone who was a victim of a sexual assault and went through some major shit trying to recover and reclaim her life. She never reported it. In these last 20-30 years, she has kept his name from being reported. I would never tell her it’s too late. No matter how soon or how far off someone comes to the point of telling their story, it is their truth on their timeline.
An now, to talk about Michael Jackson. I fully believe him to be a sexual abuser. I believe that there are times the abused becomes the abuser and really feel that is what happened here. The pedophile is a groomer and if anyone had the capacity to groom a child it would be the wealthy man-child himself. He seduced the whole family of the guys in the documentary. He was slick, some might say "smooth", and he was protected.
What really sets me off about the comment feeds on all the different social media posts. The idol worship, godlike image with which people paint him is like a level of blindness.
It bothers me that #MeToo was started as a kind of women's movement that took a little time to acknowledge the victimization of males. Out came Anthony Rapp with accusations against Kevin Spacey. Spacey is facing a felony sexual assault charge. This shows the movement knows no boundaries.
If you supported Anita Hill by saying that the time it took her should not be an issue because she had her truth to address; if you say that Dr. Christine Blasey-Ford came out when it was right for her because the truth about Kavanaugh needed to be heard; if you defend any female celebrity or otherwise for finding the strength to speak-out on her terms, her time when she felt safe, her time to be an example to all the other victims becoming survivors, you cannot tell other victims they have a curfew.
I know people who supported the women or women like them that I mentioned above. Those same people don't believe Michael Jackson's accusers and even said it is because they waited too long to report. Fine, don't believe them, support Michael Jackson, but don't use a timeline as your reasoning unless you will recant support of Hill and Blasey-Ford and countless other victims who followed their own timelines.
And, finally, some of you know damn well that if your son or daughter, your brother or sister, your best friend came to you in 10, 15, 20 years with their truth to tell, you will DAMN well support them.
Sunday, February 24, 2019
#51
Five years ago I wrote about my parents' journey to get married. It was at the time of their 46th wedding anniversary.
Last year was their 50th anniversary. I'm not sure why I didn't write something then, but I didn't. We had a celebration. A special blessing was given at mass. Gold decorations on the tables at lunch. All of us in awe of the longevity of their marriage.
And here we are, another year in the books.
A couple of days ago, I was walking Jarvis and thinking about their 51 years. So many things to fill all those years. So many things bringing ups and downs.
Those "things" are 5 children. In their 51 years of marriage, only 10 months were childless. My oldest brother was born on New Year's Eve of 1968. My sister came the next December. My next brother came 2 years and 1 month later. I came 3 years and just under 2 months after him. Finally, my little brother came 4 years and 8 days after me. So, yeah, 10 months without any kids.
I can't even imagine what having 5 kids could be like. We were in a house with 1 bathroom. All 5 of us went to Catholic school. We were involved in different activities - a variety of sports and classes at museums. My dad worked an office job, I honestly couldn't tell you what it was, though. It was standard office job hours. My mom worked retail at a fabric store where she could demonstrate her great sewing skills. Dad would get home, Mom would leave if that's what her schedule was. When she worked weekends, my dad would drive her so that he could have the car to take us to whatever places we needed to go.
Around the time I was in 6th grade, the company my dad worked for was closing up shop and moving to Canada and one of the Carolinas (I think). My parents did consider having us move to Canada. We went up for a visit. My brothers' interests were involving hockey and mine was whether or not they had tornadoes. Anyway, the decided against it. My dad had been 16 when he started with the company and he was 50-ish when this was going down. They decided that my dad would commute. He would come home late afternoon on Friday and leave Monday morning. He did that for a year and a half. That's when we got a second car, or at least I associate the second car with this time. By second car, I'm talking beater. It was not going to make it on any road trip.
There it is. A snapshot of their marriage. Just a mere fraction of what has been going on for the last 51 years.
Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!
Last year was their 50th anniversary. I'm not sure why I didn't write something then, but I didn't. We had a celebration. A special blessing was given at mass. Gold decorations on the tables at lunch. All of us in awe of the longevity of their marriage.
And here we are, another year in the books.
A couple of days ago, I was walking Jarvis and thinking about their 51 years. So many things to fill all those years. So many things bringing ups and downs.
Those "things" are 5 children. In their 51 years of marriage, only 10 months were childless. My oldest brother was born on New Year's Eve of 1968. My sister came the next December. My next brother came 2 years and 1 month later. I came 3 years and just under 2 months after him. Finally, my little brother came 4 years and 8 days after me. So, yeah, 10 months without any kids.
I can't even imagine what having 5 kids could be like. We were in a house with 1 bathroom. All 5 of us went to Catholic school. We were involved in different activities - a variety of sports and classes at museums. My dad worked an office job, I honestly couldn't tell you what it was, though. It was standard office job hours. My mom worked retail at a fabric store where she could demonstrate her great sewing skills. Dad would get home, Mom would leave if that's what her schedule was. When she worked weekends, my dad would drive her so that he could have the car to take us to whatever places we needed to go.
Around the time I was in 6th grade, the company my dad worked for was closing up shop and moving to Canada and one of the Carolinas (I think). My parents did consider having us move to Canada. We went up for a visit. My brothers' interests were involving hockey and mine was whether or not they had tornadoes. Anyway, the decided against it. My dad had been 16 when he started with the company and he was 50-ish when this was going down. They decided that my dad would commute. He would come home late afternoon on Friday and leave Monday morning. He did that for a year and a half. That's when we got a second car, or at least I associate the second car with this time. By second car, I'm talking beater. It was not going to make it on any road trip.
There it is. A snapshot of their marriage. Just a mere fraction of what has been going on for the last 51 years.
Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!
Saturday, February 16, 2019
Kumbaya and all that stuff
About 7 years ago I decided I wanted to get back into a sport that I hadn't participated in for years. With this decision came me joining a women's blog about the sport. It was kind of a "girl power" thing. It was supporting each other on our training logs and through injuries. Cheering on milestones and wins.
At one point, I was at work and in a tremendous amount of pain. I went to the doctor and ended-up in the ER. It ended up being the start of a nightmare that would take a couple years to play out. Anyway, I had a cyst on my ovary. We started playing the wait and see game.
I had one of my follow-up visit with one of the doctors in the same practice where my OB/GYN practices. The way the pain had been, I wasn't sure I wanted to continue with the sport. I just thought of the cyst rupturing. So, talking to the doctor, he said he wasn't sure it was a good idea. He said something like the jostling around might cause a rupture.
I go to the blog. The supportive community of women. I explained what was going on with me. I said what the doctor said. And, BAM!, mockery of the doctor took place. They insinuated the doctor was a chauvinist. There were comments about how women shouldn't play sports because there uteri would fall out. And any other statement along those lines.
The cyst grew. I ended up having surgery. It turned out the cyst was an endometrinoma and it was the size of the bottom of a soda can. I was diagnosed with endometriosis. I was in my 30s and this was news to me. This explained why were not having success getting pregnant.
I went back to the people in charge of the blog and said that I was no longer going to participate. I was focusing on other things in my life.
The response I received from one of them was, "Having a baby won't fix all your problems".
Maybe I should be over this by now. In the grand scheme of things, does it really matter? I guess it does, to me, I guess it does.
At one point, I was at work and in a tremendous amount of pain. I went to the doctor and ended-up in the ER. It ended up being the start of a nightmare that would take a couple years to play out. Anyway, I had a cyst on my ovary. We started playing the wait and see game.
I had one of my follow-up visit with one of the doctors in the same practice where my OB/GYN practices. The way the pain had been, I wasn't sure I wanted to continue with the sport. I just thought of the cyst rupturing. So, talking to the doctor, he said he wasn't sure it was a good idea. He said something like the jostling around might cause a rupture.
I go to the blog. The supportive community of women. I explained what was going on with me. I said what the doctor said. And, BAM!, mockery of the doctor took place. They insinuated the doctor was a chauvinist. There were comments about how women shouldn't play sports because there uteri would fall out. And any other statement along those lines.
The cyst grew. I ended up having surgery. It turned out the cyst was an endometrinoma and it was the size of the bottom of a soda can. I was diagnosed with endometriosis. I was in my 30s and this was news to me. This explained why were not having success getting pregnant.
I went back to the people in charge of the blog and said that I was no longer going to participate. I was focusing on other things in my life.
The response I received from one of them was, "Having a baby won't fix all your problems".
Maybe I should be over this by now. In the grand scheme of things, does it really matter? I guess it does, to me, I guess it does.
Friday, January 25, 2019
I ordered all by myself
I posted on Facebook about how I successfully ordered my food at Qdoba without having to check with Shawn. It seems like a silly thing that I may have been goofing around about. But, I have struggled with remembering something that minor. I believe it is just more effects of my ECT treatments. My brain is just fucked up in different ways.
We are coming up on 3 years since my treatments began. I talk about it probably more than people think I should. Oh well, come back to me when you've gone through it.
I had some curiosity about numbers. I wondered what the average number of treatments is. Basically found a range and the high end was 20. Three times a week seemed the norm, so we're looking at 6 weeks plus a couple days. I had double 20 treatments.
I was looking through my paperwork and found 39 treatments, so that could be more if we misplaced any. I started out at 3 times a week for a couple months and then slowly spread things out. Then, Shawn finally said it was enough; things weren't changing. I went along with him since I really couldn't gauge things very well for myself. If he wasn't seeing changes, I trusted him. Through it all, I do remember the end. I remember the doctor telling us he disagreed with our decision.
So, my memory is a hot mess. Before, during, and after all the treatments, I've lost some things. I've lost a lot of things. Some things have come back, some things are fuzzy, and, so far, those things are still quite outnumbered by the losses.
UPDATE: I found another sheet from a treatment. So, it's 40 treatments.
We are coming up on 3 years since my treatments began. I talk about it probably more than people think I should. Oh well, come back to me when you've gone through it.
I had some curiosity about numbers. I wondered what the average number of treatments is. Basically found a range and the high end was 20. Three times a week seemed the norm, so we're looking at 6 weeks plus a couple days. I had double 20 treatments.
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| 39 Treatments |
I was looking through my paperwork and found 39 treatments, so that could be more if we misplaced any. I started out at 3 times a week for a couple months and then slowly spread things out. Then, Shawn finally said it was enough; things weren't changing. I went along with him since I really couldn't gauge things very well for myself. If he wasn't seeing changes, I trusted him. Through it all, I do remember the end. I remember the doctor telling us he disagreed with our decision.
So, my memory is a hot mess. Before, during, and after all the treatments, I've lost some things. I've lost a lot of things. Some things have come back, some things are fuzzy, and, so far, those things are still quite outnumbered by the losses.
UPDATE: I found another sheet from a treatment. So, it's 40 treatments.
Wednesday, January 23, 2019
Mother may I?
It's been over a month since my last post. I wasn't sure if I would continue, and, quite frankly, I'm still not sure. So, for what's worth, here's a new entry and maybe the last.
These days, as a liberal, I'm not sure what I'm allowed to watch, who I'm allowed to be entertained by.
Last night, Shawn and I saw The Upside. It wasn't high on our list of movies to see; not really a type we go to, but it was $5 ticket night and it wasn't something really heady, so we went. I thought that maybe I wasn't supposed to see it because of stuff Kevin Hart said. All I really knew was that he said something about how he's not a gay ally or something along those lines. I thought that wasn't a huge deal. I mean, not being an ally doesn't mean you are terrible, does it? Isn't just about staying out of it? I did a check-in on Facebook about seeing the movie and a friend, who happens to be gay, made a comment saying, "Ew." I chickened out about responding because I thought he was probably calling me out about Kevin Hart. I looked into things more by googling Kevin Hart. He said some pretty shitty, homophobic things.
This kind of thing has me wondering what I should do about the entertainment choices I make. I honestly don't know. Can I watch things that a person made before I learned of the terrible things they have done? Can I watch The Usual Suspects in light of knowing that Kevin Spacey has been charged with felony sexual assault? Louis C.K. was a favorite of our family, but now I can't stand him and don't want to listen to his stand-up. When tweets are dredged up from the past by a conservative group even though the tweets had already been acknowledged and apologized for by James Gunn mean he should never been given a job again?
When I was in high school, my older brother said he would never see a Whoopi Goldberg movie because she admitted to having had abortions. I told him that if that's the case, there are probably others whose movies he should not see. So, if I said that from a liberal point-of-view speaking to a conservative, should I say that same thing as a liberal to a confused liberal?
Life was easier when my parents told me what a could and could not watch.
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