Patient Anonymous: Just Another Head Case...

I've Migrated To WordPress

2007-03-21T19:17:00.000-05:00

Okay, here's the deal, everyone. I'm getting comments in two places and I can't maintain two blogs at the same time! It just doesn't make sense and I'm going crazier than I already am.

So because there isn't already enough chaos in my life at the moment, I have decided to totally alter my blogging life as well. I know, someone shoot me now!

So this will be my last post on this blog.

Everyone, please update your blogrolls with:

http://patientanonymous.wordpress.com/

And anyone else who wants to link to me knock yourselves out!

From this point forward, all (in)activity will take place on that blog. Please comment there even if it is on an older post that you read here. Everything has been migrated and all post categories/labels are the same as well. Please do not leave any more comments on this blog as I would like to have everything coherent and complete. I've altered commenting here but I don't know how that will affect things--don't be upset folks--just come see me at my new pad.

I will be leaving this blog up for a while until I get everything completely set up and I feel comfortable with my change...and just to make sure that everyone knows where I am and I haven't fallen off the earth.

Erm...New Blog URL?

2007-03-21T11:18:00.000-05:00

I might be migrating to WordPress. I've kind of hated Blogger ever since I started and I just jumped on it because, well...I saw so many other people using it.

I don't know.

It might take me an eternity to decide.

Or it might not.

And I'm not sure if it will work. It's supposed to--so it says. But well, it's not like I have any Pulitzer Prize worthy stuff on here anyway. However, I do appreciate peoples' comments and links to their blogs for reference. Even if I had to start over (i.e. if everything sort of *disappeared* into the cyber ether in the process) I suppose it wouldn't be the travesty to end all travesties.

More change though...

Hmmm.

Why Can't I Believe In "God?"

2007-03-19T08:27:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: This post is not meant to incite any hatred, mud-slinging, flaming or general bitchiness (except maybe for me to rant--but only about my own life and not anyone else's.) There seems to be enough of that going around the flogosphere these days and I won't add to it. So please try and not take anything I say out of context. Religion is always a touchy subject but I feel like utter hell at the moment so why not toss it out there. Perhaps I would have fit right in there with the self-flagellants if I did believe during that time in history.

I am an atheist. I don't "preach" about it but if asked I don't hide this fact. I have been an atheist for...well, quite a long time now. I guess I would have to say for at least 10 years if I had to hazard a guess. Prior to that I would have to say that I was agnostic. My sister is a Jehovah's Witness, My father converted to Roman Catholicism in order to marry his third wife although be he and my mother were raised (loosely) in the Anglican Church. Oh, and my mother believes she is The Second Coming of Christ. No, I'm not joking. She's believed this ever since I was a child. Not in literal form but she believes that she is here to re-create a New World Order and she is to lead it. She has been "Sent By God" to do this. It's really fucking scary. And let's not forget the little gem drilled in to me since Day One that "I was Chosen By God to live." That's just too much weight (and guilt) for a small child to bear.

Aside: if you hadn't known about that there is some chance that my mother miscarried during her first trimester and lost a twin but I survived.

I have no problem with worship per se. Organized religion kind of gets my goat but I won't ramble on too much about that as it can get a bit heated and I don't want to go too off topic and start up. And I'm tired and sick. I do, however, respect everyone's right to believe what they wish. I have studied many religions of the world going back to my teens. I may need a bit of a refresher on some but at the end of the day, if it makes you a better, stronger person and can help you sleep well at night, what's the harm? I've seen my sister go through some frightful things in life and the members of her faith and Congregation were better to her than I could believe!

I've been envious at times of those with strong faiths. But I can't reconcile my own beliefs with that of organized religion for starters and that of a "Higher Power." I just haven't found anything that fits in my brain. Something that I can understand and accept. Something that makes sense.

I know a lot of people that believe in God and have faith say that you just have to "let go" and believe in things and have the faith and that is part of the process but I just can't. I can't believe in something that I can't have some sort of proof of...I can't just sit around and wait and wonder and merely "accept" something "on a promise." I do and have done enough of that already. I would simply rather adhere to what I can already intuit and see and derive. It makes me comfortable.

I don't want to turn this into a huge forum about religion. In fact, I kind of don't like arguing (errr... debating...) about it anyway and certainly not with zealots. As I stated above, I do not have a problem with anyone practising whatever religion they choose if it makes them a better person. I would respect the same treatment in return. I don't like people trying to convert me. I've had enough of that before, even from within my own family (not immediate but extended--my uncle is a Minister and they even tried to "faith heal" me many years ago...yikes it was a little scary as I was younger and didn't want them to do it but they kept pressuring me.)

I'm already kind of debating hitting the little orange "Publish" button as it is because I feel so low today. However, as they say, blogging is good for the "soul?"

Well, Got The Apartment

2007-03-18T18:19:00.000-05:00

That's one thing done...there's so much more to do though...

Apartment Hunting 501

2007-03-17T19:20:00.000-05:00

I chose the "501" because I realized today that this is the 5th time that I have had to run around rather madly trying to search for an apartment. And the second time due to a break up.

My life has rather strange re-occurring patterns. Actually, way too many of them but I'll try to limit it to simply apartment hunting for now.

Today was rather stressful and lengthy. I viewed several units and well, really only one of them is probably suitable. I realize that I will never find the *perfect* living space. Really, there is no *perfect* anything in life. However, I must try to still find something decent that will satisfy necessary criteria.

I also must contend with the anxiety (apart from all of the other anxiety I am dealing with) of the "competition" of finding a space (even though it really is a renter's market at the moment.) However there is still a lot of shit out there as I saw today. And I really hate shopping. For anything, especially "big ticket" items. When I do shop, I like to go in, grab what I need and get out as soon as possible.

How many places must I see? And I have limited time. And I am racing back and forth between almost opposite ends of the city...

*sigh*

I think I shall just take the last place I saw today and be done with it. I am still waffling about looking further but I really don't know if I will find anything better. It seems "good enough." I am afraid that if I don't take it and I wait, I may end up getting stuck with something far worse. There are some things I don't really like about it but again, nothing is perfect. Part of me sort of thinks, do I really care that much where I live anyway?

It snowed last night on top of it all as well. I spent far too long out in the cold all day today and now my head is positively clogged, my throat is killing me, I'm shivering uncontrollably and can not get warm. I think I'm getting sick. That figures.

Back From My Physical

2007-03-15T11:53:00.000-05:00

So I had to go for my annual physical with my GP this morning. As suspected I have indeed lost more weight. The total should be about 20lbs. now. I am eating. At least something. And supplementing with Ensure. Crap, I had a rather healthy portion of spaghetti last night for dinner! I skipped the salad but that's mostly water anyway, right? I thought I'd just shovel in the carbs and the protein.

My GP was rather concerned. She asked if I am exercising. HA! Nope. For one thing, I'm too lazy and for another I'm too drained and exhausted--both mentally and physically these days. I do walk a little bit on work days for my commute? I don't know how much that counts. I know people say that exercise is good for those of us who are psych/neuro disordered but even when I tried I never seemed to reap any benefit. Cycling mostly. As in riding a bike, not being Bipolar.

Sorry, bad joke.

We will need to follow up soon after the upper endoscopy and colonoscopy next month to find out what on earth is going on. My cluster of symptoms seem to "look" like four things. Two of them start with a "C" and two of them start with an "I." I'm not jumping to any conclusions but I'm not ruling anything out.

But the weight loss is troubling and bizarre.

We also went over my psych evals and she was just about as peeved as I was about the last one. She couldn't understand why psychiatirst #2 refused me ongoing treatment. I also brought up Aspergers and she didn't bat an eyelash. We're going to get the two evals back, review them, I suppose and she is going to try and find yet another psychiatrist for a consult as she really wants me to see someone who will agree to monitor me on a regular basis. I mean, I know I have a complex brain but I'm beginning to feel like a neurological leper. And a social one too.

During my exam, I rambled on and on about how fucked up my life has been and is of late, I told her about my recent cutting...anything else?

She asked me to come back in a month and hopefully she will have the results of *everything* and hopefully a better psychiatrist to help me out. So as far as my head goes, no med changes as of yet. She booked me in for 30 minuntes which are her types of "counselling" appointments. She wants to spend more time talking with me as I guess both my body and my life are rather chaotic.

I think I have been lucky to find a real gem. Even if I have to travel a bit of a distance to see her each time.

My Relationship Is Over

2007-03-14T20:32:00.000-05:00

Yes. It's true. I can't really say too much about it right now. Maybe I'll blog more about it one day. Things have been deteriorating for a long time and well? It has now reached an end point.

We are handling things okay and have agreed to remain friends. I hope that this can indeed happen. It's actually one of the better break ups I've had I suppose? But ending relationships..well it is never an easy thing.

This will entail major change for me. Most immediately on a practical level and I have blogged previously about my serious aversion to change. I do not deal well with it.

I will soon need to find my own apartment. I will need to deal with moving. I positively loathe moving. I find it a logistical nightmare and I have problems planning, organizing and packing and am a general dope when it comes to this.

However, I have been down this road before. I shall persevere.

Cognitive Behavioural Model and IBS

2007-03-13T14:14:00.000-05:00

I came across a paper that conducted a study on IBS onset after Campylobacter infection. It goes into some cognitive/psychological aspects and I found it rather interesting as opposed to what has mostly been done in terms of simply that which looks for a medical perspective as to why else(?) something happens.

It has long been known that "stress" can be a trigger for IBS and can exacerbate its symptoms but I believe this is the first time, or so the paper claims, that anyone has actually tried to measure cognitive factors.

It was published in the Journal Gut in February 2007 but I couldn't gain access. However, I did find a PDF copy of it online here.

Some of the more interesting points:

There is some evidence for the risk factors outlined in this
model. In support of biological infections, a number of studies
have shown that various forms of gastroenteritis are risk factors
for the development of IBS. Psychology also plays a role.
Sykes et al showed that people with premorbid psychiatric
diagnoses, particularly anxiety disorders, were at greater risk of
developing IBS after gastroenteritis. Similarly, depression,
neuroticism, somatisation and stress have all been linked to
the onset of IBS. Finally, Parry et al found that patients
with gastroenteritis who had more negative perceptions of their
infection were more likely to develop IBS.

Significance of the psychological variables: (sic. within study)

Six of the eight psychological variables were predictors of IBS
caseness, the exceptions being depression and perfectionism. In
accordance with the model, IBS cases reported significantly
higher levels of anxiety, somatisation, perceived stress, negative
illness beliefs and all-or-nothing behaviour at the time of
the acute infection. IBS cases were also significantly less likely
to have limited their activity levels in response to their
gastroenteritis.

This study is the first to prospectively investigate a combination of emotional, cognitive and behavioural risk factors relevant for the development of IBS after Campylobacter gastroenteritis. The results generally supported the cognitive–behavioural model,
with higher levels of anxiety, somatisation, perceived stress and negative illness beliefs all found to be significant risk factors for the development of IBS 6 months after infection. IBS were also more likely to have reported a tendency to be overactive in the face of their symptoms until they could no longer carry on (all-or-nothing behaviour), and less likely to
initially rest or reduce activity in response to their acute illness (limiting behaviour). Depression and perfectionism were not significant risk factors in the development of IBS.

Relative importance of the psychological variables

When considering the relative importance of these variables, multivariate analysis of four factors identified using principal components analysis found that an anxious-achievement
cluster of variables (made up of anxiety, stress and perfectionism) and an all-or-nothing behaviour on its own were the most important predictors of IBS along with female gender. These results support the hypothesis that the predisposition to IBS may be mediated by unrealistic personal expectations in the context of high levels of perceived stress and anxiety. These predispositions lead patients to respond to illness by initially not allowing themselves time to recover, which ultimately leads to an all-or-nothing pattern of responses.

Stress has also been considered an important precipitant in the cognitive behavioural model of IBS; however, the empirical evidence from retrospective and cross-sectional studies has
been inconsistent.

One other prospective study of postinfectious IBS found that higher levels of life events in the 12 months prior to gastroenteritis were associated with the development of IBS. The current study has further clarified the role of stress with the finding that levels of perceived stress are also strongly associated with the development of IBS, indicating that the individual’s interpretation of stressful events may be as important as the nature of those events.

The cognitive behavioural model of irritable bowel syndrome: a prospective investigation of patients with gastroenteritis

Meagan J Spence, Rona Moss-Morris

Gut 2007;0:1–6. doi: 10.1136/gut.2006.108811

I Must Have Order! (Or Not...?)

2007-03-12T19:36:00.000-05:00

Alright, I'm tired so excuse me if this post may not be so orderly.

It is born out of a comment I made on someone else's blog about drugs and mismatched socks.

But the drugs don't really have anything to do with it.

I need a lot of order in my life--even to the point of minute things. Like matching socks. I mean, it's an absolute imperative. However, I can also live in organized chaos. It can seem like a bit of a paradox but it's really not. Because it's my chaos. To anyone else, it would look like a F2 Tornado had just gone through the room but chances are, if you give me a minute, I'll be able to get you what you need.

This was a lot easier when I lived alone.

My partner went through a bit of a cleaning sweep (pun intended) over the weekend and moved all of the DVDs from where they were "neatly scattered" by the DVD player in the bedroom. The DVD player had been moved by me to the bedroom from the living room well over a year ago when we had friends with a son who is on the Autistic Spectrum. We let him happily watch a movie later so we could carry on with dinner. I just never bothered to move the damn thing back so there it stayed.

So anyway, I stroll back into the bedroom and immediate panic sets in. WHERE ARE THE DVDS?!?! No, I'm serious. A wave of panic actually came over me--even though it was brief. Before I started asking, I decided to start looking. I did find them. Moved to a shelf. In another room. At least I didn't have to go digging for them like a lot of my other stuff that sometimes gets moved. And sometimes gets lost and never found.

And don't even get me started when my partner decides to rearrange the kitchen.

Confusing the Psychiatrists

2007-03-08T17:10:00.000-05:00

Well, I just returned from my second psych evaluation. I never blogged about the first, I don't think? I can't remember. Well if I did (or did not) here's a brief review.

Of course with my "doctor anxiety" I was nervous as hell. Add to the fact that I hadn't had a full consult in about seven or eight years. I had no idea what to expect. It went alright, however. The psychiatrist at this "institution" had a gentle demeanor and a soft voice and we actually ran over the allotted time. I felt okay with it and he allowed me to ask as many questions as I needed.

Alright, I thought, this whole evaluation thing isn't so bad. Granted, it was difficult to pack your entire life's woes and psychological/neurological history into such a brief time span. I didn't cover everything in perhaps as much depth as I wanted with this man. The reason being, this consult was a "one off" and I did not expect any further appointments or follow ups with him. And again, I was nervous, unprepared and it was difficult. However, we went through Medication History, Family History/Trauma, Bipolar Disorder, Self Injurious Behaviour, Hospitalizations, ADD and a little bit about Aspergers.

After it all, he said he would "try and put something cohesive together" for my GP. I had to laugh a bit at that one.

Today was a bit different, however. I was mistaken about a lot of things. First, my appointment duration. I was told an hour, I only received 30 minutes. Also, I was under the impression I would be seeing this psychiatrist on an ongoing basis. Nope. But more on that later. Also, this man was not as...well, he certainly had a different "demeanor" than the first psychiatrist I saw.

It was a good thing I was a bit more prepared for this appointment. 30 minutes! We very briefly touched on all of the above mentioned in the first appointment. He asked some fairly simple and straightforward questions and I answered them. I gave him my prepared "dossier" and he flipped through some of the pages. Basically some self-prepared notes about ADD and Aspergers and some highlighted notes from referenced materials etc...

He asked if he could keep all of it. I told him the copies were his.

He basically told me about a counselling group (i.e group therapy) for women who are trauma survivors and how I could take advantage of that. He also told me that I would not benefit from ongoing psychiatric treatment from a psychiatrist due to my problems with functioning and other issues. I have no idea what this means. I don't know if this is an allusion to the fact that I have Aspergers or not. He said that seeing a psychiatrist would only exacerbate my problems. He said that I already have a therapist, see a neurologist and have a GP so that is good enough. Well, then why offer me group therapy? During all of this I simply stated that people with Aspergers do not usually do well in therapy. He agreed.

I still remain confused.

I did manage to get out of him his med recommendations. He had five. Ooh, decisions, decisions! He also casually mentioned one of them, Risperdal, would be helpful with both Bipolar and Aspergers. I told him that yes, I knew this. I also had to remind him of another med that would probably be helpful. He agreed and wrote it down. I so often wonder what doctors think of me when I stroll into their offices and spout such things.

So at that point, time was pretty much up. I felt unfulfilled. I asked him what he thought of the ADD and Aspergers. He said it was hard to tell due to "other issues" and the trauma I had been through. Alright. I understand all about truama and it does not preclude neurological disorders. I also argued high comorbidity rates (and even had that reference material with me.) I asked him if he planned on reading what I had brought him. He said that yes, he would. As I was putting on my coat, I asked again, "So it wasn't all in vain, then?" He said that no, it wasn't.

Yes, I can be terribly blunt.

Now I understand that clinicians can not provide diagnoses on the spot and I did give him a fair amount of documentation to review but a little more feedback would have been helpful.

Shoot, I can't stream the song I wanted for my new MP3 so you'll just have to go with my second choice. "One In Ten Words" by The Spoons. Canadian Band and the poppy little song is from my youth...it makes me laugh about communication.

And It Just Continues...

2007-03-06T10:08:00.000-05:00

Well, guess who decided to show up two days late? I got an email from my father. Very brief. He told me, Happy Birthday, he loves me and he misses me. Nothing else. WTF? Then contact me you bloody idiot?! Why must it always be up to me--again, why must I always parent my parents! I've done it since I was a child and can not do it any more!

And yes, attached was another PowerPoint presentation although this one was at least a bit less painful to view (well, visually) as it was all van Gogh artwork. However, it was set to the music of Don McLean's "Starry Starry Night."

Now if you haven't heard this song, you can grab a listen or take a peek at the lyrics. Okay, I don't know what the hell could be more triggering to someone who is psych disordered and has issues with their parents, who then receives this from one of them as a "birthday present!?"

And yes, I know it was written about van Gogh but still! It's not exactly cheery!

What on earth!?

I responded rather tersely and with surprise at hearing from him after such a long pause in communication.

This is not how I wished to start my day.

Bloody Birthday Bullshit!

2007-03-05T15:20:00.000-05:00

So not a word from my father. No phone call. No email. Not a fucking thing.

Just more deafening silence.

You know, we communicated more when he was on the other side of the country but now that he's moved back to my/our home province--nothing. That was in the fall. Almost five months ago.

I received three mass-addressed emails soon after he arrived (one being some spammy "love everyone around you" *thing* with ridiculous, tacky photographs in PowerPoint--I positively can't stand those--they make my eyes bleed!) The others, simply his contact information.

Otherwise, there has been no personal contact between us. The last time we actually had any sort of personal exchange was last fucking MAY!!!

We have not had a fight, a falling out, anything of the sort. He did not contact me at Christmas, nor did any of his side of the family (other than more mass-addressed, spammy, shit, crap-assed email that I can not stand!)

I can not find any rational, logical explanation for this.

I didn't fucking do anything! FUCK!

Goddamn Prick.

Edit: Perhaps when I'm a little bit calmer I shall post on how I need to "deal" with this.

Today Is My Birthday

2007-03-04T10:56:00.000-05:00

...and no, you don't need to wish me Happy Birthday--I'm not really big on celebrating or looking for attention. I just needed something to post about.

So for anyone curious, I'm 37 today. It's just a number. Age is a state of mind. Some days I feel four, some days I feel 12, I never feel like I'm in my teens (those days need to be erased from my memory permanently), a lot of the time I still feel like I'm in my 20s and yes, many days I feel like an octogenarian.

I actually came up with a wacky idea many years ago that we really never know how old we are because from birth, we have no notion of self-awareness (sentience, yes) however, we are merely "told" by our parents and by various documents that on a certain date we were born. Really, I could be any age right now! Perhaps this idea was born out of years of trauma and the subsequent disdain and anger I have toward my parents. I'm essentially accusing them of lying to me about my very existence--or a vital detail about it. Well, they've lied to me about other things!

For any astrology buffs out there, I thought I'd talk about my chart--and what it supposedly reveals about me. Now by today's date, it's obvious that I am a Pisces. That is my Sun Sign. But there are many more elements that make up one's astrological profile. But before we get into that, here are some basics about all the signs. I'm not a huge believer in astrology; I think it's kind of fun and sometimes you can find some interesting and revealing facts about yourself but anyway, here we go.

All signs have dualities that are basically "masculine" (direct, energetic) and "feminine" (receptive, magnetic.) They also are further divided into triplicities:

Fire: Aries, Leo, Sagittarius - Active, Enthusiastic
Earth: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn - Practical, Stable
Air: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius - Intellectual, Communicative
Water: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces - Emotional, Intuitive

Now me.

Sun in Pisces:

Your Sun Sign is your primary sign and basically how other people see you. It can be likened to the role you are given to the play of life, the role you act. But it is a broad sign and not the complete picture.

According to my Pisces Sun, I am receptive, intuitive, emotional, romantic, impressionable, mystical, adaptable and very changeable. Pisces rules the feet. I do have terribly sensitive feet. Pisceans have a high susceptibility to drugs and alcohol and are easily drawn to unpredictable situations and and unbalanced people. HA! Oh dear...

My most likable trait is compassion. This is nice. But apparently I take on too much where other people are concerned and I have trouble saying, "No!" Well, this has been a problem in the past? Maybe it still is? Supposedly I am in great possession of artistic ability but I suffer from lack of self-confidence. I am too unsure of myself. But if I can get over this, I may be able to produce great things.

My sensitivity and awareness can border on clairvoyance. Hey, I might be psychic! Some people might consider me a little bohemian in nature. Okay, that last statement--I can definitely get behind!

Moon in Aquarius:

Your Moon Sign is your second most important sign in your chart. It is what you see. It represents emotions, instincts, the unconscious. If the Sun represents your will, the Moon represents your instinctive reactions. If you wanted a Freudian analogy, the Sun is your ego; the Moon is your id. The Moon also represents the five senses, infancy, childhood, dreams, memory and your past--essentially components of your psyche. It influences your receptivity to others and often how others feel about you.

I like my Moon Sign. Now the good news? I can be idealistic, tolerant, a humanitarian with a progressive outlook. The not so good news? I can be unpredictable, contrary, aloof in opinion and tactless!

My Moon Sign makes me a very balanced thinker. I am rational, intuitive, imaginative. I take information, deal with it in a scientific, open minded way and then at the same time, try and see it from a human point of view. I am neither too cerebral nor too emotional. I am a visionary but I am not eccentric.

Apparently, I "crackle with vitality," have a wonderful gift for expression and am a witty conversationalist. I am interested in ideas, philosophy, higher learning, science and mathematics (well, I'm not so sure about that last one...) I am well rounded intellectually due to having so many interests. Also with this sign, I am told more and more about having heightened awareness and perception again to the level of clairvoyance, however, under the Aquarius Moon I have a wider outlook but shorter sight. I am a bit like a butterfly that flits from one thing to another.

Ascendant/Rising Sign in Cancer:

This sign is similar and complementary to your Sun Sign and reflects your outward demeanor or how the world sees you. It signifies goals, aims, objectives and how you react to what life throws at you.

Under Cancer, I am apparently very sensitive to emotional signals from other people with extraordinary insight into human motivation. I sometimes have a reserve about me that may be difficult to penetrate but underneath is a warm, giving, loving nature.

Apparently I can be moody, crabby and impatient! HA! I can take offense where none was intended and people need to be careful lest they hurt my feelings (don't worry people--comment freely on my blog, it's okay!) Again, there is more here about me being creative, even "gifted" *shrug* It also mentions being shrewd in business and good with money? That I have some definite trouble with! And that I have (and had) many obstacles in my path especially when young but with great tenacity, I can and will succeed in overcoming and will become stronger each time.

Now there are many other planets in your chart and so many other things that can be taken into account. But these are some of the basics, the three main aspects.

Oh, and thanks to everyone who commented and voted on whether or not I should get the MacBook. I decided that yes, in fact, I would buy it so it's my birthday present to myself.

Note: All astrological information referenced--The Only Astrology Book You'll Ever Need by Joanna Martine Woolfolk.

Today Is Self Injury Awareness Day

2007-03-01T13:45:00.000-05:00

Apolgies for not getting this up sooner--busy day.

Thanks to Deb for posting about this earlier in the week as I knew it was in March but had forgotten the exact date. I do this often. My memory is abysmal.

I know it's hard as there are so many "days" commemorating and promoting this and that. Sometimes with the proliferation of these things it tends to take away the meaning. But I think I will take the time to blog about this one and give it a bit of show.

Now although this day is not formally recognized and is still more of a "grass roots" effort, I found through this site that two states in the US have actually proclaimed it an "official" day: Connecticut and New Mexico. The site offers some form letters if you feel like advocating to your local legislature. Granted, it's all done up for MPs in the UK but it will give you a template. It also offers some literature about self injury that is written by LifeSIGNS, the UK charity that well, basically seems to be managing the site.

Now on a more personal note, if you do not already know this, I am a self injurer. I have been and am a cutter. Please see the link entitled Cutting on the right for previous posts if you are interested. I have also engaged in punching walls, head banging. I have done these as a child and an adult--except the cutting, that came later.

I have been debating about disclosing this for a while but since today seems to be all about awareness, then I suppose it seems an appropriate time. I engaged in a cutting about three weeks ago. It has been about two and a half years since I last cut myself. I'm not even sure why I did it. There were no obvious triggers that day. I'm still not sure.

I do know that my last year has been fraught with tremendous difficulty and it is very surprising that I haven't completely fallen over the edge in dealing with some of the things that have hit me. Perhaps some extremely minor trigger that didn't even register just tipped the balance? Again, I am not sure. I don't know if I ever will be.

Perhaps I just need to have a big Bipolar flip out ever two and a half years!

I mentioned this to my therapist and she (rather glibly in my mind) said, "Well, you can flip out here!" But that is not the point. When you reach that level of crisis, that critical mass in your brain, you can't wait for a therapy session. Especially if you don't even see the oncoming onslaught. I was dissociated. Absolutely. The last thing on my mind was calling up someone, anyone and talking. The only thing I wanted to do was hide away from my partner, use the knife and then quickly try and repair the damage I'd done and hide it all (which was impossible--I'd cut too deeply.) However, not enough to require medical attention as in the past.

So on goes the battle, I suppose. But just remember--be kind and gentle and patient with the self injurers you encounter out there. Don't be scared even if sometimes what we do can seem a little difficult to handle. Believe me, it's difficult for us too.

Johnny and Doris - Part V - The End

2007-02-28T18:55:00.001-05:00

He looked so small. Was he really that thin? With all the bruises on his face he looked entirely different. For Doris, that hit home with her unique and uncanny ability with faces. Even though John had only visited her twice, he had left an indelible impression.

A police officer entered John’s room and Doris stood to greet him.

"So you say he was mugged?" she asked.

"Yes Ma'am," the investigating officer said.

"I see."

"So you're his next of kin?"

"No!" Doris said, a little more forcefully than intended.

"So who are you then?"

Doris just shook her head.

***

She sat with him every day, every night. Every spare moment she had, she spent it by his bedside. He was now breathing on his own but he still hadn't regained consciousness. She had told Dr. Matheson about Stevie or what she knew of him, at least. He told her that they would deal with that later. "Let's just see if he can open his eyes first," he had said. "But it does explain the fact that there weren't any defensive wounds found on him. That's very strange for a case like this. He was either completely taken by surprise with no time to react or he didn't even attempt to defend himself at all. My guess would be the latter based on the extent and type of his injuries." Doris wept quietly when Dr. Matheson left the room.

Oh what to do with Johnny, she fretted. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t tell her his story. Surely he had family somewhere, people who might be missing him? Strangely enough no one had filed a missing person report. She took to reading to him, anything to pass the time, any way to stimulate him into consciousness.

Fourteen days later, John woke up. Doris was at the hospital but had just left his room to get herself a fresh coffee and some air. When she returned, she was shocked to see him, wide awake and staring out the window. He tried to get up to greet her but was temporarily snared by his IV. Then he was gripped by his own weakness and flopped heavily back onto the hospitals pristine pillows.

“Hey Doris,” John spoke rather casually, “what are you doing here?” It seemed odd, she thought, that his first question would be regarding her presence in the hospital and not his own.

“Well kid, you gave us all a pretty good scare. Do you remember anything that happened to you right after you left the diner? You know, that time after you told me about Stevie?”

“You know about Stevie?” John asked incredulously? Obviously his memory was a little bit murky at best.

“I just said that you told me about him!”

“Oh, sorry…” John seemed to shrink backwards within himself.

“Hey, hey. Don’t do that. I’m not mad at ya. Just worried is all. Hang on, let me go get everybody; they’ll be so excited!” Perhaps almost as excited as Doris was.

Over the next few days, contact was made with John’s only living relative, Keith, who flew in from London as soon as he heard. He thanked Doris profusely for all she had done and the vigil she had kept at his bedside.

John ended up being let go from his job. Not for his failure to show up during his days in the hospital but for his entire career of tardiness in general. The mugging and John’s subsequent rehabilitation just gave the company a perfect opportunity to bid him adieu. Doris and John’s relationship was now cemented, however. She still visited him whenever she could, first in the clinic where he sent after release from the hospital and then in assisted housing where he was placed to live, as he could no longer fully support himself. Doris continued to read to him, only this time John actively participated and sometimes did some of the reading himself. With Doris’ help John managed to attain a suitable level of literacy and even picked up a part time volunteer job at a local community centre.

Doris continued working for the rest of her days at the diner. No one ever came in like that one customer, on another otherwise nondescript rainy fall day and that was just fine. In her eyes, no one could have ever replace her Johnny anyway.

And as for Stevie, he disappeared. John had several new doctors now and one of them had given him some medication to, as he said, “let Stevie be free.” It wasn’t that Stevie was bad and being punished, John was told, it was just time for him to go on his own. After all, John was now a man and Stevie was still a boy. It was just better that way. John was relieved but on some days he still missed Stevie. On those days, he would get out his watercolours and paint for hours…to remember all the things they liked to do and all they places they had visited during their time together.

Johnny and Doris - Part IV

2007-02-28T13:20:00.000-05:00

Whoosh...shuk...whoosh...shuk...

"I think we can take him off the ventilator now."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. He's breathing on his own...or at least he wants to."

"Wants to?"

"Are you kidding me? This guy's a fighter!"

“Well, he certainly came in looking like one.”

“Yeah, I know. How on earth he thought he could take on six guys, I have no idea! His tox screen was clear so I have no clue what was going through his mind.”

“The police questioned the other parties and they just kept saying something about him yelling for someone named Stevie?”

“Well, he’s got no ID. I don’t know but maybe ‘Stevie’s’ a relative?”

"Alright. Call that number, that place...it should be open by now."

***

"Hello? Yeah, this is Doris... Who? I think you've got the wrong number...or at least the wrong Doris. Yeah? Uh-huh... Okay, okay let me see what I can do. I'll be over as soon as I can." Doris had no idea what was going on or why the hospital had called her. And a mugging? All they told her was that some John Doe had been found, barely alive, with her name and the name of the diner scrawled across a piece of paper in his pocket. She had no idea who it could have been but the nurse had been so insistent she felt she had to go. During all her years of service she rarely took time off so Lou was sure to oblige her on such short notice.

"Call Anne. I think she's at home today," Doris yelled as she flew out the diner's front door, the cheerful clatter of its tiny bells lost in the sound of the city.

When she arrived at the ICU desk she asked for the nurse that had called her.

"I'm sorry Miss...Miss...I'm sorry, what is your last name?"

"Beckstein."

"Yes, Miss Beckstein. We really had no other recourse. His wallet and ID were missing. If nothing more we thought you could at least provide us with identification." Doris inhaled deeply, "Okay, if you say so."

They walked down the hall and peered into the window of a private room that looked more like a laboratory than a hospital room. So much equipment! Doris had never seen anything like it?

"Well, here he is, Mr. John Doe." Doris stiffened at the task proposed to her. Okay, I'm ready, she thought, half consumed with fear, half battling an intensely morbid curiosity. She entered the door and approached the man on the bed.

"Oh my god...Johnny.."

"So you know him."

"Well, yeah but..."

"Alright, come with me." They returned to the desk.

"I'll need you to just fill out these forms..."

"What? Whoa, wait a minute...You said I just had to ID the guy."

"Well, yes...and now we need you to fill out these forms."

"Hey, I don't know this guy. He just showed up at the diner a couple of times."

"Oh. Okay, just a second. Let me speak with my supervisor." As the nurse turned away,

Doris called, "Hey, does this guy have a doctor?" This was the real beginning of

Doris and John's relationship.

Johnny and Doris - Part III

2007-02-27T18:54:00.000-05:00

Stevie wasn't always so unwelcome. In fact, John kind of got used to him being around. John often had problems making friends. He had problems in school; he was different. Often found staring out the window or into a distant void--it seemed he was not often stimulated by his immediate environment. On the way home from school he would often become distracted. He loved climbing trees and would often be found in a nearby park well after dinner or bedtime in need of rescue. No, John wasn't particularly good with keeping track of time. He was often late for everything.

Stevie kept him company when no one else was around, which was most of the time. John's mother was a bit of an absent figure for him, working three jobs to keep her two sons clothed and fed. A myriad of babysitters were often present in the home. A frequent rotation of several different girls was often employed due to John's demanding care requirements. Maybe that's one reason why John rarely made it home on time. He never really cared for them. He only liked Keith, his older brother.

Keith was great and John idolized him. He wasn't always around though, being seven years older and he always seemed busy. He was involved in so many clubs at school and when he wasn't spending time with his friends there, he was playing lots of sports. Yes, Keith had lots of friends. John wasn't jealous though. He had Stevie.

Stevie often came up with lots of games to play. Some of which resulted in John getting into trouble. Like the time when they painted pictures on his bedroom wall of all the things they liked to do together and all the places they wanted to visit. Or when they decided to play "buried treasure" with nearly all of John's toys, digging up holes in the backyard, dropping the toys in and then creating a type of pirate's map to recover them all. Yes, Stevie was a lot of fun.

Sometimes he had to disappear though. John would be fine for a while but would inevitably miss him. When it got really bad, Stevie would always return. Usually with another fun game in which they could indulge.

Now things were different. All throughout high school (or rather until John's final year) they stayed almost completely intact. Right up until one game became a little too serious. Stevie had convinced John to steal a car. It was one of the new driver education cars parked at the school. John had seen all his peers learn how to drive and it was all they ever seemed to talk about. However, John’s challenges with school and learning automatically disqualified from the experience regardless of his ability.

These things disregarded, Stevie swore to John he could do it. And John wanted to do it. Badly.

The attempt did not go well. John managed to get the car started but in his excitement and confusion, he mistook the "R" for a "D" and sped directly into a rather large oak tree just in front of the parking lot. In a panic, he managed to shift the car into reverse but then, spun around and in further panic, shift back into forward gear and become airborne over a small embankment. When he came to, the police were there. No charges were laid but John was told, rather forcefully, that he would never be able to drive a car--ever.

Stevie got a little angry. In fact, it was the first time John and Stevie had ever had a fight. John tried to reason with him, tell him that it wasn't such a big deal after all. Eventually Stevie acquiesced. After that, things didn't seem quite the same between the two of them. The older John got, the more childish Stevie behaved. And for longer periods would he disappear. But when he returned, things weren’t always so pleasant for John.

Johnny and Doris - Part II

2007-02-26T19:41:00.000-05:00

The days ran into weeks and soon it was November. The city's landscape was now a permanent grey. John's world had not changed much. As he passed the neighbourhood park he saw some children playing with a kite. I wish I was a kite, he thought, only no string!

He'd been back to the diner several times but Doris never seemed to be there. He hoped she hadn't quit. He liked her. She seemed smart but not mean like the other smart people he had met in his life. He rounded the same corner that he traveled almost every day to work only this time, he passed his workplace to go to the diner, in search of Doris, yet again.

It was a Saturday and the place was jam packed. However would he find a seat! John waited patiently for his favourite spot, the seat closest to the ordering station, the one closest to Doris.

Doris heard the faint tinkling of the diner's doorbells over the din of the breakfast crowd. Immediately she recognized him. She never forgot a face. Years in the diner industry taught her to be good with faces. Not only did it mean better tips but it was also important in case any funny business happened. Several seats became available but John remained standing, nodding politely, albeit awkwardly, to anyone else who wished to skip ahead of him for their meal. Eventually, the mother and young daughter who were in John's desired spot got up to leave.

"Well, look who's back!" Doris beamed, "the fastest eater in the west. How are you?" John gave a stilted smile back. "Fine, thanks."

"So, what would you like today? Even though it's still breakfast time we still serve our lunch menu. Whatever you want, we got."

"Do you have any eggs?"

"Do we have any eggs?" Doris' throaty laugh filled the room. "Well, yeah. I think we could find some. What kind?"

"Scrambled," John said decisively. He felt happy. Stevie had been good lately.

"So what's your name, kid?" Doris had been feeling good lately too. Not for any particular reason, if only for the fact that work had been steady and tips had been good. And maybe for the fact that later tonight she was indulging herself in a bottle of wine, a warm blanket on the couch and all the Harrison Ford she could handle.

"John."

"Well then Johnny, can I call you Johnny?"

"Sure, " John shrugged. It reminded him of his brother. He used to call him that. He missed his brother. Why'd he have to move all the way up to Canada and then all the way to London? He said it was because of his job but John still worked in Brooklyn. Right around the corner from where they both grew up.

"Great. Pleased to meet you, Johnny." Doris extended her hand. John took it slowly.

"Pleased to meet you...Doris," he said, staring at the lily adorned plastic nametag she wore.

"So Johnny, tell me about yourself." The breakfast rush was beginning to slow down.

"I work."

"Oh yeah? Good for you! What do you do?"

"Shipping."

"Oh yeah? Where do you that?"

"Just up the street." John fell silent. Doris stared at him for a few seconds, laughed to herself and

shook her head. Turning to pick up her next order she refilled John's coffee cup before heading to

the kitchen.

As soon as she returned, John's face had shadowed. Just like that, she thought.

"Doris, has anyone ever talked to you and you didn't want to listen?

Doris raised one eyebrow, "Kid, are you serious? That's a good one. Yeah, sure. What are you gettin' at?"

"Nothing," John dismissed her.

"Hey, Johnny, are you okay? Someone giving you a hard time?

"Oh no!" Johnny said. "Stevie would never do that. He gets a little annoying sometimes, that's all."

"Who's Stevie? Your little brother?"

John started laughing so hard he almost fell off his stool but then, magically straightened. "I never thought of it that way..." He was now staring off into the distance, a slight melancholy present in his eyes.

Doris was mesmerized by John. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was his childlike manner despite his lanky, almost gawky frame. He couldn't be much older than 25.

"So who's Stevie?" It was almost like talking to a child!

"He's the voice in my head."

"Oooooh..."Doris nodded. Of course! This guy was a nutcase. But he seemed harmless enough. "So what's he tell you?"

"All sorts of stuff. But he's so young! He doesn't know anything!" John retorted back in a surprisingly abrupt and loud tone.

Edit: Apologies for the formatting; Blogger's being cranky.

Johnny and Doris - Part I

2007-02-25T14:59:00.000-05:00

I wrote this very short story several years ago. Cleaned it up a bit for posting here. It's a bit long for one installment so will be done in several. Thank you.

Leaving the building, he realized he had forgotten his umbrella. "Damn It! It sure looks like it's going to pour."

A diner was a block and a half away. As John entered trying to shake himself dry, his stomach growled. He glanced at the menus hoisted high above the long grills, deep-fryers and stainless steel counter space. Perhaps they had an all day breakfast or maybe just a coffee and a slice of pie. Sure, that was easy.

John waited patiently in line. When he arrived at the front, his eyes locked with those of a thin and weary woman, maybe 20 years his senior. Her name tag read: "Doris" and had white lilies patterned above the plastic pin that indicated her identity.

"What'll it be?" she sighed.

"What kind of pie you got? Fresh."

She threw him a long stare just to see if he was being sarcastic. Instead, she saw John's rather focused expression, like he was awaiting news about the current rainstorm on the radio, hanging onto the forecast as if he had plans later that afternoon to go sailing of play baseball in the park.

"Apple and blueberry, if you want cherry, you come tomorrow."

"Apple'll be fine," John nodded as he took a seat at the counter nearest to the ordering station, gingerly removing his soaking jacket to avoid dampening a nearby customer. Doris brought him his order and he ravenously dug in to the pie like he hadn't eaten in days. Then he slurped back his coffee and wiped his mouth along his shirtsleeve.

"That was impressive," Doris smirked. John returned her cheerful advance with only a blank stare. Doris straightened in demeanor. This guy was kind of strange. She had never seen him in the place before. They kept a pretty regular clientele. In this part of Brooklyn there were lots of places to choose from so Doris liked to think of all her regulars as family. Not that she wouldn't treat any newcomer like this guy any differently, it was just harder to joke around and gauge their reactions and this one was a prime example. "Can I get you anything else?" she inquired politely. John shook his head.

"How much?"

"Two eighty-five."

With that, John threw a crumpled two dollar bill and a handful of change on the counter and left. It had stopped raining and he could now walk safely home without his forgotten umbrella.

I Like Toys

2007-02-22T11:41:00.000-05:00

I'm a big gadget fan.

Yes, even if they sometimes mystify me.

Alright, I'll try and stop and get off the Apple Train but I am consumed. My little poll isn't helping me. It's current results are sitting at an even 50/50. I think part of the problem is that I'm not used to spending large quantities of money on myself. I've never really had any money so I have always lived a rather frugal existence (barring hypomanic spending sprees that have resulted in ridiculous amounts of debt--and regret--later.)

I have a terribly impulsive habit of buying things and then letting them sit to gather dust. Will this new "toy" encourage me to pursue more creative outlets of days long past? Can I make it into a useful tool?

There are (and have been of late) rumblings and eruptions in the workplace. I am trying not to think of losing my job. I'm not leaping over the edge into catastrophic thinking but surely you live in a bubble if you think that your job is safe at all in today's world. My MacBook would surely help me if I needed to go back to school and (eek!) think of pursuing a career in Nursing again. Or something else. Or it could perhaps just amuse me as I lay in bed completely depressed that I had lost my job. Or it would again gather dust because I would be so distraught I would not be able to move.

Anyway, enough of that talk! I am reasonably sure that my job is safe...for now at least.

I emailed a friend of mine, my "Mac Guru" for his advice. I haven't heard anything back. I will surely need his assistance. He helped me the last time, well, actually the last two times I bought old PowerBooks and loaded me up with all that I needed and got me up and running. They were both second hand machines so virtually useless. He's a whiz and I'm a dolt so I will need him.

But speaking of some "non-technical" toys, I bought a couple a while ago.

The first was a Newton's Cradle. I've wanted one for years! It's really cheap though. I want a better one! Again, perhaps I am too frugal. I don't know who likes it more, the cat or myself. Probably me because I have a slightly longer attention span? Granted, with this sort of thing, since it's a real "stim" toy (i.e. self-stimulatory behaviour) I could play with it for hours! I love watching the motion of it, staring at the shiny metal balls and hearing the steady click-click sound that it makes.

The sound reminds me of a metronome we had in the house as a child. I loved that metronome. I can not play the piano but my sister managed to teach herself when she was younger (lucky girl!) No one else in my immediate family plays but somehow she managed to aquire some innate musical talent. She can also play guitar but she hasn't really touched either in years.

I get upset with my Newton's Cradle, however, because it won't keep going! I never want it to stop. I become transfixed but I need to keep setting it in motion again and again. Because of this fact, I try to play with it only when I am alone. I fear that my obsession with it will drive anyone else around me and it completely bonkers. I was tempted to bring it in to work but that would not be a good idea for several reasons. Apart from the point previously mentioned, I already have too many other "toys" on my desk and in now looking around...well, it's always in a complete state of chaos. It would only add to the mounting clutter--just not a good idea.

I also bought a Mancala set. If you take the time to read about it in the link, this game is very old. I first played it while on vacation with a friend and his children in Antigua many years ago. It is deceptively simple but you can try to employ strategy. I've taken to actually setting it up and playing it by myself to try and see how to strategically "win" this game. It's a little difficult, however as there are variations as to how you can actually play the game.

I used to play chess as a child. My father taught me when I was young as I was curious about it. When I was about 10-12(?) instead of playing and running and jumping about the schoolyard with all of the other children, I had two other boys that I used to play it with when we had breaks from class or "recess." Yes, I was an absolute geek. But when we all advanced to a new school, the two boys went off to different ones and I lost my chess mates. And at home, things were growing more and more out of control and it seems I had lost my father as a chess mate as well. I've never played chess since.

As for games now, I will play anything that has to do with Trivia. You can't keep me away from it. I may not have a clue or sometimes I may score well but it's always fun.

Karmic Retribution?

2007-02-21T12:04:00.000-05:00

I just had a wonderful, long talk with an old friend of mine.

Years ago, I was fired from a job for being "mentally ill." Of course, this was not the reason they gave but no matter, we all knew that was the truth. I had chosen to be open about my illness--I had no recourse. I had been hospitalized twice; I had even been visited during one of them by my Manager and Supervisor (much to my horror!) I believed they were trying to be supportive. Maybe at the time they were. I do not know.

I had no means for litigation--I was broke! I was close to living on the street as I had to barter my last month's rent by painting and doing some odd job work in another unit in the building lest my landlord try to evict me. I chose another "free" route via the government to seek what was owed to me.

I was "vindicated," I suppose. I did not receive the full settlement I was entitled to by law but I did receive a portion of it. That was all they were willing to give and I could have rejected it but I couldn't face going through the entire process again. It was too lenghty and too upsetting.

The company could have appealed everything entirely but they chose not to. I guess this means that in doing so, they were admitting that they were in fact liable and it was a case of "wrongful dismissal." I did not receive any apologies, however. The victory seemed hollow.

And it was truly brutal facing my Ex-Manager (who was now also my Ex-Friend,) my Ex-Supervisor, the head of Human Resources and the completely ridiculous lawyer they had hired all by myself.

Anyway, I had not spoken to this friend of mine in a long time. He still works there. Many changes have taken place since I left. I have found out that Ex-Manager/Friend and Ex-Supervisor had "been removed" perhaps due to performance issues and one has failed miserably (Ex-Supervisor) in a new position. I have also found out that the company has lost the contract where we all worked and will probably never get it back--it was worth a lot of money. I have also found out that over the years, several other people have deluged them with other wrongful dismissal claims.

I wonder how they made out?

Call me a bitch but I am still bitter to the core about this. I was treated horribly and the things I was asked to do, the way I was made to "behave" after I came back to work at this job--it was sickening. I was trying at the time to figure a way to get out but apparently that decision was made for my by a bunch of ignorant, discriminatory, unfeeling assholes.

And Speaking Of Impulsiveness And Decision Making...

2007-02-20T19:22:00.000-05:00

I was drooling over MacBooks while bored at work today. I have taken to sitting up at night working on my obsolete PowerBook where equally obsolete pieces of writing reside. Well, some of the pieces are still useful, I have found. Also slightly out of date but useful is some of the software on the machine.

I mentioned this to my partner when I came home and she simply said:

"Well, you can afford it. Buy it!"

Perhaps not the sort of encouragement I need?!

Now the first order of business would be the ability to transfer my entire iTunes library from PC to Mac. I believe this can be done? And then presumably, my current iPod should work? I believe at time of purchase, when you specify for Mac or PC the only reason is for the software. Otherwise, the unit is the same?

Forgive me for I art technologically dumb.

I hate the PC we have at home. It's a Dell which should be reputable but it has been buggy since it was first purchased.

So what do you think, everyone? Should I get a MacBook?

To Assume Or Presume, That Is The Question?

2007-02-20T10:39:00.000-05:00

These words are used almost interchangeably in every day parlance but there is a subtle difference.

To assume is to take for granted, as proof, with or without having the facts; to presume is to do the same on the basis of probability or belief--perhaps even based upon future revelation of fact. To look at the Latin prefixes, a- means without and pre- means before.

I tend to assume a lot. Well, sometimes? Alright, hard to measure but I try not to. However, I find myself doing it, even if I don't like to admit it.

So many times I find there are so many unknowns and I am constantly grasping at straws, reaching for answers. I've always believed that I was a patient person and I do believe that I can be but some people have proven me completely wrong in this respect. Of course, I haven't liked it. How often do we like to be proven wrong about ourselves?

I can also be incredibly impulsive and yet at other times, I can labour over a decision that seems like an eternity that most people would make in a split second. Very simple decisions!

I used to have such a "clear vision" of myself. Was that the hypomanic, energetic, frenzied version of PA who never doubted anything? And if she made any "assumptions" then, was she right, was she wrong? Was she so absolutely filled to the brim with confidence that it didn't matter?

Now having grappled with the diagnosis of Bipolar for many years (and for a few less years ADD) things are more complicated. Unpredictable mood swings, impaired judgment, medication rollercoasters and living in a constant state of flux can set you up for a permanent state of readiness for "assumption."

Also, when you are a trauma survivor and you have little to no memory of your abuse you are practically born to assume. You have no one to ask so many questions to! Really important ones! Well, you can but they are not always the right people. The people that I need to talk to, the people that hold the keys to all the secrets are not accessible to me.

This leaves the mind to wander...and unfortunately to assume. I try not to let all of the above pervade my life too much in allowing my thoughts overwhelm me but I know that I am only human with a very overactive brain. I need to accept that as well.

Least Favourite Work Task?

2007-02-19T16:50:00.000-05:00

Oh crap. I have been asked to put together some sort of "social function" for work. I am not good at this. I positively loathe "event planning." I am the furthest thing from a social convenor imaginable! My decision making skills fluctuate obscenely but in this area they are virtually non-existent. Ugh.

The majority of times I don't even like to attend social functions (work or otherwise but especially work) but can and will when necessary. Depending upon how things move along, I may even (eventually?) enjoy myself but it really depends on a lot of factors.

This is going to be ugly (probably not so much the attending, just the preparation.) And I don't think I have a lot of time. Shit.

Some People Are Just Mean?

2007-02-19T10:55:00.000-05:00

Some symptoms you can alleviate and some you just can't?

I've met a lot of mean people in my life and well, I don't think their stripes will ever change.

Edit: There was a hyperlink here but the NYT archived the article. So for those of you that do not have online access to read said archived articles, here is the story:

Further Edit: You know, contrary to popular opinion(?) PA does have a conscience and you know, I just can't bring myself to post the damned copyrighted article!

So I will give you a choice. You may either link to the NYT and just type in your personal info to access it (it's free, no biggie) here. If it doesn't take you directly to the article it is called "About That Mean Streak of Yours: Psychiatry Can Only Do So Much"

Conversely, someone else on their blog has posted it so if you wish to engage in illegal copyright perusal, you may read it here. They apparently have more chutzpah than I do.

This post has obviously been more stress inducing than intended for me. Maybe time for a yet another blogging break?

My Psych Hospitalizations: The Good, The Bad...And The Slightly Out Of Control? - Part I

2007-02-15T20:00:00.000-05:00

When I had a psych consult earlier this week, one of the questions posed to me was, have my previous hospitalizations been helpful to me. On balance, I would say yes. I do advocate hospitalization whenever you are in crisis, absolute dire straits, suicidal or in danger of hurting yourself or anyone else.

I've been thinking of how to write about my hospitalization experiences for a long time now. I've had five, in total. I've thought over and over how to make it all cohesive and coherent but I'm not sure if I can. That might be okay as when you're inpatient, you may not be all that cohesive and coherent yourself.

So I think I'll just give it a go. Be forewarned, this will be long and will contain some rather...how can I describe it...intimate, graphic, ludicrous detail? However, this blog being what it is it should not surprise you.

Hospitalization #5: Cutting - Medically Helpful Yes, Psychiatrically Helpful No

I had self harmed for the second time and required stitches. I knew that this would result in me needing to be admitted to the psychiatric ward but there was no way around it. The cut was bad. And really, I was in pretty rough shape. In retrospect, I think I had been cycling all over the place and had pretty much reached a peak. I knew the drill since this was number five. I packed a bag with all of my essentials, called a cab and off I went.

Now I had not been hospitalized in several years. My how things had changed! I was stitched up in the ER by a decent enough doctor who was certainly not unsympathetic. She wasn't overly kind but at least she didn't treat me in any negative way. I was seen by the Head of Psychiatry early in the morning and he actually remembered me from previous stays. This was kind of impressive but I really didn't care. I just wanted to get out of the ER.

So there began my stay. I wasn't sure how long I would stay but it quickly became evident that it would be the minimum 72 hours. The nurses were locked behind some kind of fishbowl and were completely inattentive or rude. And I don't say this with any ill-tempered patient judgment. I love nurses! I wanted to be one! It is just plain fact. No one could get any sort of help if they needed it. You couldn't even ask a simple question. You were routinely ignored. This was not the psych wards of days gone past!

So I actually took it upon myself to assist patients in need. Oh it was sad. One poor soul couldn't even cut her food she was so distraught! She asked me to and I thought, well shit, half the time everyone's so damn depressed they don't want to eat, the least I can do is help the poor woman out!

I met a young-ish (slightly younger than me) man with Schizophrenia and we seemed to get along. He was terribly awkward and shy but he was somehow drawn to me and eventually we began to dialogue a bit. So one evening, we went and talked in my room (after I had stolen a bunch of scientific-type magazines to try and read from "the lounge.") We were promptly interruped by a nurse who told us that men and women weren't allowed in each others' rooms! What the...? We were just talking. What on earth did they think we were going to start doing? We departed to the "the lounge" where they told us we had to go but with everyone else congregating there and banging and clattering, he withdrew and no longer wanted to talk. Very helpful.

They did try to "stimulate" us with crafts and some type of art therapy. I was so bored out of my skull I thought I'd give it a try. And I was curious. I'd never done this while hospitalized as it was simply never offered. Well the crafts were a bloody joke. Something about making things called "happy boxes" or something with ridiculous cartoon quotes inside. I turned mine into something that looked like an acid trip/horror movie prop. I don't think the group leader was amused.

The art therapy was kind of interesting, however. We were asked to draw "how we felt at that moment." Then, if we could we were to try and explain the drawing to the class. Oh dear. I'm the sort of person that can't really draw a straight line with a ruler. Most people drew stick figures representing themselves. Not me. I came up with something that was actually kind of impressive. In a freakish sort of way. Rather abstract and morbid. I don't know if I impressed everyone or shocked them or a bit of both.

Anyway, after running around doing a whole lot of nothing, I decided to leave. My psychiatrist there was not willing to discuss any treatment options other than what he had already decided in his mind so I was out of there as soon as I could discharge myself.

Postscript: In reviewing this, I've decided that I will post each hospitalization separately as otherwise, this entire piece is going to be way too long for everyone to read.

My Psych Hospitalizations: The Good, The Bad And The Slightly Out Of Control? - Part II

2007-02-15T19:40:00.000-05:00

Hospitalization #4 Overdose - Medically Helpful Absolutely, Psychiatrically Helpful Somewhat

I suffered my second and worst overdose and the last thing I remembered was opening the door for the paramedics. The next thing I remembered was waking up in the ER hooked up to several pieces of equipment many hours later. This obviously necessitated a psychiatric stay.

When a bed was ready for me, I was wheeled up to the ward and there I lay in that bed for several days. I did not eat much. I just lied there, thinking of what I had done. No one visited me. I don't remember any of the patients. I don't remember any of the nurses. It was like they were all ghosts.

At the end of my 72 hour hold, my psychiatrist asked me if I was still suicidal. I answered him directly that yes, of course I was. I always would be. That is what it is like to have Bipolar Disorder. It is just something that I would need to learn to live with and to manage.

He asked me if I wanted to go home. I told him yes and was discharged.

My Psych Hospitalizations: The Good, The Bad And The Slightly Out Of Control? - Part III

2007-02-15T19:20:00.000-05:00

Hospitalization #3 Voluntary Walk In - Medically Helpful N/A, Psychiatrically Helpful Definitely

I had a friend (from hospitalization #1...wait for it...) actually drive me to the hospital (and take care of my now deceased cat and apartment) as I felt that I was starting to lose it. I waltzed right in to the ER and stated something to the effect that my meds weren't working and that I needed help. I was told that "they were full" and there was nothing they could do. I didn't relish doing this but it was time to pull out the "crazy card." Apparently my "cry for help" wasn't loud enough.

I started crying, not really yelling but basically anything I could do to get their attention and indicate that I needed help. It worked and I was sent in an ambulance to another hospital. I was actually quite angry that I had to go to such lengths but it was worth it.

Catching yourself before you actually go into crisis, I find, is extremely rare. I don't know how I managed to do it but I somehow did. I've certainly never been able to do it again.

This hospital stay was the most relaxing ever. The ward was quiet, I just stayed in bed and it was almost like being on holiday! Since I was not suicidal I didn't have any ward restrictions, I could go outside for walks if I wanted, it was spring so the weather was nice so I did indeed go out for brief spells and sit in the sun.

After a week, I felt much better able to cope with everything.

My Psych Hospitalizations: The Good, The Bad And The Slightly Out Of Control? - Part IV

2007-02-15T19:10:00.000-05:00

Hospitalization #2 Cutting - Medically Helpful Absolutely, Psychiatrically Helpful Toss Up

This cutting was very bad. It required surgery as I severed 3/4 or my median nerve in my wrist. All of the doctors were amazed that I did not hit any major arteries or veins. As a result, I was placed on a surgical ward and not on a psych ward. I did have a volunteer "minder" to watch me. I guess I must have been placed on some sort of "suicide watch?" I don't really know as I was so completely out of my mind on either Morphine, Demerol or both I didn't care. I do recall once that I did get up to use the bathroom and he started to follow me.

"Do you mind?"

"I'm supposed to keep an eye on you?"

"I have to go to the bathroom. Are you required to watch that too?"

Minder returned to his seat and awaited my return from the bathroom. Which was forthcoming and since I am still here he did a fine job of keeping me from killing myself.

This was a strange stay. I don't even recall speaking to a psychiatrist and I was never moved to a psych floor after the surgery was done and I had a few days of recovery time. Again, I was simply given the option to go home. Maybe a psychiatrist came to speak to me when I was all pumped up on the pain meds and I don't remember! HA! If so, I wonder what on earth I said! I do remember trying to talk on them and oh...I was making absolutely no sense at all. They just kept shooting me up and then gave me a self-administered unit... I don't even know if I needed that much medication but I wasn't going to say no to it. Not in that state of mind.

Probably the best part of that stay? The nurses! The nurses on that surgical floor were just the best. So kind and thoughtful. Always checking in on me and actually talking to me. They really made the stay so much better.

My Psych Hospitalizations: The Good, The Bad And The Slightly Out Of Control? - Part V

2007-02-15T19:00:00.000-05:00

Hospitalization #1 Overdose - Medically Helpful Yes, Psychiatrically Helpful Yes

Well, we've reached the long end of the road folks but hang on to your hats. This ride gets a little bumpy. This overdose wasn't as bad as my second but it was significant enough. I did not lose consciousness but I did become very sick. Activated charcoal was used and that seemed to do the trick. But I had taken the pills dry (i.e. with no liquids--I had been driving) and developed a nasty case of thrush. And of course I would need to be admitted to the psych floor.

I was so scared. I had never been admitted to a psychiatric part of a hospital before. What would await me? But I was so sick and tired and completely a wreck that part of me just abandoned myself to the idea of whatever fate awaited me.

I was there for two weeks. For the first three days I was kept in a state of "detox" and literally did not move from my bed. Except perhaps to get up and go to the bathroom I just laid there and slept. I did have a few visitors but apart from that, they would bring my food, I would let it sit. I just laid in a ball.

The ward was noisy and large. This was a big hospital. I would try to shut the door but I was sharing the room with two other women. It was impossible to get any rest, any peace.

Finally on day three, the nurse stopped bringing me food. She told me that if I wanted to eat, I would need to come to the dining room like everyone else. Nice ploy. Trying to get me out of bed, are you? I wasn't all that hungry, maybe a little bit but I was thirsty and I wanted my juice! I waited until everyone had finished eating and it was quiet and I snuck into the dining area. A few people still remained. I grabbed my tray and picked at my food, drank my liquids. A fellow patient asked if she could have my dessert. I gave it to her. A loud voice called over:

"Hey, we won't bite, you know!"

I big smiling face looked at me. I tried to avoid eye contact. He laughed. "It's okay. Really."

And so began my "adventures" at this particular facility.

I spoke to this man as I continued to pick at my food. He was nice and made me feel more at ease. As a couple of days passed, I felt more confident and began leaving my room. I would always be met by him and he started introducing me to other patients. Pretty soon, we had a whole motley crew of us wreaking havoc.

We ranged in ages from teen years up to about mid-thirties and we all really got along. The man who I first met was kind of our "ringleader" and the one who liked to sort of act as a pseudo-father figure to anyone who needed one. I certainly didn't but I allowed him to assume a "protector" role regarding me if it made him feel better.

Some of the things we did? We snuck beer into the hospital and a few of us got drunk. Some of us had off ward privileges so we could smoke in an indoor smoking area but otherwise, you had to go outside. Well, it was the dead of winter so a lot of the time, we'd just smoke in the stairwells. As for others? I'm not really sure but there were a few fights on the ward. Mostly verbal altercations. As for me? Well, a few friends came and took me out for dinner and I got drunk and came back and fell asleep in "ringleader's" bed with him. It was innocent, we were just talking and I passed out! This next part...well, this was not so "innocent."

I became romantically involved with another patient during my stay at this hospital. We also saw each other briefly when we were discharged as outpatients but the relationship did not last. I didn't want to do it though! In fact, I fought it from the get go but this woman really got to me and being completely unstable...well, what can I say? Except: I do not recommend trolling for dates in a psych ward.

There was other zaniness. One "regular" to this ward was growing pot (and smoking it) in "the lounge." He also--and I have no idea how he did this--stole unbelievable amounts of medical/surgical supplies from the hospital and hid them in his room! How he managed to get off the ward and do this unnoticed is unfathomable! Another cute thing he did was run around and steal afghans for all of the women on the floor because it was winter and he didn't want us all to be cold. Once caught, we had them all taken away as they were made by some women's auxilliary or something. And yes, stealing is bad.

What's the phrase? The lunatics are running the asylum?

Ah yes...and another: Never as good as the first time.

Finding A Muse For Blogging

2007-02-13T13:02:00.000-05:00

Do you ever dream of your blogging life? That is to say, while you are asleep. I have said here that I don't remember my dreams very often but lately I have been dreaming of blogging. I have also said that I wanted to try and use this blog to help me write more creatively. The following piece is based on a recurring dream that I had over and over as a teenager.

Speaking of other "dreams," in my 20s I fantasized of becoming a "great writer" and eventually being published. I entered a Publishing Program in a university and the first thing I was told was that if you wanted to become a writer, do not enter the publishing world. I see.

I fear that I have suffered a bit of Hypomanic Hope-Extension over the years. It is similar to a physical condition that I sometimes experience as the result of taking my medication: Orthostatic Hypotension. With, OH, if you rise too quickly, your blood pressure drops and if you're not careful, you may fall and hurt yourself. With HH-E, if you are in a somewhat altered state of mind and believe that you are greater than you really are, your hopes may be somewhat dashed and again, you may be at risk of falling.

Nonetheless, I am still trying to be "inspired."

Here is the what would would greet me regularly upon awakening. And for those curious about dream detail it was always in black and white.

He called to me from high above the cliff top. I stared into the sunlight attempting to discern his shaded form. He beckoned me closer to him with the wave of an arm. I slowly walked in the heavy, thick sand toward the mountainside and began climbing. It was treacherous as I reached for any piece of abutment I could grasp. A slab of rock that jutted out or what remained of a long lost root of a tree.

Wasted of breath and damp with sweat I was greeted with the warmest of smiles. He was older than I had expected. Perhaps as old as my grandfather? And certainly much larger than the tiny speck I had seen from down by the shore! Not overly tall but slightly rotund. We did not speak but only stared into each other’s eyes. Nothing changed except his smile, which seemed to only feel more enveloping as it slowly crept further across his face

Finally, he broke away from my gaze and looked up toward the sky. He raised his hands toward his mouth and uttered something inaudible to me. I followed his eyes to the clear, cloudless sky and within seconds a gull came soaring over our heads. The man turned back to me and smiled his same smile. The gull disappeared.

I stared at him, slightly confused. The man began to laugh and shook his head. He repeated his act, raised his head skyward, called again, silently to the air and again, the gull returned. This time, I stared a bit longer at the gull in amazement. What was this power, this magic? Who was this man? I turned back to him to now show him my pleasure and satisfaction and to in fact, say thank you but when I did, the man was gone. I spun around and looked everywhere but could not find him.

I was being called, yet again but this time from back down on the beach. The man was now standing where I originally was when he first summoned me to him. I carefully climbed down to meet him, as I desperately wanted to see more! When I reached his side, he again lifted his head back and called to the gull. I waited and with certainty the gull returned.

I watched it float effortlessly above us but after a few minutes, its flight changed course and it plunged directly into the ocean. I stood stiff with horror. I waited. Endlessly. Finally, I saw something shimmer in the water, not merely the bright sunlight’s reflection but movement. It was something round. First one, then several figures. And then they all grew larger. They became the bodies of SCUBA-clad divers and in their arms they carried a young woman.

Well, Someone Took My Request Literally (i.e. I Will Blog For You?)

2007-02-12T16:03:00.000-05:00

Kidding. Again.

I received an email over the weekend with a link to some research (or as stated from the outset, a hypothesis) about Paternal Age and Schizophrenia. There's a wee bit about Autism in there as well. The person suggested that I have a look at it and perhaps blog about it.

Well, I'm not sure what to say other than a) it was interesting b) I have always loved genetics c) I am not an expert and d) I suppose I am always happy to satisfy what small reading public that I have.

I have also survived a rather long psychiatric evaluation today and am rather exhausted.

So perhaps I will just throw out the link and see if it engages any interesting discussion or debate. Perhaps you, dear readers, will be able to stimulate me further.

If interested, please read about it here.

For -byrdz-...And Any House Fans...

2007-02-08T21:23:00.000-05:00

Hey, I don't "dedicate" posts to just anyone! I'm kidding... Listen, I'll dedicate a post to whomever wishes. Just send me an email! I need all the inspiration to blog I can get, believe me.

So -byrdz- commented on my "Earworm" post below about what the theme song was for House since my last MP3 was that damn song that keeps appearing all over the place on medical dramas. Blame Grey's Anatomy for carrying the torch.

So anyway, I tried to help out with my pithy response that it was "Teardrop" by Massive Attack featuring Liz Fraser from the Cocteau Twins on vocals. I've really liked both bands for years.

So in honour of that, I'll now host that song. Looks like I'm starting a trend of hosting medical drama "theme" songs. Oh dear. That is not a good sign.

Gastro Update

2007-02-08T12:17:00.000-05:00

Well, I went to see my gastroenterologist yesterday. I went alright. Considering my "doctor anxiety" I was actually feeling quite fine about it. He seems like a decent enough guy and I really want to get moving with all of this.

For those of you not up to speed, after my first consult, he had sent me for some bloodwork and an x-ray. I was kind of unimpressed as I knew I needed more. The x-ray was not discussed (I knew it would reveal nothing) but the bloodwork was mildly interesting. Hemoglobin normal (as were Thyroid, Glucose...can't remember what else was ordered) but some mild "abnormalities" showed up with iron and inflammation markers. However, they weren't off the scales so nothing to be alarmed about?

I have indeed lost more weight. More than I actually thought I had. About the same amount that I had lost in several months, now over the course of a few weeks. That appears to be a bit of a concern? We both agreed that the cumulative amount is rather high for someone who is not actively trying to lose. And yes, I suppose losing weight so rapidly is also...well, perhaps indicative of something? Who knows...

So an upper endoscopy and colonoscopy with appropriate biopsies have been ordered. But not for another two months. Oh, how I wish it was sooner!

I came home and told my partner. She positively hit the roof about the weight issue. She told me I an "gaunt." I am not. I am not emaciated. I am thinner, to be sure but I am certainly not gaunt.

She has taken it upon herself to start buying me Ensure for sustenance. Or at least she said she would. Eating is troublesome, yes. I am currently trying to choke down some oatmeal as I write this. I tried to explain to her that sometimes, oftentimes eating hurts! She is mad at me for not eating. I am trying. I don't want to fight about my medical conditions and appropriate treatments...I'm too tired and I feel I need to pursue things on my terms. I know she cares but last night when I was simply trying to express my feelings--well, there was some dissent.

So anyway, that's the scoop for now.

Writing: Bipolar

2007-02-06T11:07:00.000-05:00

So as I've been in a bit of a blogging "funk" lately, I dug out my ancient Mac PowerBook last night to look at some of my old writing.

For those of you Macheads out there, you'll get a laugh out of this. It's a 5300cs. Basically a glorified typewriter/paperweight these days. With the emphasis on the "weight" part. It's not even fit for an internet connection. It still cranks away, though. It only froze on me once and gave me one disk error when I transferred this to a floppy disk to move it to a PC to place it here.

Yes, a floppy disk. Who uses those anymore?! I had to scavenge my desk at work to even try to find one!

I should try to rescue what's on it before it dies altogether although I think I have most of what's there in hardcopy form somewhere in the house?

Anyway, I wrote this a a few years ago. I can't quite remember when. I'm not sure if I like it or not. But it was written at a time in a place to capture a moment so here it is. And I have a thing for water. I just realized that as it also came up in my "writing assignment" from Cathy's "I Shall Not Waste My Days In Trying To Prolong Them" here.

I found something else, a fairly short story that I had started but it needs some further work so I think I may post that in the future as well.

Bipolar

Battling the ocean is what it’s like. Inside your body. The waves crash up against you inside. That almighty, amorphous sea that has lived for ages and shaped the earth now fills such a tiny space that is you and it is now up to you to try and tame it. That is what bipolar feels like. That same force that has moved icebergs, created continents, slain dinosaurs and destroyed battleships is now your own Demon.

It “feels” like the waves of the ocean inside you. As your moods shift, you have a “high tide,” and a “low tide.” At times there is a palpable, physical, internal force as you try to resist the internal change. And sometimes you can even get nauseous. A seasickness perhaps? For you feel it coming.

I can it feel it coming. I know the struggle. Sometimes I resist and sometimes I welcome the waves crashing in like old friends. This is bipolar. This is my bipolar. An endless ebb and flow. An endless cycle, older than all its sufferers.

Ever more it will take in its wake.

My Gift To You...

2007-02-04T15:05:00.000-05:00

Have you ever had an Earworm? They vary in contagion and duration.

I've got a relatively bad one now courtesy of so far, Grey's Anatomy and Scrubs. I wonder where else it's popping up?

Why does the current selection in rotation on MP3 Of The Moment (see my right sidebar) appear on so many medical dramas? It must have something to do with the line in the chorus and title, "How to Save a Life" but if you really listen to the song, it has absolutely nothing to do with medicine.

Anyway, see if you can get the damn song out of your head. And it's Top 40 type stuff. Not even my genre!

Wolfden Bar And Grill: Epiosode 7

2007-02-02T10:15:00.000-05:00

Well everyone, here is my "contribution." I apologize in advance. I sincerely hope that no one is offended as well; I'm still not sure as to my level of "offensiveness" in some situations with people. All is meant in humour and as I am a little "offbeat,"well, I guess I'll just let you all decide.

Since I don't really know most of you--in fact, the majority of you I know absolutely nothing about, my main goal was to ensure that everyone got at least a mention in the story and that something was relevant to you? Sort of? Maybe? Some of you were just named.

Also, I don't think I really advanced the plot. If anything, I think I regressed it. Again, apologies...especially to Pamela who is next in line.

Here are the preceding episodes:

Part One by Wolfbaby
Part Two by Cathy
Part Three by Smalltown RN
Part Four by Willow Tree
Part Five by Dr. Rob
Part Six by JIP

So without further adieu...

Talk about spinning rooms. Who’s idea was it to start pouring all that Jagermeister and Tequila? And did someone put a copy of Crocodile Dundee into the DVD player? That is the most ridiculous portrayal of Australian “culture” ever! Or maybe that was just a dream. After force feeding us that much alcohol (was it just alcohol?…quickly surveys room to do clothing check—eyes Willow Tree furtively…) was this JIP’s vain attempt to try and stop the coup by the “BloggERs, Booze and Brazillians” cartel? By some weird form of hypnosis via B-Movie followed by Fire and Brimstone oratory to try and think that we’d actually been spirited away in some space-time warp to Oz? Did they really thing that the cartel was that obtuse?

Well, maybe they were but that remains to be seen.

Patient Anonymous was the first to wake up. She’s an early riser—sleep issues. Everyone else was in various states of disrepair, strewn across the bar.

Mysti and Pamela’s paints, brushes and tarps were still askew against the wall. They had decided to “fix up” the Wolfden a bit but it seems there was some debate about exactly what sort of paintings should appear upon the walls. Wolfbaby didn’t care. As long as everyone was “happy.” Happy? HA! There had been near warfare breaking out over that too! Some religious inspired frescoes? Dreaming Again was happy to offer her opinion on some suitable ideas but others leaned more toward landscapes or impressionistic works. And others, even still to something completely modern and/or abstract. It seems no one could settle on one theme so thankfully there was lots of wall space in the Wolfden. It might be the most bizarrely decorated place in the history of bars. Period.

“The Writer’s Corner” inhabited by Pearls and Dreams, Karmyn and Susan lay in tatters as well. Not sure what was happening over there. Ipanema spent a lot of time with that crew. She was the Chief Proofreader. She was smart and insightful. Fallen Angels and Jungle Tart would also frequent the tables conveniently joined together for maximum area for lots of spirited discussion and debate. Unfortunately that meant that not a lot of writing got done.

Patient Anonymous set about making some coffee for everyone. No doubt they needed it. Heather was the first to wake up. Patient Anonymous asked her how she was feeling.

“A little oysgeshpilt,” Heather said.

“Got in himmel, I know what you mean!” Patient Anonymous responded in kind.

Cathy raised her head and stared at them strangely.

“It’s Yiddish,” they both said in unison.

Patient Anonymous was concerned, however. Only she knew why The Laundress wasn’t speaking. She felt truly terrible about it and was trying to figure out how to rectify the situation but was very embarrassed to tell the cartel.

You see, she thought she had perfected the technique of “The Painless Brazillian” and The Laundress had agreed to be a “test subject.” But it seems that Patient Anonymous needed to go back to the lab and “touch things up a bit.” Things hadn’t worked out quite as planned with The Laundress. As a, sort of, gift of apology, Patient Anonymous mail ordered some anime and had it sent to the Laundress as she too is a fan but the distributor messed up and sent some really bad hentai and now The Laundress seems to be rather afraid of Patient Anonymous. Somehow, Patient Anonymous was still determined to make things up to The Laundress, however. It was all just a big mistake!

As people slowly began to rouse from their various states of consciousness, Patient Anonymous hurried back over to her area of the bar with Dr. A, Dr. Rob, A Difficult Patient and Smalltown RN. She pushed aside all of their bar glasses, laptops, gadgets and gizmos and laid her arms across the table in a business-like manner.

“Guys, I know you’re all really hungover and we’ve got to get back on track with the whole takeover thing and all of that—that is if you’re still into it…I mean, I’m kind of tired but…”

She paused.

“…can we talk about some of your ethics training here? It may not apply since Willow Tree isn’t a medical professional but I’m actually quite concerned about what he’s done. I mean, do we even know if any of these women wanted to get pregnant?! It’s like some kind of “cyber assault!” And I’m rather worried about Beth. What if she’s next. I know we’ve got some other very pressing things on our mind but I just can’t stop thinking of all of these pregnancies! I’m a little upset. And by the way, do any of you guys have a prescription pad handy…?"

EDIT: MOOFIE! *SLAPS FOREHEAD* I just went back and looked at the list and I forgot to insert you into my piece. Please forgive me. I stink.

Warning, Estrogen Filled Post Ahead...

2007-02-01T11:05:00.000-05:00

Well, that was a brief hiatus. I swear, this blog is rather reflective of my life right now: confused, chaotic, without direction? I thank everyone for their comments, emails and support of late. Some have said to rest, some have said to keep blogging, some have just "been there" and commented. And people are still out there, frighteningly enough, reading this! I still don't know what to do. So I guess I shall keep living (and blogging--or deciding about it) day by day.

So I woke up with a real clanger of a headache this morning. At first I thought it was a migraine as it hurt that bad and I had good old "shovel neck." Did one of these two guys try and "whack me" while I was trying to sleep?

My period should be here. Any.Minute.Now. But more on that later. It made me wonder...oh dear, could this be some sort of PMS-induced migraine? Oh shit, I hope not. With my wacky noodle, what next, Catamenial Seizures? Good thing, one of the meds I already take (Clobazam/Frisium) seems to be the drug that's just the ticket for that. If you're in the US, try Diamox/Acetazolamide as apparently that has shown some promise in this area and Clobazam isn't FDA approved.

Now my period can be quite the prima donna. Oh, I know she's coming. I have plenty of warning signs alright. But she always keeps the audience (me for the most part) impatiently waiting with no respect at all. But as a longtime subscriber to all of her shows, I can't ever seem to get my money back.

I will sit in the front row, as I always do, surrounded by many other women. Sometimes there are a few gents there as well but they are usually bored to tears or asleep, snoring loudly. Finally, at long last, she takes the stage! Her performance is always terrible, horrendous! I don't understand how she gets such rave reviews the world over! She is called a "gift," a "miracle," "something everyone should be proud and honoured to have bestowed upon them!" I slump down in my seat a bit longer until I can't stand it any more.

I remove myself and waltz out to the box office in the foyer and demand (yet again) my money back for this so-called "performance." I am treated like a lower-class frump for not appreciating the prima donna's beauty and grace and all of her ethereal and natural qualities. I scream at the box office attendant (for I do now feel like a lower class frump as I have become irritable, bloated and in pain ever since the prima donna first set foot on stage.) It's of no use. I can not get my money back. But as I storm out the door, I feel a tap on my shoulder. The ticket agent slaps in my hand my next month's passes to the theatre to enjoy yet again, my prima donna's next appearance.

Hiatus

2007-01-31T09:41:00.000-05:00

I may not be posting for a while. But knowing my tendency to be a blogaholic, well, that may change. I really do not know at this point.

But if you don't see me writing anything, I just wanted to post this as my previous entry was a little heavy and I didn't want people to think that I'd gone and offed myself.

I am up for the next installment of The Wolfden Bar and Grill, however, so that will be posted on Friday. I am not one to shirk my responsibilities.

Thinking About Cutting

2007-01-30T11:25:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking about cutting recently. Not really ruminating about it but it's been on my mind. I'll drift off, find myself staring into space and thoughts will meander to fantasies of reaching for some sharp implement--my preferences are for knives. Not at all good when someone in the house is a trained chef? We have far too many and one night, PA got a little out of hand and ripped the drawer right off the the cupboard grabbing at all of them.

Anyway, don't reach for the panic button or start calling Emergency Services. I'm okay. I just wanted to talk a bit about how this now seems to be(coming?) a more fundamental part of my Bipolar identity whereas before, I felt that suicidal ideation seemed to be more of the component that I might need to do battle with on a semi-regular basis.

When I first posted about cutting I questioned my status as a "reformed" cutter since I had only cut twice in my life. I have spoken with other cutters who self-harmed on regular bases and at times, since I did not, I felt like I didn't know what to say. I couldn't quite grasp the concept as I had not practised self-harm in the same way. I did not think that I was being biased within my own community, that is not me at all! Perhaps because I felt that I never would be able to be capable of cutting outside of my previous patterns, I couldn't identify with these other souls. I now feel differently. I now feel that I am capable.

Prior to this, suicide attempts and suicidal ideation were "my worst enemies." Once after a 72 hour hold in a psych ward I was asked if I wanted to go home after a suicide attempt--my worst. I did. The psychiatrist asked me if I was still suicidal. I told him that, yes, in fact I was but with a caveat. I explained to him that I would be suicidal all of my life. It was just something that I would have to learn how to deal with. I wasn't diagnosed Bipolar at the time or erudite enough (at that moment as I was still extremely depressed) to explain the complexities of dealing with the throes, the ups and downs, but I think he understood. Since I seemed to pose no danger to myself and they really couldn't keep me there any longer, I was free to go.

I don't know what keeps me from not cutting or trying to kill myself. Good supports, meds? Remembering some very key elements and conversations from the past and what I've been through? But the battle still ensues at times. Even though I would by relative, psychiatric terms be deemed "stable."

I know that there are very few things that you can control in life. One, your words and two, your actions? Not always can you control your thoughts. But that's okay. Sometimes you need to think about things to try and gain some clarity, even if they are not always so pleasant or are sometimes painful.

What's Your Specialty

2007-01-29T16:31:00.000-05:00

I found this over at MedStudentGod's blog via Vijay's blog.

Surprise, surprise for me:

The medical specialty for you is.... Psychiatry
Psychiatry is the best of all specialties. As a psychiatrist, people may claim that you went into the field because you yourself are crazy. But only you know the truth, which is that you are crazy. Enjoy the ride.
To find out what specialty best fits your unique personality, go to:

What Medical Specialty Is For You?

Blindsided While Making Tea

2007-01-29T10:08:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is my day of making short meaningless posts. While making my morning (aka go forth and be functional) tea, I was asked, "Who do like for the Superbowl this year PA?"

*stares vacantly*

PA knows at least something about many things in the world and well, she "gets" North American "football" but truth be told, she's much more a fan of European "football" or "soccer." In fact, she used to hang out at a Manchester United pub! Hey, it was a fun place!

PA: "Well, really, I haven't been following "football" at all this year. Who's playing?"

Man: "Chicago and Indianapolis"

PA: "Oh, the Bears and the Colts." (at least PA knew the teams...)

PA thought for a moment.

PA: "Well, my money's on the Colts."

Man: "I think you're right. They're a much better team and I think Chicago needs the colder weather to slow down other teams to get the advantage."

Oh dear, where's my tea.

I Love My Sister!

2007-01-29T09:57:00.000-05:00

Honestly, I really don't know who's funnier, her or me. We make a great team. We don't talk often but thankfully there is email. She also has the url for this blog but I don't know if she reads it. Well, if you do, Sis', you're absolutely the best! Thank you for keeping me SANE (relatively?) even though I know we wonder so often whether we both are ourselves.

She's my only sibling and the only person in my family that I can talk to.

God I Needed That...

2007-01-28T21:03:00.000-05:00

Had to go to partner's mother's for dinner. It's not quite as traumatic as visiting my mother. Apart from other things, what is key to mention at this moment in time is she always has relatively good wine.

After a couple of good glasses (goblets?) Patient Anonymous became suitably relaxed. I haven't had a drink since New Year's Eve.

Patient Anonymous tries not to drink--it messes her up and her partner does not like it. Not that her partner is "the alcohol police" but Patient Anonymous' drinking has led to some...arguments. Partner does not drink. Rarely, if ever.

Not that Patient Anonymous has done anything bad while drinking. But for some reason, it's a sore spot. Patient Anonymous actually thinks she's quite fun when she's had a few...or a quite a few. Perhaps that's the problem.

No matter. Tonight, some decent red was exactly what was needed.

When stated to partner, partner said: "Needed?"

Patient Anonymous jokingly retorted (ah, the English language...) "You know I've been stressed out...and Hypnotics don't work like the Benzos used to!" (i.e. I'm off benzos now.)

Note to all readers/Public Service Announcement: This post is purely for amusement purposes only. Do not seek substances (i.e. alcohol and/or drugs) for dealing with psychiatric problems or crises. Self-medication is not a solution. I should know.

*grin*

I Don't Get People

2007-01-27T16:36:00.000-05:00

Something has happened that has, yet again, astigmatized my view of my/the world. I am a very reliable person. If you need me, I am there. If I can not be there for you, then I will do my utmost to explain and offer you reason/s why not. But it is very rare that I am not there for people.

Partner says that most people in the world are not reliable. But what about your friends?

Perhaps I need to lower my expectations. But I didn't think they were that high to begin with?

Partner's Medical "Lecture" This Morning

2007-01-26T12:46:00.000-05:00

So partner didn't have to go to work until later this morning. That provided me with a ride to my public transit stop which is nice as we've rather inconveniently hit a "cold snap" and it's bloody freezing here. I know, it's Canada, I've lived here all my life, this should be nothing new, why bother complaining.

Anyway, as I'm getting dressed and pulling on my jeans, she says to me, "You've lost weight." I say in response, "Oh...?" She had said the same thing while looking at my face last night. Same response: "Oh...?"

Now Patient Anonymous is a little daft, flaky, deranged, nutty--I'm sure you all know this by now. She can also be rather unobservant when it comes to all matter of things, up to and including herself. However, I too have been wondering if I have lost more weight as my pants seem to be fitting more loosely and I can tighten my belt yet another notch. Not that I am--it gathers the fabric of the waist and that makes wearing the pants ridiculously uncomfortable. I'd rather let them just hang off my hips a bit.

We have no scales in the house, nor any measuring tapes (well, except for metal ones for furniture, walls etc... so that won't do.)

My partner wants me to start calling my family practitioner and my gastroenterologist right now but I will be seeing my gastro in app. two weeks. He is a specialist so there is little chance of him being able to push me forward in his schedule. My family practitioner can probably not do much since she referred me to the gastro in the first place. I told her I would "think about" calling but I really see no point.

The daily, morning Upper GI pain persists but that is nothing new. A lovely way to wake up. The Nexium/Esomeprazole seems to stave that off although obviously not permanently and/or completely. Lower GI is disastrous at the moment. Food is barely tolerable.

Peut-être Les Quebecois ne Prendront pas L'offense...?

2007-01-24T16:14:00.000-05:00

I had to work on that one a bit (with the aid of an online translation tool.) My French is not what it used to be. I studied it for six years when I was younger but if you don't use it--you lose it.

What that should say is: Perhaps the Quebecois will not take offence?

I was catching up on some reading and found an article that amused me somewhat. I say "fuck" a lot on this blog. Now to be fair, I warned everyone in my first post. In the article I read, apparently, "copulate" coupled with it's partner "off" is not really such a big deal in French-speaking Canada. Hmmm.

According to the article, it's actually used quite frequently on shows that run on Radio-Canada owned by the CBC. Now the CRTC has all sorts of guidelines, mandates and even a complaints process but I find it completely impotent in all areas. I don't think anyone gives a "fuck" at the CRTC either, be it in Quebec or in English speaking Canada because you will hear that word on English speaking channels as well. Canadian, American, if you have cable over here you can get some BBC. If you get some wild and crazy satellite operation set up who knows what else you might receive!

Now in Quebec, apparently my completely inappropriate term of language might sound like the word for seal ("phoque.") I actually didn't like this part of the article. It made me think that my Francophone friends sounded dumb? So while all the ranting and raving and swearing is going on during the Radio-Canada broadcasts, people are thinking that they're calling each other seals? Sorry, I'm picking at journalistic integrity again.

In Quebec, it seems a lot of swearing is done to curse the Roman Catholic church such as "Tabernac!" This is alluding to "Tabernacle" where the Eucharist is held. It's a very bad word. There are others but I won't bother to list them. You can get the point--the distinction of how different groups of people determine what is profane, culturally.

I've always loved words. Not just profane ones, that's very limiting. One of my most embarrassing moments occurred during Kindergarden when the teacher had to leave the room during "story time." She asked me if I could continue for the class. A lot of the other kids snickered (i.e. they didn't believe I could do it), some glared ("teacher's pet!") and some just stared kind of dumbfounded. I stepped to the front of the class and tried to hold the book open with my tiny hand, just as the teacher did, so that everyone could see the pictures as I read aloud. The book kept falling but there I sat and recited to the class, completely mortified. I had been reading since about the age of three? I can't remember but around that age--by four for sure.

I took a course in Linguistics in my first year of university and it was a lot harder than I thought it would be. It was an introductory course so we only covered certain aspects of the discipline. We looked at Phonetics and transcription (that was like taking words and dismantling them into hieroglyphics!) We also delved into Articulatory Phonetics a subfield of the former. This was a little funny. You get to learn all sorts of terms like "fricative," "obstruent," "trill" and "stop." Well, perhaps that last one isn't so fascinating. The articulations are all over your oral anatomy--well, not all of them in English. That was also rather interesting too. Many different languages make sounds that we, well, not that we can not make but it is very hard to do as we tried to attempt in class! We all failed. Also covered was some Phonology and some Morphology.

If you've bothered to have a look at any of those links, you will see that it's a lot more than just "sitting around and talking about words!" I didn't do as well as I thought I would. Alas.

Police or Paramedics: Who Are Better In Dealing With Psychiatric Crises?

2007-01-24T12:19:00.000-05:00

While coming home in the car a while ago, I witnessed a scene outside a shop where two paramedics were painstakingly dealing with a man who was obviously mentally distressed. I only caught a brief glimpse of it all but it took me back to some experiences, some thoughts and discussions I have had with other people who have a veritable cornucopia of disorders. The paramedics were pleading with the man to get in to the ambulance repeatedly or else they would need to call the police.

Now I am not prone to generalizations and am always willing to give everyone the benefit of the doubt but in answer to the question above: Paramedics, absolutely.

In various times of crisis, hospitalization etc..., I have dealt with both individuals in these professions. I have met some decent coppers but at best, they have just done what was needed (save one man) without a modicum of care. The paramedics, on the other hand, have always been the most caring and least judgmental of persons and have always taken such good care of me. Some have even had great senses of humour too.

My most terrrifying experience with the police happened one night after speaking long distance to a friend of mine. I was rather down and had been drinking (or course) and was merely venting. Or so I had thought? My friend had apparently become quite concerned and called 911. As I was getting ready to pad off to bed, there was a knock at the door. I had no idea who it could be; it was quite late (or early...perhaps 0100hrs?) I answered the door and there stood five (yes five) police officers.

Alright. I'm not exactly up on police protocol but I don't think they send that many officers to a domestic disturbance call. And I've never worked as a 911 dispatch operator either but I would assume that they would have asked some pertinent questions like if I was alone in the house?

They asked if they could come in. I was completely stunned. What do you say with five police officers standing in front of you, "No?" So I invited them in and they told me that they had received a call from "a friend" and that I "might be suicidal." I told them that I was not and that I was just getting ready to go to bed. They told me that I would have to come with them to the hospital. I looked at one of the officers who was casually sifting through my mail and some of my writing. I became agitated. I told him to put all of those things down and that he had no right to look at them! I again insisted that I was fine and I needed to go to bed as I had to go to work in the morning! I didn't need to go to the hospital! I told them that this was just a misunderstanding!

At this point, they became increasingly more forceful in their demands and I became more agitated and not combatitive but certainly argumentative. A female officer stepped right up to me, almost into me and threatened me with arrest if I didn't go with them. That was it. No matter how hard I tried to convince them, I couldn't compete with that.

They physically grabbed me by the arm and I told them to let me go as I wanted to put my shoes on. They told me there was no time for that so I ended up leaving the house with one bloody shoe on. Fantastic. They threw me into the back of one of the cruisers (they all still had their lights flashing!) and off we went.

My poor landlords. They were a great couple and didn't even know what to do. They just hid upstairs--I had some serious apologizing to do later.

So we get to the hospital and I am fuming. I had been an inpatient there before and was seeing a psychiatrist there. I explained rather loudly to anyone who would listen how grand a mistake that this was and that I positively needed to get back home to get at least some sleep in order to get to work. My job really depended on it at the time! I could not afford to miss work! I even demanded that they call my psychiatrist at home, wake him up and he would deem me fine. I'm surprised after all the fuss I made they actually didn't hospitalize me. But knowing the hospital as well as I did and knowing I didn't need to be hospitalized I managed to get out of there as the sun was beginning to come up.

By that time, four of the officers had left and one stayed behind to wait with me. He drove me home. I gave him a little piece of my mind on they way and told him that police officers should treat people under such circumstances with a little more decency and respect. I don't know if it made an impact as he simply told me, "We're just doing our job."

"Bound" And Less Determined

2007-01-23T11:07:00.000-05:00

I had no idea how to title this and I am still not sure how to write this without it descending into some sort of lurid expose into Patient Anonymous' past experiences and dalliances. That is not what this is about. But I need to put how I made an interesting self-observation into context so that will necessitate some self-revelation. And really, if you've been following this blog at all--nothing should surprise you anymore. We're all adults here. If this shocks you or you find it "titillating," get your head out of your ass.

I have worn one of these. Several times. But not in a psychiatric setting. Many years ago, I did a tour of the BDSM/fetish scene. And yes, the Bipolar was in full swing (undiagnosed, untreated.) This is no "value judgement" on "the scene" or myself if you will, it is simply the point where I was in my life.

I was introduced to all of this by a friend who was involved and asked me to go to a BDSM safe practices session put on by a local advocacy group. I found it rather amusing that she thought I might be "interested." Sure, why not? So I attended with her and her male partner.

Interesting, indeed! Wow, they pulled out all the stops! There was so much to look at! Some items seemed as if pulled out of some kind of medieval torture chamber and others just looked kind of neat and fun! At a certain point, the session leaders asked for volunteers to put on some type of bondage gear and then share their experiences with the group later on. Oh, I was excited! Pick me! The offer for the straightjackets came up and several arms shot up in the air. I was selected. Now the cardinal rule of S&M is "Safe, Sane and Consensual." So if at any time, anyone became uncomfortable, or agitated in their "restraints" they were to notify someone immediately and they would be taken care of.

Oh my. What a strange feeling. I had never had my body placed in such a position. At first, it was incredibly awkward but I realized that if I didn't fight it, if I just relaxed into it... All of the sudden, something rather strange began to happen to me. I felt comforted like I couldn't believe! I sat in that straightjacket for hours! I honestly don't remember how long it was but it was most of the afternoon of the full day session. I didn't want to take it off!

I later met a man who owned two straightjackets (who also coincidentally was diagnosed with MDD and ADD.) We are still friends to this day. He also designed bondage gear. We both found it incredibly calming and soothing and would occasionally get together (outside of the public scene where we did this as well) and basically tie each other up in our homes for comfort! Other elements of sensory deprivation could/would/might be employed.

When things got really, really rough for me and I couldn't sleep, I would occasionally employ self-restraint techniques in order to somehow try and calm myself down. My friend even offered me one of his straightjackets but I never got the knack of getting in/out of one solo (Houdini, I am not.) I managed with some personal and self-styled gear.

Think this all sounds a little bizarre? Temple Grandin (along with my friend) may not agree. If you do not know her, she is Autistic and has done some work (but not limited to) The Calming Effects of Deep Touch Pressure. Now, I am not on the Autistic Spectrum and despite how many similarities I may think I have with my friends' Autistic son, I don't believe I would fit the diagnostic criteria. Asperger's might be the closest I could come and even that would be a stretch. But it is interesting to see the similarities with the ADD children. And I do and always have had some other "sensory" issues. Probably not enough to again, meet the criteria for Sensory Integration Disorder but still, it makes me think!

I've always loved being loaded down with extra blankets on top of the duvet or I'll even throw all my partially worn clothes on my side of the bed, just to have that "added weight." I've always loved the feel of restrictive clothes (tights, leggings, bodysuits etc...--not "nylons" or "pantyhose" though--the fabric needs to be heavier!) I've been like this since I was a kid!

And no, you don't need to go as far as Temple's "Squeeze Machine" if that sort of freaks you out. It does look a little scary. A lot of Occupational Therapists advocate the use of weighted vests or blankets with kids that are Autistic, ADD, PDD or have SID. The affects of these have not really been studied (and neither has Grandin's machine) but I did manage to find this.

Perhaps I've managed to trade some of it in for "chemical" restraints now? And no, I don't want to bring up the whole debate about restraint usage in hospitals/institutions. That's not what this post is about either.

And if any of you out there are giggling away, stop it right now. If anyone actually has any serious questions pertaining to BDSM, contact me privately and I may or may not answer them--depending upon if you cross any boundaries or if you are completely inappropriate.

Edit March 09 2007: Aspergers has now entered the picture in terms of my psychological/neurological profile. I am still awaiting "confirmation" or at least an opinion from two separate psychiatrists.

Oh I'm Killing Myself...This May Be Somewhat Disturbing

2007-01-22T17:20:00.000-05:00

Absolute of paroxysmal laughter at my desk. Courtesy of a friend as warped as me:

Mom Spanked The Gay Out Of Me

Good Fucking God...

2007-01-22T10:35:00.001-05:00

So staring mournfully at my bookshelves last night, I decided that I would attempt to read something in preparation for King Lear. Perhaps some poetry. It's short.

I don't have a lot of literature. Most of it was sold when I needed the money at a certain point in my life. However, I do have loads of books that I've bought over the years that I just haven't gotten around to reading. I plucked a volume of selected T.S. Eliot poems off the shelf. A gift from some friends during my first psych hospitalization. I never even bothered to look at it.

I'm not a real literary genius. And I don't think I'm a huge Eliot fan. But this is what I read first.

Now this poem has been analyzed to death. But when I read it, it hit my like a bullet. That's the "fun" of interpretation! I think I need to remove myself from all stimuli now and place myself in a sensory deprivation tank for an indeterminate period of time.

And yes, some translation. The beginning is from Dante's inferno (how appropriate that?) and reads:

"If I thought my answer were given

to anyone who would ever return to the world,

this flame would stand still without moving any further.

But since never from this abyss

has anyone ever returned alive, if what I hear is true,

without fear of infamy I answer you."

And now without further adieu, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot:

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo
Questa fiamma staria sensa piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero
Sensa tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, ‘What is it?’
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, ‘Do I dare?’
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: ‘How his hair is growing thin!’]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: ‘But how his arms and legs are thin!’]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: ‘I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all’—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: ‘That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.’

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
‘That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant at all.’

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

I Lied, I Did Do Something

2007-01-21T17:09:00.000-05:00

Well, after a brief nap on the couch, partner wanted to go see a movie on the big screen so we went to go see "Notes on a Scandal." I finally managed to drag my wretched body up and out of the house.

Nothing like a nice, light flick to take your mind off things? Actually, Patient Anonymous prefers, darker subject matter anyway. The more troubling, the better. Not that comedy isn't good--I love a good laugh--but there's a lot of really dumb stuff out there. Documentaries are also high on the list. Granted, I'm not a "film snob." I'll watch anything. My partner's tastes can be so far off from mine! And not just in film but music as well! We are so different sometimes it amazes me how we're even together! But as she has said before, "It's our differences that make us interesting."

Anyway, back to the movie. If you don't know what it's about, basically, Judi Dench is a history teacher in a London school. She's been there (from what we gather, forever.) Cate Blanchett arrives as the ravishing (this is actually important) new art teacher. Now if you don't have a hole in your head from the outset, you can figure out that Judi Dench is actually a lesbian and she falls rather deeply for our dear Cate. This doesn't seem too hard to imagine? HA!

But that's not the scandalous part. Oh, no! Cate's character actually has an affair with one of her 15 year-old students. Judi witnesses this and well, their relationship gets rather complicated from there (as if it wasn't already) and all hell (typically) breaks loose.

It was actually quite good. I'm tempted to say "for a mainstream film" but that will make me sound like a film snob!

I really felt for the female characters. The story tells a tale of intimacy, passion, drives, loneliness, the need to be loved and feel alive and worthy. I could identify with the women, even if they had lost their moral compasses and at times seemed a bit off balance (been there?!)

I knew the story before going to see it. I read somewhere that it might not be palatable for "the wider audience" due to its content. I couldn't for the life of me understand what on earth that meant? I mean, yes, it's rather taboo for a teacher to sleep with a student but come on! It's actually happened! It's not like the movie is for the first time bringing it to the public's attention! And believe me, the public (at least here) doesn't seem to have any problem with it. The film's been out for a long time and for a matinée on a Sunday it was packed. So either Canadians are pretty open minded (well, actually a lot of us are...) or that writer was clearly not?

Anyway, time to go back to lying down.

Fuck It All To Hell Day

2007-01-21T10:37:00.000-05:00

Today is has officially been deemed "Fuck It All To Hell Day."

No work/chores will be done (although they sadly need to be.)

No blogging should be done (but I suck and am an addict.)

Only the vacant staring at any movies or anime that may hold my attention (or may be sleep inducing) shall be permitted.

Perhaps the crossword and cryptoquote from the paper will be attempted if my IQ suddenly and miraculously rises above 25.

Is this what it feels like to be dead?

Well, That Wasn't Altogether Sheer Torture...

2007-01-20T23:10:00.000-05:00

I have just returned from visiting Mommie Dearest. Yes, I am sick and twisted but so was my upbringing so I feel I am entitled to that. In fact, sick and twisted humour was the only thing that managed to keep my partner and I (relatively) sane throughout the entire evening. During one private moment, I whipped my Zippo out of my pocket and mocked self-immolation. My partner's a good egg. She even laughed as I quickly dashed to the computer the minute we got home as I signed on to start blogging.

In some fairness to my mother, she was actually more well-behaved than the last time I had seen her. We talked about quite a lot. My mother is a real motormouth and truthfully, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I can become quite engaged and really get going and in some cases probably annoy the hell out of a lot of people? I'm not sure. I'm too animated to tell and my own preoccupation with the subject matter I'm talking about supercedes my social skills.

Anyway, it was still a painful evening--and I don't mean in an emotionally sad way. I mean, rather, exhaustively, frustratingly and maddeningly.

As always, it's good to have a third party to observe. My poor partner, subjected to all of this. She's pretty astute at picking up social behaviours and just sitting back and watching people interact, tuning in to what might be motivating factors. And she knows key details of the family history etc... When we went outside for a smoke after dinner, we were trying to find out if I was being "antagonistic," "combative" or downright "looking for a fight." We finally decided that it was "none of the above."

My therapist says that I am "learning to find my voice." I have sat passive and mute for basically my entire life (up until now?) I am learning to "use my voice" but it's difficult. At times I still revert to wanting to just sit there and take it (or tune out) but not tonight.

For example, my mother is obsessed with The Blood Type Diet. No, I will not link to it as it is junk science and I fucking hate it. I'm sorry if you are reading this and you are a follower of this type of "thing" but I completely disagree with it. Anyway, Mom wanted to be a nurse so I feel I can slip into "amateur medico-scientist" mode and we had at it. She's actually extremely smart in a somewhat mentally ill, demented sort of way. Granted, she let me have my say and it was basically me just countering everything she said but it wasn't only that issue. There were more. Lots of them. A couple of times she slipped into one of her more "dissociative" states. She does not have DID and I don't mean a dissociative state or fugue in the classical sense. It's merely a diversion technique that she uses when she doesn't want to talk or deal with something anymore. It's very challenging to deal with. It's also very sad and possibly(?) the result of her own trauma but I can't focus on that. I've parented her ever since I was a child and if I slip back into that mode of thinking I'm doomed for sure.

Next, her husband. He is so absolutely annoying. I guess the worst of it is his continual sexual innuendo and commentary. Now I do not have virgin ears (or any other part of my body ha!) and I can talk just as trashy (or worse!) as the next person but I know where to do it, when and with whom. Unless I make a really bad unintentional pun or lose my filter by accident but that's just a bad joke/gaffe. And it's unintentional! I find it completely abhorrent that this man who is married to my mother (do I need to repeat that?!) at his age would continue to keep saying such things! I mean, I am the furthest thing from a prude but she's my fucking mother and I am her fucking daughter. Show some sense of decency and decorum.

Anyway, I am now in possession of my "bank draft," we celebrated Christmas (a month late?) and now it's over...at least until the next time.

Thanks, Nana...Goodbye, Again...

2007-01-20T09:55:00.000-05:00

Well, my grandmother's ("Nana's") estate has finally been settled. Almost exactly 3 months to the date of her death. I never, ever thought I would receive any sort of "inheritance" in my life. Mind you it's not a huge amount. Hardly! Patient Anonymous does not come from wealth.

My Nana (she absolutely refused to be called "Grandma" or any other variation of the term as she felt it made her feel "old") was a rather vain woman. As you can probably gather from the previous statement. She was always very fashionable, lived life to it's fullest potential and was actually very self-absorbed. However, she did have a sensitive flip side and she did not ever like to see anyone in pain or suffer. This I gradually started to find out only recently as she and I started to grow closer. You see, I began to inch quietly like a bit of a snake (albeit a frustrated and defiant one) in rattling some of the family's, closeted skeletal bones about my secret biological paternity. I had somehow hoped that she would have some sort of influence over me obtaining more information about the man I know nothing about from my completely delusional mother who is in absolute denial about it all.

My Nana's sole "wish" was that we could all be closer as a family. Perhaps my Nana was a bit delusional as well.

However, she is gone now. I must somehow try and tackle the problem of dealing with my mother on this issue alone. I don't know how successful I will be. I have major "mother issues"...primarily dealing with abandonment but it doesn't stop there.

Anyway, at least this hurdle is done with. And my sister and I are relieved that my mother didn't actually abscond with our shares in some psychotic episode. I'm not joking. We were actually a little fearful that might happen as she was the Executrix.

I feel conflicted about this. Someone dying and taking their money. "Bittersweet" is the only word that immediately comes to mind but even that doesn't seem to encompass all that I feel.

Caution: This Post May Sense No Make

2007-01-19T12:05:00.000-05:00

I need an IV, Earl Grey, Stat! And push 30 Espresso! Okay, that's a little ridiculous. Maybe I've been watching too many medical "dramas."

I've actually had a coffee and a tea. I don't even like coffee but it gives me more of an immediate jolt than tea. I'm a mess. I keep dropping things, picking up the wrong items in place of others. I'm mumbling and my speech is full of incorrect word usage.

I had the worst night's sleep last night. I got 6 hours (I know, I know, I can almost feel the chronic insomniacs hurling objects at me) but it was the quality of sleep that was bad too. I was plagued with nightmares (a popular/recurring one is me being transported back to my old job where I was fired for being mentally ill and another where I was being chased through a labyrinth where I urinated on myself.) Fear? Shame? I did actually have to go to the bathroom when I woke up so perhaps there is a physiological basis to some of the latter dream. But I've never had a dream where I've actually pissed myself out of such fear! And I know I've said that I'm not big on "dream interpretation"--despite my therapist's urging to "delve deeper" into them.

And then the leg cramps kicked in (ha, no pun intended!) I've never been shot but the pain is so intense and jarring that I often wonder if that is what it feels like to on the business end of a bullet. I've had them on and off throughout my entire life. So here I am, the sun not quite in the sky, writhing in pain trying not to scream, lest I wake my snoozing partner. I limp to the bathroom to take care of things there.

Yesterday was not one of my more stellar days. Hence my problems with sleep? I had taken my hypnotic and two hours later I lay wide awake, my brain still abuzz. I finally just rolled over and thought I'd better try to get some shuteye or I'd be a real mess for work in the morning. I don't know how much that made a difference but here I sit.

Have you ever in life (well not literally so let me rephrase) in your mind, set up things, like a series of dominoes? It can be any number of pieces, multi-coloured, in any shape or pattern but you do it, sometimes even painstakingly. You step back, admire your work. But one day, you feel the urge to tip that first domino.

Now in life, there are always choices. Yesterday, I decided to tip the domino. I didn't have to but I did. At first I was pleased! Hey, look what I did! Think back to when you were a child and you would watch a set of strategically stacked dominoes fall. Wow! How, empowering! But then, a short while later, I sat amidst a rubble of fallen dominoes and there I was, feeeling like a child amidst a sea of broken toys. What did I do? This of course can then lead to: Oh my god! What's going to happen now? and all sorts of various scenarios can invariably pop into your head about the future. And they're all bad.

In psychology, this is known as Catastrophic Thinking. Now, I did not get to this point. I have at other times in my life but yesterday, thankfully, some semblance of my logic and black and white/absolute thinking kept me away from that place. What a surprise that these things could actually work to my advantage. I looked at my pile of spilled dominoes and realized, well, what is the absolute worst that can happen here? It might be really fucking shitty but I made the decision to tip the first one and set it all in motion so I'm just going to have to live with it. I stand by the decision that I made. That doesn't mean I still felt rather upset about it all but it helped me try and put it in some sort of perspective at least. I put on my "sane face" for the rest of the day, laughed and smiled on cue and I don't think anyone was the wiser.

I'm not sure but maybe I'm the sort of person that needs to learn things by "tipping her dominoes." And part of me doesn't even know what the hell that means.

On a lighter note, I love my boss. She is hilarious. I was accosted by her when I walked in to work this morning. She pulled my headphones off and as I am still trying to convince myself that I am useful on this planet, I am currently dousing myself in Mercyfuck by Mary Prankster (see MP3 of the moment, if you dare.) That may seem counterintuitive but we all have our ways of dealing with things. I suggested that perhaps I should turn the volume down as it was probably the most profane song ever written. She asked what it was so I told her roughly what it was about and by whom and she can't wait to download it! It's her birthday this weekend so we (some colleagues) went out and bought her a bottle of wine (a Shiraz from Oz) called "The Lackey." We just couldn't resist the name.

Does Anyone Remember King Lear?

2007-01-18T12:40:00.000-05:00

Actually, it's okay, I went and looked it up. But for any of you Shakespeare afficionados, please feel free to jump in!

There are two books that I've read in my life that have made me cry. One was My Cat Saved My Life and the other was King Lear.

I read King Lear in my final year of high school and when I got to the end, I almost keeled over in huge, wrenching sobs. I mean, I really bawled. I didn't even know why. But something was triggered in my psyche, even if it wasn't apparent to me at the time.

This came up in my last therapy session after I had recently gone through a rough patch and was tearing up all over the place--not in the session but in days prior. My therapist was going to offer me a book to read and I laughed in her face. I haven't been able to read a book cover to cover in a while. Then I recanted and said, no, that wasn't entirely true. Over the last couple of years, I have managed to read two. So perhaps there's hope for me yet?

We went back to the aspect of potential triggers and I said that more complex visual stimuli (i.e. movies with faces, voices of characters etc...) were more apt to set me off than words on a page. I guess I can detach more when I read? That's when we got into the issue of these two books and how they've been the only books that have ever made me cry.

King Lear piqued her interest. I was clueless as I had lost barely all retention of the plot. She suggested that I read it again after all of these years and see what I get out of it now as it may be "therapeutic" and "very interesting." She also said that I "reminded her of Cordelia."

Egad. When my therapist pulls something like that out in a session I sit up and take notice! I also wondered just how "therapeutic" it might be. After getting a quick refresher online I think I see some things that might have been potential triggers as my family is so completely fucked up.

When out with friends last night, one of them told me that she had some books for me. I coincidentally asked her if she had an extra copy of Lear. She said she had two so she'd gladly give me one. I told her all of the above and she just laughed and said I had King Lear written all over me.

Hmmm.

GERD Update

2007-01-17T16:08:00.000-05:00

My partner and I are so smart. Maybe. I'll have to consult my gastro but perhaps I'm on to something?

My partner's pretty good at monitoring my signs of gastro hell. We have found a pattern? I'm ovulating right now (I'm sure you are all thrilled to know this.) But my stomach is really bad. I just found out that progesterone relaxes the LES (lower oesophageal sphincter--yes I spell it with an 'o'.) This is interesting.

But my tummy also gets quite awful when I get my period. Progesterone drops then. Hmmm. What's my little LES doing at that point? And what role does estrogen (I know, I don't use an 'o' here...) play in all of this? So far there isn't any definitive evidence that estrogen makes GERD worse. I've just found something done that was tied to obesity and women taking estrogen therapy (see Nilsson, M. et al., JAMA. 2003; 290(1):66-72.) Can be dug up in Medscape if you're interested--but I'm sure you're not haha.

EBM: A Balanced Approach?

2007-01-17T14:56:00.000-05:00

Okay, I may be making a huge ass out of myself for posting about Evidence Based Medicine but I've been doing some reading and it's kind of bugging me. I'm not a health practictioner (as my blogger name says!) but I am health consumer.

So I've been trying to wrap my head around EBM and all the fuss. I've been reading both sides of the argument and really, I can see where it works in theory but not always in practice?

Of course it's always good to pay attention to studies and be "judicous" in looking at them (that word comes up a lot in EBM) but isn't there more to practising medicine? It's not just about the facts and figures and statistics. I know proponents (or even non-proponents) of EBM may be laughing at me right now, saying that I'm totally taking it out of context and I have no idea what I'm saying?

And yes, there are people out there that claim to be "experts" that do need to be weeded out so yes, cite your references, always. But that's just common sense! If I read someone who claims to be an expert, I want to see their data.

But I think you also need to take into consideration so many other factors that EBM just doesn't allow room for. I'd be an EBM nightmare. Co-morbidities, taking meds off-label--but they work! I'm living proof! But according to EBM, I would not fit the criteria, therefore I may not be able to take my precious Topamax/Topiramate if one of my docs was a real EBM hardass! Well, perhaps I could...if I armwrestled him/her.

I somehow feel that EBM as a "movement" as it has been termed has the capability to go a little too far. From what I gather, they deem what is appropriate in terms of evidence and dictate proper guidelines. It just feels a little too militaristic.

Yes, there are "rules" to science but healing is an art. Let's not lose that in the overall approach to medicine. Let's not completely put the blinders on and have professionals buried in the latest "research" looking only at that (which may only give a partial picture, anyway.) Supposedly, EBM doesn't preclude the patient but it doesn't exactly give me a warm feeling.

Alright, ending this now. I'm just a patient.

My Neurologist Is So Headache Inducing, He Gave Me A Migraine!

2007-01-16T12:54:00.000-05:00

I know, it sounds like a bad punch line/one-liner but I went to see my neurologist yesterday and it was just maddening. I don't expect every doctor I have to commit my entire history to memory--I know that's impossible--but this guy doesn't even know who I am! Every time I walk into his office, it's like I'm a new patient! Is it too much to also ask that neurologists out there not have egos the size of their office buildings and personalities the size of the pen point of which they use to write the notes which they obviously don't bother to read? He said some other things that were inaccurate and actually kind of inappropriate but I didn't have the energy to get into it with him. Everything is "under control" so let's just have our 10 minute consult and be done with it, okay?

My head began to hurt the minute I left his office. I went home and it stopped. But then later in the evening, I started to get my regular aura: light sensitivity, nausea and irritability. And my head had started to hurt again. I had taken some ibuprophen a few hours prior but it hadn't worked.

Time to reach for the abortive? In my case, Maxalt/Rizatriptan. The only problem is, it doesn't seem to play well with my current sleepy med, Imovane/Zopliclone. For some reason, I just get the worst sleep ever when I take the two in conjunction! Of course I mentioned this to my neurologist yesterday and he didn't even bother to acknowledge it. I just told him that I also pop an anti-nauseant which is good for the aura symptoms and it also helps with the sleep.

But last night, I still slept like crap, and when I woke up today, I was still feeling very nauseous and dizzy. I have the typical feeling that someone has hit me with a shovel across my neck and shoulders...that's normal after I have a migraine (or don't as for me, the abortives work well and usually catch things before they become full blown.)

I'm still a bit puzzled as to why I still feel so nauseous and dizzy today though. I've been trying to get some more sleep but haven't really been successful. I'm not hungry but that's "normal" for me anyway. I don't feel "sick" in any other way.

Who knows? I'm sure he didn't give me a migraine but it's awfully fun and funny to blame it on him. And awfully ironic that I got one immediately after seeing him.

Ooh, Listen, Listen!

2007-01-14T11:50:00.000-05:00

I could post about something else but I'm still a little wiped out from all the cream (haha!) I did put up a new MP3 that I command you all to listen to (or well, at least read about and decide for yourselves.) But I get so excited about this selection! So go on, give it a go. It's "educational" and "enriching" too! Well maybe not so much for you as me but well...have a look.

*grin*

Did I Drink That Much Cream???

2007-01-13T10:13:00.000-05:00

Note to self: put on glasses when exiting bed to dash for midnight doses of milk.

Sometimes when my stomach gets upset in the middle of the night or I'm in pain or even suffering a GERD attack, I'll go running straight to the fridge for some milk. It's the only thing that seems to "put out the fire," so to speak.

Well, last night there was a bit of tummy upset going on. To complicate things further, I take a Hypnotic (Imovane/Zopiclone) to sleep so depending on when I feel ill and when I wake up, I can be really out of it. Last night, I was really out of it. Quite. Rather stupendously so after I had actually realized what I had done.

So I wasn't even aware of how "sick" I was--which can be typical in a doped up state. There was no GERD, although I had been coughing a bit after this entire episode. However, as has often happened in the past, I simply wake up with an uncontrollable craving for milk. That is the signal to my doped up brain to get it into my digestive tract. I walked into the kitchen, opened up the fridge and grabbed the 1L carton and just started chugging! Ahhh...that was better. It wasn't until after I had emptied it, I had realized what I had done. I had finished all of my partner's cream for her coffee (I drink tea) and not even touched the 2L carton of milk (which is Skim, by the way...)

There must have been well over a cup of cream in the carton. How could I have not known?! Talk about being a zombie! I immediately started drinking some of the milk to somehow try to "erase" what I'd done. What am I, three?

Oh well, at least it was "half and half" cream? Only 11%? Not that I give a shit about eating fatty crap. I can afford that but it's just my stomach! I think I've discovered a new fraternity hazing ritual. I've been to the bathroom twice already this morning and I'm comforting myself with lots of carbonated or "fizzy" water. I'm not lactose intolerant but I sure feel like it today. I feel like I'm going to throw up and I don't normally do that. Maybe I'd better toss some "Gravol" or dimenhydrinate in to the mix. I wish I had something for the pain but that's been ongoing anyway so ah, whatever...

I still can't believe that I did this. As per my last post: meds make you stoopid.

Edit: My partner has been laughing uproariously, loudly and for way too long about this. She simply can not believe that I did not notice the difference between cream and milk. Even while drinking it! And that I drank that much of it. She is trying to get me off this computer and into bed, however. Alas, I should take her advice and lie down.

In The Line Of Fire: Inflicting My Bad Neurochemistry On Unsuspecting Tourists

2007-01-12T22:15:00.000-05:00

Oh those poor, sweet, darling girls from England. I don't think they knew what hit them!

On the way home from work this evening, I was stopped by three young girls who I assume were visiting here. They were looking for a nightclub a mere couple of blocks away (from where we were and my workplace nonetheless) and yet, I could not manage to give them proper directions. I babbled on and on about what the club looked like and how it had several names for differents parts of it and the signs on it and how to sort of get there.

What on earth? I used to know my city like the back of hand, inside out, up and down, backwards and forwards. Conclusion? Meds make you stoopid. I can get lost in a teacup now. And nevermind that I could have provided ample landmarks that I walk past every day (like my own building!) That would have been far too easy.

And riddle me this? Why is it that whenever I meet someone with an accent (and always someone from the UK--England in particular) I start parroting them? I don't mean to. I've since learned through "sensitivity training" that this is completely unacceptable as you are "othering" people. That is to say, you are highlighting their differences and it can be perceived that you are being offensive.

But I don't mean to! It's just some strange thing that my brain does! And I have to put concerted effort toward stopping it and that is very hard to do when you are actually in the midst of trying to have an intelligent, cogent and sometimes rapid-fire conversation!

I used to be very good at dialects and all sorts of accents when I was a child. That's a great skill to hone should one want to pursue a career on the stage or in film. But I don't and didn't.

So apologies you girls, I hope you made you way to the bar and that I didn't sound like some bizarre hybrid Canuck-Londoner!

Addendum: Here's some information that sheds some light on the fact that nonconscious mimicry is entirely "normal!" Take a look.

Doctor Anxiety and "PA"tients

2007-01-11T12:08:00.000-05:00

Why is it that Patient Anonymous becomes so stressed when she has to see doctors these days? No matter who it is I need to visit, first thing in the morning, my pulse quickens, my stomach churns and my brain just seems to lose all focus.

I have a dentist appointment today and I'm just a mess. I don't have a fear of dentists and my dentist is a really nice man. And so are all the hygienists. My original family dentist who I saw since childhood was awesome so I never had any bad experiences.

And I don't have a problem with doctors. I love you! I idolize you! I don't put you on pedestals as I understand that you are all human but I do admire you and have great respect for you. In fact, I am willing to put up with a lot. You might tick me off if we disagree on my treatment or if you screw up but in the goal of working together to make me well, I'll persevere. Believe me, one specialist almost drove me to litigation (not against him) for making a "boo boo" but once he realized how badly he'd messed up, he did try to remedy the situation. It was too late, however. Still, did I take it out on him? No. It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. He would have gotten away with a slap on the wrist at worst. Still, I suffered greatly so maybe that's one reason I'm a little nervous.

I've had some other bad experiences.

I had no physician when I was in university so I went to the first person I could see in the clinic there when I fell ill with some infection. He invited me to his private practice. My Bipolar Disorder was in its infancy and not yet diagnosed so I was just beginning to act out in many ways, one of which was hypersexuality. This did not bode well with him, it seems. It did not make sense to him that a self-proclaimed "lesbian" would suddenly need "the morning after pill" or emergency contraception in a flaming panic one day. I was never treated the same after.

I once went to an OB/GYN many years ago for recurrent UTI infections. When he examined me, he tapped my clitoris a few times and asked, "Can you feel that?" I was stunned. That had never happened before. I didn't know what to say or do so I simply answered, "Yes."

I have since learned that this is not part of a standard pelvic examination. I don't think it's part of a "non-standard" pelvic examination! Someone, please correct me if I am wrong. Then we moved forward with catheterization for output flow and I screamed! That was probably the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life. I felt really bad for the other women awaiting any procedures after me. He also prescribed me a little too much Valium/Diazepam along with my antibiotics. I was a little wary of OB/GYNs after that.

And then there are some of the problems that I've experienced with Endoscopies that I blogged about here. Thankfully my new Gastroenterologist has assured me that he can knock me out with a general for any procedures he needs to do from this point forward.

Finally, I managed to escape the clutches of a very unhealthy relationship with my Family Practitioner that I had been seeing for years. I wrote about it here. It also talks a little bit about my fear of doctors as "authority figures." But not much. Just that I have that fear; I really don't know why.

So maybe I've answered my own question here? I'm not really sure. I've finally found a new Family Practitioner but the relationship is still new and I'm still being lined up with a lot of new specialists so it's all rather daunting. I've worked on this in therapy but I still haven't managed to conquer my fear and anxiety over "dealing" with physicians. I know that they are relationships that I will always need to have, however. I don't need to be treated with "kid gloves" per se but I do need, I guess, certain types of doctors that will be kind, caring, patient, intelligent, careful, willing to work collaboratively and treat me with respect. Is that a lot to ask?

Some Additions To My Last Post: Turn On, Tune In, DROP OUT!

2007-01-10T12:25:00.000-05:00

I forgot to mention some things in my last post. Yes, score another point for absent-mindedness.

The chronic underachiever can overachieve, albeit perhaps sporadically? I don't know if I was slightly hypomanic or if I simply wanted to do well but seeing as I did end up in the hospital for psychiatric reasons after the Statistics class post Anatomy and Physiology, I guess it could be 50/50. Anyway, I did a couple of things that I find particularly humourous while taking the A&P course. You may or may not agree.

First, I created a "study guide" that I shared with a couple of women in the class that became friends. They took one look at it and were shocked. They told me I would have no problem with the course. It was pages and pages long in an Excel document of all the terms that we had learned with definitions, mnemonics, cross-references to applicable diagrams/appendices in our two inch text book/additional material plus some other pages for more complicated subjects/systems of the body that were a little trickier to learn.

Second, we had a group assignment that was worth 10% of our mark. For some reason, one member of our group really wanted to do Huntington's Disease. Since it had something to do with the brain, I was happy. That was all I wanted--just something neuro related. Since I had the best grasp of that, everyone "volunteered" me for that portion. So I set about my research (outside of our basic textbook, of course) and began mapping how Huntington's affects the brain.

I was a little nervous because I hate group assignments. I'm not a control freak and it's not that I don't like working with people but I don't like having my marks in the hands of others. So one night, I sat in a bar, downed a few pints and roughly sketched out my pictue of the brain with a pen on a sheet of looseleaf. I had all the anatomy down and all the neurotransmitters with proper voltage channels etc... I'm no artist so it really looked like shit but it was all there. I took it in to my next class to show my professor just to make sure I was on the right track.

Now my professor knew about me being bipolar (the seizures and ADD hadn't been diagnosed yet.) I don't know why I had told her. I guess because Patient Anonymous has a weakness for attractive, intelligent women with Doctorate Degrees. I know, awful, isn't it? Also, I speak freely about who I am and I find how the brain works interesting and how my brain works interesting and in the context of what we were studying, well I guess I just thought she would be interested too haha. Maybe I was hypomanic...shades of grandiose thinking anyone?

Nonetheless, she was and we had great discussions about it and pretty much anything and everything else in the course. She really was an excellent professor. But when I showed her my drawing she was somewhat taken aback. She told me that it was "a bit much" and at the level of a 2nd or 3rd year Neuroanatomy course. She just looked at me and said quietly, "So smart..." And then told me that I really needn't put that much work into the project. I took it as a complement but was kind of confused by the work I had done. Was it really too much?

So I prepared a much simpler drawing, condensed a much shorter speech (part of the project) and answered the random questions that were posed (also part of the project) and scored 100%.

And as far as nursing goes, I wanted to work in palliative care.

Turn On, Tune In, DROP OUT!

2007-01-09T13:58:00.000-05:00

I was a little too young for Leary and granted, he didn't mean the last part literally but I have "dropped out" or left university level education a total of three times. How crazy is that?

No really. How "crazy" is that? In retrospect, I have to wonder just what my "problem" is-- psychologically and neurologically speaking in terms of my diagnoses.

The first time was fresh out of high school and I just couldn't deal with it. I had struggled during my final year to bring my average up to just barely an "A" after completely disintegrating a few years earlier. After always being at the top of my class, my grades had plummeted in my early years of high school and it was devastating. But I was determined to go to university because I knew that I was smart and that was just "what you did" after high school.

So off I went, terrified. I made no friends, hated the communal bathrooms and the cafeteria that served barely edible food. What to study? Hell if I knew?! I would stare vacantly at the course calendar and try to just pick something, anything. I finally did and in that day, with no advanced technology, you had to stand in long lineups, hoping that by the time you got to the front of the queue the course wouldn't be full. If so, you'd have fo race off to your second or third or fourth choice and try for that. I couldn't bear it. I even got my first and only bee sting while there signing up for those courses! I lasted a month. I couldn't concentrate, longed for home. I quit.

I worked for a year and saved some money, not giving up but trying to figure out another path. I knew I couldn't stay working in a retail job for the rest of my life. I was still determined to obtain a degree. But in what, I still had no clue. I was sorely in need of some guidance but there was no one to give it.

Attempt number two brought me to a satellite campus of a very large university and I liked it. In fact, I thrived. You want to know why? My little friend Bipolar Disorder had come to greet me! It's amazing how well one can do in school with the average(?) amount of effort when hypomanic. For the first time in a long time (since childhood!) I was getting A+'s as final marks! I even went to a couple of my final exams (not the A+ ones) drunk and in one case, it improved my final mark! In the other, I will assume I just stayed the same. No harm, no foul? Uh huh.

I was taking a rather eclectic mix of courses. Since I'd never fared well in sciences as a kid (that came a bit later?) I stuck with "Liberal Arts" or "Humanities" and my degree program was kind of a "build your own" with very few mandatory courses and a lot of electives. It was fun. But it lacked direction and I soon became "bored." In fine Bipolar/ADD fashion I dropped out yet again and decided that I wanted "real world" experience and that would come through working full time where I had been currently holding down part time employment. Not to mention (or maybe this was just further justifcation I used for my decision) the economy was shifting here and soon the workplace would be flooded with so many undergraduates with "useless" degrees such as mine. 'What was the point?' I thought. May as well get out now and ensure that job.

Well, "that job" didn't exactly pan out as I thought. I never thought I'd stay there forever but it actually turned out rather badly for me. It could be a whole other post but let's just say that I was basically "let go" for being "mentally ill." Even though they didn't use that as cause, everyone knew it was the real reason.

So on to attempt number three. A few years ago, I decided that it was time for a change. Yes, I wanted to go back to school and get my nursing degree. Some very kind (but deluded?) people actually suggested that I pursue a degree in medicine. I thanked them for their confidence in me but the thought of me actually being a doctor scares the hell out of me. My alma mater has a B.Sc.N program where they would accept all of my prior courses for credit. All I needed was a first year Anatomy and Physiology and a half course in Statistics to continue to study there. Fair enough.

The A&P was fabulous. A- final mark. The Statistics? I bombed. I don't even know my final mark. It was so bad that my first exam was about a 47% and I just kept dropping from there. It was a really fast and condensed summer course too and I worked really hard, had a friend who has a Masters Degree in Science tutor me but still, I just tanked. And with that, drop out number three...and a trip to the psych ward. I'm not kidding.

I'm intelligent, smart? My comprehension is excellent (well, except perhaps for Mathematics) but I can pretty much pick up most other things if I try hard enough (well, that Chemistry gets me too and I've never taken a Physics course in my life.) However my recall is poor. Hence the riotous laughter at being a doctor. Can you see me with the open textbook and/or laptop looking up surgical procedures as I'm going along in the operating room? Or heaven forbid, fucking up on scripts and killing someone--or any other number of ways I could kill someone! Absent-minded Professor is more like it and well, yes, perhaps a career an The Hallowed Halls of Academia may have suited me.

So this just sort of falls in line with some of the other ADD related items that I need to speak to my new psychiatrist about. Lack of focus and impulsive decision making, not feeling happy in career choices, wanting several career choices (even though nursing was the only path I actively pursued, there have been other things I've wanted to be but I've never done anything about), feeling like I should be further ahead in life...I could go on and on but those are some things that are directly related to this post anyway.

I've done the "checklists" and the self-reporting scales. Even though they don't provide you with a diagnosis proper they can give you a pretty good picture.

Message To Suicidal Searcher?

2007-01-07T21:32:00.000-05:00

I just looked at my stats and someone typed in "will 3 imovane 7.5mg kill you"

That brought them to this blog. Nowhere did I ever write this or anything about suicide and Imovane. Search engines are funny and pick up all sorts of things that are unconnected.

The answer is "highly doubtful." Nonetheless, don't fuck with your meds! Take them as prescribed. If you're not doing well on them, discuss it with your physician. It can actually be more difficult to overdose on medication than you think and you can do more damage to your body in the long run.

To the person who searched this, if you do come back to read this blog and you are feeling suicidal, please get help. Talk to someone, anyone. Things can and will get better. Trust me on that.

Therapy Is Hard Work

2007-01-06T13:00:00.000-05:00

For both participants.

I actually thought I wanted to become a therapist when I was younger. If you can believe it, I was reading university psych textbooks when I was about nine or 10, in vain attempt, trying to learn how to "fix" my mother. I was always told that she was Schizophrenic but now that I am older, that diagnosis doesn't really fit. Nonetheless, I continued to read about various disorders. The texts were old and "Manic Depression" didn't zero in on the type of behaviour that she exhibited, at least in my young mind.

I later learned about the phenomenon of "burn out" in the profession and as I soon experienced my own early symptoms of depression I realized that this profession could not be for me (note: this is sort of hindsight conclusion about my depression, I didn't really know what was wrong with me as a teenager--I just instinctively knew I couldn't be a therapist.) Coupled with that, living with my mother became more and more frightening. I grew to loathe therapists and psychiatrists. Mom couldn't be "fixed" and I knew it. Granted, Mom has never been diagnosed, Dad did little to help her as that would have shattered too much about family secrets and basically, there was too much at stake for him to lose.

I had seen a couple of therapists as a teenager at my father's bidding as he wanted to have me "checked out" and they were awful. One counselled my father to do whatever he wanted regardless of my sister's and my well being and another saw me separately for six months and found me "cured" after that. I felt no different and that it was a total waste of time. Oh yes, there was one other who tried to hypnotize me and one psychiatrist who saw me when I was oh...I can't remember...maybe 12 or 13 as my father was worried about me being ill due to genetic predisposition. I remained cold and distant and stoic through it all.

I am a trauma survivor and it's taken me a very long time to recognize that. To me, "trauma" always meant something extremely violent like sexual or physical abuse, living through or witnessing accidents or war but that is not the case.

About two and a half years ago when things were extremely bad for me I finally "broke down" and agreed to seek counselling with a qualified therapist. It has been good, it has been challenging and it is far from over.

One of the most difficult things for me is that I have virtually no memory of my childhood. I have some more of my adolesence but things only start to clear up during my adult years. And even a lot of that can be fuzzy. My therapist says that it doesn't matter and I can still heal and get past a lot of what has happened to me. All I know is that things must have been awfully bad for me to have repressed that much.

A good thing I have, an extremely valuable resource, is my older sister. Her memory is in tact. She has provided me with a lot to fill in the gaps. Even though they are her memories and it's still not quite the same, it is still information my therapist and I can work with. In talking with my sister this week, I have found out some more information and in light of what is going on with my family right now, my sister has expressed interest in joining me at a session (although I don't know if we can pack everything in to just one!) I had suggested this last summer but she hadn't gotten back to me so I didn't pry. I am very happy about this but I know it will probably be very difficult. Still, I think it needs to be done in order to keep moving forward.

Therapy may not be for everyone but if you've been through anything troubling in your past or if you are having difficulty in the present, I strongly recommend it. Doubly so if you have any psychiatric diagnosis. It's even more of an added burden then.

I'm not sure when we'll be able to co-ordinate it as my sister lives out of town and it will necessitate her having to travel a fair distance but she's willing so that's all that matters.

Losing It

2007-01-05T15:25:00.000-05:00

I just about posted utter shit on someone's blog (but quickly recovered...) and just made a joke about *wanting* to post something inappropriate.

I just emailed another blogger about something that's been bothering me for a long time--am I being oversensitive? Did I fuck up? Am I an idiot?

Okay...I'm almost crying at my desk...

What the fuck is going on?

I'm almost scared to post this...as all of my (few) readers will probably disappear after they see this. This is supposed to be a respectable and intelligent blog!

Forgive me. I've been posting nothing but crap lately.

------------------------------

Edit: Okay, maybe I'm a bit stressed with some personal stuff. Confession: Self-flagellation of the Psyche is hobby of Patient Anonymous'... She's much harder on herself than she is on others.

Yes, this is the place where I'll let it all hang out. Be forewarned.

Pandemonium At PA's Place Last Night!

2007-01-05T13:50:00.000-05:00

So my iPod died on the way home last night. It just froze. Then the scroll wheel and buttons stopped working and that was that. When I got home, I tried charging it, iTunes wouldn't recognize it. Bugger! The things's not even a year old!

So I start looking for the receipt as I figured it would need to go back for warranty repairs or who knows what. I'm positive I know where it is--either in the box or with the dumb software installation CD. Nope.

Panic.

I start racing around looking in cupboards, on shelves, in drawers. I'm tearing apart everything and I still can't find it! I knew I didn't throw it out as I know technology is only as good as the humans who make it. So as I'm rifling through more items, I knock over this storage thing that looks vaguely like a tackle box that's completely filled with pens, office junk and other garbage and LOTS of change.

CRASH!

The cat tears from the room, the air turns a virtual rainbow of colours from the shrieks of profanity spewing from my mouth. My partner was in the kitchen cooking dinner (where else would she be haha) and wonders what all the commotion is about.

There's little PA on the floor, the room practically torn to shreds. My partner asks me once again, "Did I check here, there, everywhere?" Of course I did. I reach again for the iPod's original packaging (how big is the box, people!) and guess what I find.

I slowly start to put everything back in order including that damn "tackle box" thing, placing all the coin back into their little divided areas by denomination.

Welcome to the wonderful world of ADD. And klutziness (courtesy of anticonvulsants.)

On the upside, speaking to one of my managers about the iPod today, there is a way to reboot them if they freeze up/crap out etc... Hold down the "Select" and "Menu" buttons together for about 15 seconds and it should work. I'll give that a go tonight before surrendering it to service.

For Those Of You Keeping Score...

2007-01-04T17:20:00.000-05:00

Well, back from a therapy appointment, the bosses have left and I can not do any more work for the day. My head is going to explode.

So, if anyone's been following, no word from my Dad at all over Christmas. I came back to zero, zip, zilch, nada in my inbox. No calls were made. Nothing.

Does this mean we are no longer speaking? Patient Anonymous is extremely confused. She doesn't even know if she's disappointed. She's not miffed...maybe not even baffled anymore?

*sigh*

So what would be the score, then?

PA: 0
Dad: 1398 (possible number of times he's proven himself to be unreliable, self-absorbed, stupid, shallow, irresponsible, thoughtless and yes, I guess, a disappointment?)

I don't know what to do. Contacting him (yes, that would necessitate the child parenting the parent yet again...) would only result in weak, empty apologies and promises to "do better" and "try harder" in the future. Yes, that's been heard before. A very empty ringing quality. Kind of tinny and it doesn't really resonate or even echo.

I'll have to think more about this (oh, great...looking forward to it!) and try to figure out what the hell to do.

And speaking of "keeping score," I had a dream this morning that I was a hockey player. This is quite amusing because I can't skate to save my life! Well, I can skate (sort of) but I can't stop. I do actually own a pair of hockey skates (figure skates--no way!) but I just can't master the "swish." I can't make my ankles and knees bend properly on such a slippery surface. I can do the "T-Stop" sort of thing and kind of turn around and manage to not fall. I usually just crash into the boards though--that does it.

It's also funny because if you could see little Patient Anonymous loaded down with all of the equipment, she'd actually be prostrate on the ice with her heart racing at about 200bpm (okay, maybe I wouldn't be that bad...)

This of course was all the more ridiculous in the dream because I was in the position of goaltender. You might think it wouldn't matter as you don't have to "skate much" as goalie but actually, you need to be a very good skater. And you need to have really strong legs for those pads!

I was playing in a charity women's tournament and our coach was Sylvain Lefebvre. There was some woman who I was in trouble with because I didn't have a "temporary NHL card" (whatever the hell that was supposed to be!) and I was trying to explain the situation in my very pathetic French to Sylvain as this woman could neither speak to him nor get his name right, pronounce it etc...

Then I woke up.

I don't take a lot of stock in "dream interpretation." They're just random thoughts bouncing around while we sleep. A lot of the time when I do manage to remember my dreams (very rarely) I can usually figure out why I was dreaming about the subject matter. This one has me completely stumped. Well, maybe not completely but it's a really bizarre one.

Recurring dreams are more worth paying attention to but I haven't had any of those since I was very young.

This Is Why I Sometimes Don't Like To Socialize...

2007-01-03T15:23:00.000-05:00

So last night I bid adieu to my Canadian expat friend before he heads "home" to London, England. Our party was "hi-jacked" by a mutual acqauintance who brought along someone I had never met. My friend and another friend of ours had met up earlier for a few drinks before dinner and a couple of more people showed up after work. It was an odd sort of coming and going with peoples' different schedules. I stayed out longer than I wanted and drank too much.

Anyway, during what I assumed would be a civilized dinner in a restaurant, a bit of hell broke loose.

We were talking about something trivial, music of our younger days, something to do with DJs and dance music and I had a rather strange tale about meeting a local DJ who still continues to broadcast a weekly show that we all grew up with. So I launched into my rather zany tale (it was a story that was fuelled by hypomania years ago) but I kept being interrupted by the server, by other people talking and laughing so I had to keep repeating myself, starting over. Something that well, just happens with a rather long story with someone who has ADD who has been drinking.

Well, doesn't this woman, who I have never met before, launch a complete verbal assault all over me about how something must be wrong with all of us because we have no lives, are we all a bunch of "club kids" and do I still "do this?!" I calmly explain to her (had she even been listening) that this was something that happened years ago and that I was bipolar so no, I would not do this now but I did it then...

She cut me off and said that my story had no point and that I was just rambling on and kept repeating myself and...and...

So, I turned and asked her if I was boring her. She said no, that I wasn't but I just had no point.

Well, that's interesting because I never got to finish before I was so rudely interrupted. I told her that I would just save her the time of listening just in case I was boring her and end my story now. I quietly went back to eating my dinner and did not say another word.

Everyone was a little mortified and rather shocked. I have not been yelled at or bullied in such a manner since I was a teenager or younger. On my planet, you listen politely even if someone is boring the shit out of you, you don't scream and berate or insult them. Or even if you do, if they call you on it, ask you if you are bored to tears then at least have the guts to answer honestly.

I'm still angry and hurt and feeling the after effects of the alcohol so life is not good at all in PA Land today.

My friend who is flying out tomorrow called to apologize today. That was sweet but it's not his fault. I said to him that the old PA might have just let the person run roughshod all over her but the new PA won't be treated like that anymore.

If life gives you lemons, throw them back at the fucker who gave them to you in the first place. Hard.

I still just want to burst into tears right now though.

High Functioning vs. Low Functioning...What's The Scale?

2007-01-02T10:28:00.000-05:00

So going back to this post near the end, I questioned just how functional I really was. A lot of times, you hear the terms "High Functioning" or "Low Functioning" when professionals (or even lay people) refer to those with psychiatric or neurological disorders. Most commonly, it is heard in the realm of discussion of "Spectrum Disorders" such as Autism Spectrum Disorder or I would even go further to say "Bipolar Spectrum Disorder" even though it is not commonly referred to as such. But since it has been classified so finely (cough, cough) by the DSM-IV and the ICD into little boxes, I would think that "obviously" shows a spectrum of behaviour. What a lot of professionals need to bear in mind, however is that, due to the nature of these disorders being part of a spectrum, those beholden to them (I don't want to call us "sufferers"...let's not make us look more weak and pitiful, thank you) will invariably end up shifting throughout the very spectrum of the behaviour defined.

Is that clear? I hope so. Put it this way, if you're "labelled" BPI, that doesn't mean that you will never experience a mixed state or an extended period of depression lasting for months on end or that your cycling patterns won't change and you won't end up an ultradian cycler--the type that I ended up being. I was diagnosed BPII which apparently is "incapable" of cycling as fast as ultradian and I still carry the BPII diagnosis/label but guess what? As the years went by, I was cycling so fast that I was manically jibber-jabbering away and running around my apartment like I was on speed for 15 minutes and then suicidally in tears with no energy about 15 minutes later. Supposedly if you're BPII, that can not happen. Well, tell my brain that.

It's the same thing with Autism. So, if a child is diagnosed at the ripe old age of two or three with Autism, they receive therapy and then perhaps the diagnosis changes to PDD-NOS, are they no longer autistic? Well, that might depend on if you're applying for funding to continue therapy for your child (and that's a whole other issue...) And what about Asperger's Syndrome? There are people that are still debating whether or not that's part of the "higher functioning" part of the Spectrum or another separate disorder all it's own.

Okay, so the "functionality" thing. I understand that we all have "to classify things" in order to make sense of our existence and all of that sort of thing. But I find it difficult to apply the high/low functionality label to something that can be constantly in flux. Things can trigger all of us with psych/neuro disorders. I mean, what about "medium functioning?" I've never heard of that. I kind of think we all might be somewhere around there because half the time, no one knows just how they're going to be from one day to the next! And it can't just be based upon IQ, how we get around in the world, ability to hold jobs etc...is it really that simple? Because again, all of those things aren't necessarily static.

Am I over thinking this? Is the label whore getting tired of being labelled?

I would be considered "high functioning." But compared to what? I am gainfully employed. Okay, I get up every day and I go to work. I am intelligent? What else? Beyond that, there are cracks in my exterior. You may not see them but they are there. Luckily, I work in a very lax environment so I have the luxury of showing up in a baseball cap and jeans! That works very well when I don't feel like showering. Which happens frequently. I know, that sounds awful, doesn't it!? Feel free to gasp aloud. So how functional is that? Ooh...personal hygiene is suffering! Look out...that's a sign!

On the weekends, I spend a gross amount of time in bed (or on the couch.) Not sleeping because we all know how that situation is. No, I just need to rest and don't feel like doing much. My job isn't stressful but after a week of working I'm drained. Uh oh...maybe she's not so "high functioning...?"

I'm not really a social person. Well, I *can* be but I need some encouragement. Once I get into the groove I can do it but you generally have to get the cattle prod out (to get me off the couch, remember?) Did all that hypomanic euphoria (and subsequent disappearance thereof) permanently clip my social butterfly wings? I just don't have the energy anymore. Hmmm...the functionality meter is dipping...

What makes me social? Booze! If there's one thing that will give me a taste of the "good ol' days" it's a drink of anything alcoholic. But it's the Sword of Damocles, that's for sure--in a lot of ways. It's not good for my head, it's not good for my relationship...it's just not good at all. Well, it is but it has a price. So I try and keep that at a minimum. I have a long self-medication history so it's a slippery slope. Okay...so functionality's a coin-toss with this one. Just my cross to bear...

So in the end, I still don't know how "functional" I am. But I do know one thing. With Bipolar and pretty much all of the other disorders out there where triggers can make them worse, you can go from functioning quite well to being barely able to take care of yourself at all in no time flat. Been there, lived through it.

And speaking of functionality, I have to go back to work tomorrow. Vacation's over! I may be a bit absent from blogging as I am going to be swamped. But you never know...I might be able to fit it in. Depends how "high functioning" I am...

Happy New Year (Again...)

2007-01-01T15:11:00.000-05:00

So last night was okay. We went over to some friends' and had dinner and played Trivial Pursuit. We started with the "90's Edition" and then for a real laugh went way back in time to the original "Genus I." My partner made a very good comment that because so much has changed over time, some of the answers were actually wrong (i.e. there is no USSR, the collapse of Berlin Wall etc...) but perhaps we were over thinking things... Anyway, we played in partnered teams just to move things along and did just fine. I've played that game since it first came out and I was a kid. It's great and because I love all things trivia it's always fun.

They have a sweet old(er) dog as well so I spent a fair amount of time curled up on the couch cuddling with him. He's not that old but he has Cushing's Syndrome so our friends are beginning to wonder just how much more doggie life he has in him left(?) We're not sure but he still gets around.

I tried to find a suitable picture of a French Brittany as that is his breed but I couldn't. If you don't know (as I am terrible with breeds of animals and really, all types of flora and fauna!) think something like a cross between border collie markings (only with spots!) and sort of spaniel-like features around the face and ears.

So basically that was about it. We watched pathetic entertainment on television and wondered why on earth anyone would want to go to Times Square or any other large, packed to the gills Metropolitan Centre or even pseudo/other Metropolitan Centres as we watched bizarre regional coverage and just shook our heads at the choice of "performers" on stage. We truly are a world embarrassment. Oh Canada, indeed!

And I seem to remember more coverage of cities around the world and all of that--speaking of being an embarrassment and who puts on a better show. Not that it's a competition but it is kind of funny to just watch all of the ridiculous spectacle. I only caught a glimpse of London. I know it was a big deal for the "Millennium." Haha...Y2K...all the computers crashing and all of that...everyone was so scared!

Anyway, it really doesn't matter. It's just another year. Sorry, don't mean to rain on the parade but whoop-de-doo. Just more challenges ahead...but...well, maybe some good stuff too. That would be nice.

Quick Update

2007-01-01T01:40:00.000-05:00

I decided to scrap meebome and go with a chatterbox. I don't know if I really like the aesthetic of it and its got a dumb link to random silly shit at the bottom that pisses me off. I can't seem to get rid of it but the meebome wouldn't handle offline messages so that didn't seem suitable. Hmmm.

This might be a permanent or temporary messaging interface but for now, it's getting late and I'm too tired to keep futzing around.

Oh, Happy New Year. It's after midnight here. I'll probably blog about my evening tomorrow (or I guess that would be today!)--and no, I didn't spend the night messing around on the computer haha.

My New Year's Resolution Early--DJ Patient Anonymous Spins For You!

2006-12-31T16:40:00.000-05:00

I'm actually not one for resolutions. I feel that if you want to accomplish something--then you just do it; it's as simple as that. And because I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted post about (a few ideas rolling around but not enough motivation to pick one and do it justice?) I decided to work on making this blog a bit more *fun.*

I had been wanting to add a Flash MP3 player for a while but I couldn't find a decent free one that I liked (that worked.) And yes, I want to host my own music. I've seen some other folks out there playing some other "canned" stuff that is hosted by the MP3 player that you get for free from the site but that's just no fun. I want to be the DJ!

Yes, you would invariably find me doing that at parties all through high school (with the host's permission of course!) It's not that I wasn't social (or downright anti-social haha!) I tended more toward the shy and thoughtful type but chances are that there probably was something wrong when everyone kept asking me about a dozen or more times throughout the evening. So, if I couldn't find anyone to talk to, I figured I might as well make myself useful as everyone loved music at parties and I sure did too. So I'd spin the tunes and that would keep me occupied while I would just sit and "observe."

So after spending most of the afternoon trying to download this and that with no positive result, I went the ultra "high-tech, low-tech" route with some very simple javascript code (like I even know what I'm talking about!!!) and QuickTime. It's actually a google player so at least it'll work with Blogger (yes, I am still laughing...) And the bonus is that I can still type in text so you, dear reader, can get my "brilliant" commentary along with the song. I know, you are thrilled.

And of course, you do realize that this is for my sheer indulgence and your horror, amusement, entertainment and perhaps education.

I also added a meebome widget in case anyone wants to leave a message or post catty remarks about the music (or anything else.) Also maybe a good idea since Blogger can be so flaky. A good tool too if you're too busy or maybe a little shy about sending me an email. They're always welcome as well, however!

Oh yes, one more thing. The DJ does take requests *grin*

Am I Cycling, Is it The Season Or Both?

2006-12-27T11:41:00.000-05:00

This is going to be a messy post. Partially because I haven't had any caffeine yet...wait, better go rectify that for you, readers...hang on:

...pause...

Okay, caffeine, check. Nicotine, check. Patient Anonymous tries to be stimulated when she writes posts in order to be understandable when she writes. Patient Anonymous also tends to speak in the third person sometimes, especially when she can not access her emotions. You see, Patient Anonymous lives mostly in her head and deals with things logically. She has a hard time finding her feelings and knowing where they live. Most people say "the heart" but that is an organ that pumps and supplies blood to all the other organs in the body. Patient Anonymous does not know where feelings and emotions lie.

All right, let's just get on with it.

After years of living with Bipolar, I've learned to become acutely aware of my cycling patterns. I've become, almost hypervigilant of mood changes--well, most of the time. But since I've been fairly stable for a while, it's difficult to know if a minor change is indicative of "cycling" or just a natural change in mood.

Has Christmas been a "trigger?"

For the past few days I've been feeling down and irritable. And anxious too. It's more than just the regular "busy-ness" of the season for really, I haven't been that busy. Things have slowed down considerably.

It's my family.

Let's start with Mom. I received a Christmas card a few days prior to Christmas Day. Before that, no news of anything. My grandmother died in the fall so I didn't know if we would be getting together. I waited for some sort of invitation, no call. That was fine as Christmas has never been a pleasant time for me. No good memories as a child. It was always full of fighting between my parents (they divorced when I was 14) and we were always late (by hours sometimes) for any other family gathering due to my Mom never being able to get anywhere on time. She's habitually doing things that can always wait until another time and checking nervously if the stove is off etc...

So I called Mom on Christmas Day just to say hello and wish her a Merry Christmas. It was odd. It was like, if I didn't call her the day would not have even existed. She said she had a couple of presents for my partner and I and would we like to come by, maybe some time next week(?) I said we would find a date and get back to her. There are still things to sort out with my grandmother's estate so perhaps we could wait until then. That is what we agreed upon so we will get together...whenever?

My Dad. This is bothering me more. He was living in another province for several years. Our relationship has dwindled to pretty much nothing now and I don't understand why. I have some ideas like he's an immature asshole and perhaps more but I am still left confused and wondering. We used to be very close but more like "buddies"--not like a father and daughter. Still, he's the only "Dad" I've ever known.

Anyway, he moved back to my/our home province in October and has not contacted me--at least not directly. He has sent some mass emails where I have been included but he has not bothered to send anything to me personally or call. Why? Or why not should be the better question. And no Christmas invitations or wishes from anyone on his side of the family either (my Mom is an only child so no no extended family there.)

I debated checking my work email account from home while I am on vacation to see if anything is there but a) I am on vacation and b) I doubt that there is anything is there.

So is this merely the "Christmas Blues" or has my family (yet again) thrown me into a (mini) Bipolar tailspin. Maybe both? At any rate, my meds are holding and I'm not in any danger or feeling like doing anything "stupid."

I discussed some of the issues about my father with my therapist last week. I can't go and see her this week so I guess what I'm going through now will have to wait a bit. We talked about the idea of clients "divorcing parents." Hmmm.

Well, it's not something I need to decide right away but I'm not happy with him.

Did I Hear That Right?

2006-12-25T10:54:00.000-05:00

I forgot about this. I meant to post about it the other night. I was watching Law and Order (too bad Dr. Deb is on vacation, even though it wasn't SVU--I could have ran over to her blog for a quickie on the topic.) Anyway, I wasn't really paying attention. There was too much going on in the house and it was late...anyway, my ears pricked up when I heard that a character died while overdosing on Depaquel(sp?). Huh? They said it was an antipsychotic. And just to be sure that I wasn't hallucinating, they repeated the drug name three times during the episode.

Okay. Now I know that certain drugs can be sold around the world under various generic names but Seroquel is fairly new and I don't know if the patent has run out yet for other companies to start producing it under another name other than the generic Quetiapine. So I was thinking, is this some new hybrid between either Depakote or Depakene and Seroquel? Why anyone would want to do that is beyond me. And you thought Zyprexa would pack on the pounds HA! And speaking of Zyprexa (aka Olanzapine,) it's the only antipsychotic that I know of that has been souped up with another med, an SSRI--Prozac (aka Fluoxetine.) That is Symbyax and I'm sure that was years in the making.

I have yet to hear of any plans to combine anticonvulsants with antipsychotics. To me, it doesn't make any sense. Granted, I'm no psychopharmocologist but anticonvulsants are too hit and miss. And although they may be considered mood stabilizers, technically they are not. They only true mood stabilizer as a class of drug is Lithium. The whole point of Symbyax was to assist with the depressive aspects of bipolar. So far in clinical trials (if memory serves,) the best drug in the anticonvulsant class (and what I've heard anecdotally--see, anticonvulsants are a crap shoot when it comes to treating the depression side of bipolar!) is Lamictal. So maybe the drug in the television show should have been called Lamiquel?

That got me thinking, maybe my spelling was off. Maybe it was Depoquel! That got me going down a whole different pathway. Maybe it was a combination of Depo-Provera (birth control) and Seroquel! Now this makes sense (and the victim of death was female...) This just might be marketable. Sometimes those manic episodes do lead to some pretty bad decisions... Hey, with the *new* "Depoquel" you certainly won't have to worry about racing to get the "Morning After Pill!"

Now I googled every spelling variable possible and I can't find anything. If someone in some country somewhere takes this version of an antipsychotic, please let me know. Nothing makes me angrier than misinformation in the media. I don't know if there was some sort of copyright thing going on but if so, then they could have resorted to good old Haldol/Halperidol and leave it at that.

All Shul'd Out

2006-12-24T12:47:00.000-05:00

Still pretty tired. I didn't get nearly enough sleep last night as Mr. King of the Castle (aka our cat)

woke me up this morning like a fuzzy alarm clock right at 0800hrs looking for breakfast. I'm not sure what time I fell asleep. It must have been after 0200hrs? My sleep isn't great, even with the Imovane. It basically keeps me down but I still need ear plugs as I've become a very light sleeper and if the room isn't dark enough, I will require a sleep shade. How glamourous, I know. And no, I don't have satin pyjamas to go with. But once I'm up, I'm up. I may buy an hour or so with my Clobazam, a weak benzo used as a seizure adjunct but because my dose is so low, it doesn't really do much in the way of having any sort of sedating effect.

Anyway, at least I don't have to go anywhere today! The last couple of days were just mad!

So yes, as the topic states, I had my first two, yes, two trips to shul (aka synagogue) on Friday night and Saturday morning respectively. My partner wanted me to go to her family one on Friday night so that my first experience would be a good one. A couple of reasons for this--that I soon found out.

First, her shul was nicer than the one we went to on Saturday morning (haha.) Second, the Friday night services were a lot shorter than the Saturday morning services. Oh my. A lot. We were there for almost three hours. Even my partner was wanting to die. Okay, maybe that's a little extreme but you get the picture. I'm speaking purely euphemistically here and no one really wanted their life to end--just the service.

And it wasn't for the celebration of Hanukkah that we were going. It's not really considered a High Holiday so I was told that the shul wasn't really busy (on Friday night anyway--the Saturday one, we didn't know much about as my partner had never been to that shul.) No, we went as a member of my partner's family was being honoured for their 50th wedding anniversary with something called an "Alia." It means "to rise up" and essentially your are called to read from the Torah. And there was a lunch afterwards.

It was simultaneously interesting and boring. I mean, the majority of it was in Hebrew so I couldn't follow or understand anything. There were books with English translation but the first part of the service was all singing and if you read my prior post, you will know that I don't sing in any religious service, English or not! There was a portion of Torah lesson in English but it was really long on Saturday. Wow. Granted, it's not my first service in another language. I went to a friend's father's funeral who is Coptic Orthodox. That was in Arabic and quite intriguing--in an odd sort of way.

Anyway, it's over now. I probably won't be going back to shul for a while haha.

But the best part is, I scored a couple of kipa's! These are also known as skullcaps, yarmulke's. We had joked with my partner's mother that I had wanted one after participating in so many holidays already (my partner doesn't even wear one, neither does her mother!)...I just like them--I'm silly. Well, in shul's everywhere, they always have "freebies" or "loaners." So if you don't have one, you just take one from this sort of communal box.

Well, after her mother finding out I wanted one, she was even going to go to the expense of having one made with my name embroidered in Hebrew--I mean, the whole nine yards. Yes, we think the woman really does want me to convert. I suppose it could be worse as she couldn't like me at all? Anyway, that plan fell through so now was my chance! (Aside: Ironically I used to have some that I stole from a hospital shul during my first hospitalization but the tales from that are definitely for another day!)

The ones at the first shul were just your "basic black" and simple--nothing special but on the Saturday, after the excruciatingly long service, I found another one, wool in the Sephardic style. They're bigger and sort of "boxier." They look like this:

So, maybe it was kind of bad to take it but hey, after sitting there for that long, I figured I earned it! Not to mention, since I'm half Pakistani, it actually kind of suits me better *grin* Not that my partner's Mom knows anything about that, or my psych/neuro profile...no, we're breaking her in gently. It was bad enough for her to learn that her daughter was actually gay...

Okay, time to put away some groceries and "stuff"...guess I won't be a complete "lady of leisure" today haha.

PA, Signing Off...

2006-12-22T14:26:00.000-05:00

...for now. Like you give a rat's ass. I swear, I've fucking had it with Blogger, computers, whatever the hell is causing all the damn problems. I know, rant, rant and rant some more! Maybe it will make me feel better? Maybe PA is starting to lose it?

I think I need to have some food and lay down for a bit. Or something. We've got a big night ahead and I'm still trying to do stuff around the house. Not that people are coming over--we're going out--but everything still needs to get done around here (because we are going out so much and there's just not enough time.

I'm not feeling social.

Vacationing During the Holidaze

2006-12-22T13:39:00.000-05:00

If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm a little cranky. This is the second day of my vacation and I've been going non-stop from first thing in the morning until into the evening. I mean, I've been busier on vacation than I normally am when I'm working.

That's nuts.

Why Do People Yell At Their Pets?

2006-12-22T13:27:00.000-05:00

So I was walking home from a nearby radiology lab this morning after getting my tummy x-rayed. This woman was walking two Basset Hounds and she was positively screaming at one of them for admittedly, nothing that I could see the poor pup doing wrong. Lady, if you yelled at me like that, I wouldn't listen to you either.

Now, I'll admit that Bassets aren't the smartest set of the canine species. We had one growing up and even though she was an absolute doll, she was dumb. But for goodness sake, don't yell at your pets!

Granted, I've yelled at mine to try and teach them. To get them to stop doing something that they're not supposed to be doing but I don't absolutely shriek like a possessed demon! I do it to get their attention. But just yelling and screaming in an abusive manner? That drives me crazy. And I always follow it up with a little "chat" about behaviour and what's acceptable and what's not. Animals are smart and you do need to train them but yelling uncontrollably (and hitting--DO NOT get me started...) is terrorizing the furry one who should be your best friend.

Is It Blogger Or Me?

2006-12-22T13:17:00.000-05:00

Ah yes, the eternal question. I'm at home now (so I don't have the super duper fancy computing abilities of my workplace) and I also installed (well reinstalled) the newer version of Firefox (and yes I am on a PC)

*hangs head*--I want a Mac...

but oh, holy hell(!) I am again not able or barely able to connect with anything (including my own blog), replete with broken images, links, error messages...if I am persistent, things seem to work eventually but it only appears to be with blogs. And not only with Blogger blogs; it seems WordPress blogs aren't accessible either. By any route. Manually typing urls, search engines...

All other websites seem fine.

Bah.

It's the same with IE. Up, down, up down.

Piss off.

Something Different: Microposting!

2006-12-22T13:14:00.000-05:00

Okay, because my posts have been really long (well, not really long) and sort of all over, I'm going to try something new today. Just writing short little posts about individual subjects. You can tell me if that's any more annoying than trying to keep track of my posts that seem to veer hither and yon.

How Do You Solve A Problem Like Patient Anonymous...?

2006-12-20T15:11:00.000-05:00

...How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? How do you find a word that means Patient Anonymous? A flibbertigibbet! A will-o'-the wisp! A clown!

So I've been noticing that I've been rambling a bit during my posts. Forgive me. I'm really wondering if getting some stims will help. Afraid I won't know the answer to that one for a while.

And more imminently, How do you solve a problem like blogger?! I swear, since they've supposedly axed beta and they're migrating people over to who knows what (I haven't managed to see a difference although they say they're making whatever changes to "certain" people slowly...guess I'm a peon) things are an absolute disaster today. Worse than whenever it was a few days ago. I can't even view peoples blogs properly! So who knows if you'll even be able to read this let alone comment haha!

Now where were we...yes, The Sound of Music. They always play it this time of year even though it has nothing to do with Christmas. I've never understood that. But I do love the word "flibbertigibbbet!" And I do love Julie Andrews too. Actually, I think I had a crush on her as a little girl. Yes, I am willing to publicly embarrass myself on my own blog. I also had crushes on Olivia Newton-John and Lindsay Wagner (The Bionic Woman!) And of course, this was way before I knew anything about my sexuality--I was just a little girl (not that little girls don't know their sexual preferences, I just didn't.) Dear me, I was practically asexual until the bipolar hit.

As I got a little older, I developed crushes on "fey" boys. Gee, if that wasn't a clue? When I was 17, a boy I was dating broke up with me on Christmas Eve because he "thought he was gay." Of course he was. Oh the irony. I caught up with him later on in my 20s after I had come out and suggested getting together for a drink. He didn't seem so enthusiastic.

So I got to thinking about attractiveness and who I've found "attractive" or appealing over the years and vice versa. I mean, I am by no means beautiful. Somewhere between "cute" and "pretty," perhaps but by "society's standards...?" (thank you society for giving us women such a fucked up lens by which to define ourselves...) I don't know. I just think of myself as painfully average *sigh* I look in the mirror though and think, Would I pick myself up in a bar? Nah, don't think so!

For a while, many people have thought that facial or bilateral symmetry was the key to attraction. The press really took off with it and all sorts of "documentaries" were made, stories written. I recall seeing them and sort of fell into the trap? But in thinking about all of it today, it made me wonder. It may not be so "simple" as the geometrical designations of the infamous mask that can be applied to one's face to actually measure the symmetry.

Oooh. Looks spooky, huh?

But that's not all that's spooky. Take a look at this site. It's kind of annyoying so I apologize for that but even in it's "annonying-ness" it just further demonstrates how scary it is and again, how everyone really took to this whole bilateral symmetry thing. This place made a business out of it. Yikes. Now I am not an advocate of plastic surgery but to take the "leap" of science and use it for your business to remodel people's faces and then to stuff your pockets after all is said and done with the profits?

Here we have some interesting quoted studies about some work done re: bilateral symmetry and how it may not matter much at all--at least in terms of attractiveness. But wait there's more! Check out the stuff on how women recognize faces during various phases of their menstrual cycle (both on and off the birth control pill) and some controversial stuff on racial facial (hey that rhymes ha!) recognition.

If there's one thing that I've learned over the years it's simply this: a good looking face (or whatever else suits your fancy) won't help you at all over the years if you can't communicate and don't have at least a few core things in common with the person you ultimately end up with. Looks fade over the years as do a lot of other things that go along with "the physical"...it's the mental that sustains the relationship.

Let the Gastro Gauntlet Begin...Happy Hanukkah!

2006-12-18T13:59:00.000-05:00

So happy Hanukkah to all my Jewish (and non-Jewish) readers. I'm not Jewish but my partner is so hey, you can celebrate too--I do! I've joined in on all the festivities since we've been together. I even read Hebrew at Pesach (aka Passover) but off the page (hey, I'm not that good.) I realize that I'm a couple of days late--the eight day "Festival of Lights" kicked off Saturday but I figure, since I've got eight days, I can post this now.

We inadvertently began Hanukkah by going to see Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. Kind of ironic, don't you think? We didn't do it on purpose; we just hadn't gotten around to seeing it. Oh boy, Sacha Baron Cohen is nuts. There was one scene where I was almost rolling in the aisles and suffering from oxygen deprivation as I was laughing so hard--and loudly. If you haven't seen the movie, I won't tell you which part it was but if you have, go ahead and take a guess. I'll give you a hint: it had nothing to do with any of the "anti-semitic" comments.

Anyway, we've been busy--and will be busier. My partner's birthday also falls around this time of year...well, today actually so there's that to contend with also.

So far no news about celebrating Christmas with anyone from my side of the family. I can hear the crickets chirping... Just as well...I'm growing increasingly unhappy with Dad's side and well, Mom...that's difficult. My sister doesn't celebrate at all...she's a Jehovah's Witness. She's got the right idea!

But all the food! With the current condition of my stomach it's just awful. I eat anyway because I can't figure out any triggers and it's not like Jews are the only ones who put on big spreads this time of year. Actually, just about any ethno-religio-cultural group will always celebrate with food. It just so happens that right now it's Hanukkah time!

So being Jewish by osmosis isn't bad, actually. I kind of enjoy it. I won't be taking any conversion classes any time soon (much to my partner's mother's chagrin...) but I wouldn't convert to any religion. I carried the flag of agnosticism for many years but I became frustrated as a "fence sitter" and my rational mind took over so I proclaimed myself an athiest. I still respect peoples' choice to practice religion but I see it as a cultural construct, treat it as such and appreciate it on that basis. I have no problem entering a place of worship and even practicing in certain rituals but I will draw the line at praying and I do not sing hymns. I do enjoy listening to sacred music very much though. That's more of an appreciation of the art form, however.

Fundamentalists get my blood boiling a little. I'm a "live and let live" kind of person as I hope you can sort of gather from above. Don't try and "convert" me! And don't get your panties in a bunch just because I'm (by your definition) an evil non-believer! Sheesh. I'm not some "fundamentalist athiest" who runs around trying to "non-convert" people! It's not like I preach that all religion is evil--although sometimes I may take issue with organized religion. A lot of people run around and misquote Marx saying "Religion is the opiate of the masses!" but I won't. I think faith is good, faith is fine. If it gets you through the day and makes you a better person, that's great! But yes, it's probably more the institutions and hypocrisy within them that I have a problem with.

Okay, welcome to tangent-land with Patient Anonymous! Consider yourself warned. Posts like these may occur frequently.

So anyway, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Tohji-taisai, Happy Yule, Happy Solstice, Happy Joseph Smith's Birthday, Happy Sharaf, Happy Kwanzaa...I think that should just about cover everything? Or maybe not.

Cathy's Story Challenge!

2006-12-15T13:45:00.001-05:00

Well, I read some of the other entries from the last one and wow, there are some great writers out there. Maybe I shouldn't have done that *gulp* but I guess this isn't a competition, right haha. I'm my own worst critic... Ugh. Okay, here's probably the worst of the lot! As I mentioned out there...my fiction needs work.

Oh, and I'll try to get to every else's as soon as possible. Don't feel slighted if I haven't gotten around to posting on your blog about your story yet. Reading can be a bit of a challenge for me (i.e. long posts: *crosses eyes*...mind drifts off...) but I'll do my best to get through every one! I've got vacation time coming up!

Okay, here you are:

He had forgotten how salty it tasted. When he was just a boy, it stung his eyes and made him cry and that too tasted salty but not like this. The water of the sea. It was why he hated the boat, the fish and much of the small East Coast town. It was always in the air, just hanging there it seemed. You couldn’t get it out of your hair, off your clothes, out of your nose. And the dampness! Oh, how it made his bones ache. But he needed to come back at least just this once to see Dad. So one more time, he readied to jump aboard the rusty trawler.

Despite his age, and his doctor’s recommendations, Seamus McGhee refused to stop boarding his ship and casting his nets. Not many people joined him on his vessel these days for trips around the inlet. He still offered tours and would give lessons on how to catch fish but commercial fishing no longer existed in these parts. Still, once a seaman, always a seaman.

“Ahoy, ‘me boy!” Seamus exclaimed. Michael ruefully, gingerly climbed up the starboard ladder.

“Hi, Da,” Michael spoke in his customarily soft voice

“So what do you say we take her out for a good run, ah? Don’t you remember now?”

“Sure, Da.

“There’s a good lad!” Seamus grinned ear to ear. It had probably been a long time since anyone had been on the boat with his father, Michael thought. Was that the reason he was so happy or was it because it was that he, his son, was here to see him. Michael started up the loud motor and began slowly moving the craft out of the dock.

* * *

As they sat, their conversation was simple. How could it be anything but? Seamus drifted aimlessly, often rockily, like a dinghy caught in a storm. He spoke mostly about life in the village and his “vexatious” experiences with the neighbour woman’s multitude of cats. “She’d always had so many cats! Why the need for so many cats!” Seamus ranted on...(Michael had always liked the cats. They were so warm and cuddly. They were always there to play with when, so often, no friends would come to call.)

Conversely, Michael was staid, solid like a great battleship dutily at war and spoke about his work as a lawyer in the city. Or he sat simply mute, like he had resolutely dropped anchor.

The two men could not be more different. Never mind that one was sick and the other well. But in character, demeanor and appearance, you would never know that these two men were father and son.

Michael’s stomach began to rumble and he looked at his watch. They had been sitting for nearly four hours with nets cast and had lifted them over 17 times. Not one single fish. Seamus was scratching his head. The sun was starting to set.

He thought about what they should do for a meal but suspected that his father’s home would be empty of food, except perhaps for some tea and biscuits. Where had he been eating? The neighbour woman’s (despite the cats?) The pub? Had he been eating?

The cold sea air whipped past Michael’s face and got into his eyes once again like so many years before. Those eyes welled up with tears but this time, not one drop was allowed to fall.

‘Damn this place! Damn everything!’ he screamed under a silent tongue.

“Well, what do you say, Da? Do you think we should head back?” Michael asked after quietly composing himself. He added with nervous laughter, “I just don’t think they’re biting today.”

Seamus looked to the west and another grin began to creep across his weathered, wrinkled face. He started to laugh. Slowly at first and then in huge waves, almost in rhythm with the crests and falls that rocked the trawler.

“Red sky at night: sailor’s delight! Ah, ha ha ha!” he erupted. “You know son, you’re probably right. If I’m to come out here tomorrow and get these fish, I need to get an early night in! I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them.”

Here are the other contributors to the challenge:

Wolfbaby

Ipanema

Laundress

Dr. Schwab

At Your Cervix

Kim (Emergiblog)

The Wandering Author (?)

KT-RN

Frequency of Silence (JCR)

Truth is Freedom (Brian)

Pearls and Dreams (PK)

Mimi Writes (Mimi)

Potpourri Of Writing (Mary Emma)

Charlie

Ladybug

Musings of a Distractable Mind (Dr. Rob)

Bankerchic

Cathy

Thanks very much to Cathy who put this whole thing together. I (think I?) look forward to the next one haha.

Met My Gastroenterologist Today...

2006-12-14T16:31:00.000-05:00

...and I really like him! I knew I would as soon as I saw him. He's young (close to my age?) and looks like a hippie! Yeah, to hell with what you know as a physician, as long as you look cool! Actually, I'm neither that ridiculous, nor shallow, nor stupid as a patient. But I can appreciate a doc with a decent sense of style or appearance or hey, who is just unique but not in an asshole-ish kind of way--been there, escaped that.

So we go over the whole story including all of my current meds and conditions...blah, blah, blah... It looks like this is going to be a bit of lengthy process, however? We're starting off with just a general x-ray and some bloodwork and then I'm going back in about six weeks. I tried to get him to 'fess up as to what he's already got percolating upstairs but he won't tell me. I guess he doesn't want to speak out of turn about any potential diagnoses...hmm.

He actually said to me (hey medblog addict , are you listening?): "This is where I need to be a bit of a lawyer here..." I understood that he was trying to make some sort of coy reference (I guess...?) but it made me wonder if lawyers ever say that, conversely, "This is where I need to be a doctor here..."

Anyway, we also talked about the endoscopy complications of the past that I've experienced. I apologized and told him that I didn't want to be difficult but... Yes, the anxiety was already beginning to creep. He assured me that he could do whatever he needed to do under a general anaesthetic so yes, things have changed in The Land of Endoscopies over the last 20 some odd years!

I just may have to wait a while to see exactly what is going to happen procedure wise.

Just In Time For Christmas...

2006-12-13T14:48:00.000-05:00

Someone just sent this to me and I have to post it. It seems completely appropriate for this blog.

"You Do It!": I'm Such An Ass...

2006-12-13T13:02:00.000-05:00

So my partner made some curry for last night's dinner. With all of my stomach problems she suggested that she pick up some rice on the way home as we have none in the house. She's on a restricted diet at the moment for health reasons--long story... She also mentioned potatoes. I thought it might be a good idea to cut the spice with some starch, just in case. So I said to her:

"Whatever's easier for you to make."

Pause.

I hear back in disbelief, "What?!"

No, I do not treat my partner as my personal slave. Welcome to the fact that I sometimes lose my verbal filter.

I apologized and started laughing. Luckily, she was laughing too. It's a good thing we have such a healthy relationship and she understands me.

You see, my parterner is a chef by trade. She does most (well...all...) of the cooking. It's not that I can't cook. It's just that:

She's better at it.
When we first moved in together I was grossly intimidated and still feel a little inadequate.
I'm funny with food.

You know how some people live to eat? Well, I eat to live. I've always been that way. I just don't really care about eating. I can go for long periods of time without food (which is unhealthy, I know--I probably have the most screwed up metabolism in the world.) And thanks to going on the "Topamax diet," well, I care even less. And with the gastro problems I barely want to eat at all. But my partner keeps me fed. Left to my own devices, I'd be a lot thinner than I am now. When I met her, she managed to put some necessary weight on me.

My partner also "manages" me in other ways. I need a lot of help with reminders about doing things around the house. This inevitably leads to her getting frustrated and me feeling like shit and vowing to "try harder." I hate it.

And dates, scheduling...she's in charge of all social arrangements, anything like that. I can barely handle my own medical appointments and bill payments.

It takes a lot of communication and we're pretty good at that. Even though I still tend to forget a fair bit what she tells me (sometimes within the span of a few minutes! Oh help me my new psychiatrist when I see you...)

Sometimes it makes me wonder just how functional I am. But that's another post.

For now, I'll just keep on making the odd comment here and there and keep paying for it with merciless teasing. Hey, it could be worse?

Cutting: When The Pain Just Can't Get Out

2006-12-12T12:44:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about whether or not to put a trigger alert at the beginning of this post as it might be touchy but I could put a trigger alert on this entire blog. So, for what it's worth since some of this might be a bit alarming:

TRIGGER ALERT!

I am a cutter. Or a was a cutter. Have been a cutter. I am a reformed cutter? Once a cutter, always a cutter? Someone early on commented that I am a "label whore" because of all of my diagnoses and that made me laugh. So I guess, I'll simply add to that and say that yes, I am a cutter. I also say this because since I've done it in the past, I know that I am capable of doing it in the future. I think that will always make me a cutter.

Every cutter has a story, as I have learned. I can not speak for everyone so I will simply talk about my own experiences. Some people cut habitually, I on the other hand have only cut impulsively while in the throes of uncontrolled mixed state cycling.

Why? I guess during those moments, the utter pain, despair, frustration and hopelessness was so intense that words could not express what I felt. In a mixed state, you are simultaneously depressed but experiencing manic symptoms so you have the capability to act out violently. While the depression makes you feel so absolutely dead inside, the mania demands that you do something to make yourself feel alive. You cry out to the world to show your pain, to feel it so you reach for a knife and you damn well make it known.

The first time I cut myself I became an amatuer surgeon (albeit, a very bad one.) I severed three-quarters of the left median nerve in my wrist. All the doctors were amazed that I didn't hit any major arteries or veins. I was sent for surgery the next morning and they repaired it but not completely. I still have some numbness in my hand and fingers that will never return.

The second time, I more wrecklessly slashed my forearm deep into several layers of subcutaneous fatty tissue. No serious damage was done and I was stitched up in the ER.

Cutting is serious business. I absolutely loathe the taboo that surrounds it. Most frequently, it is attributed to people with Borderline Personality Disorder but believe me, people with BPD haven't cornered the market on self-injurious behaviour. I am living proof of that. And it works both ways--not all people with BPD harm themselves either.

Not long after the first cutting I spoke to my cousin who is an ER doc. She didn't know about it, just that I was hospitalized for psych reasons (even though I was kept on a surgical floor.) She immediately launched into a tirade about "cutters" and how she couldn't stand them as they were all a bunch of attention seekers, how they just wouldn't stay on their meds and how they never listened and on and on. I was deeply disturbed. I then told her casually the reason for my admission. Oh, she backpedalled hard but she couldn't redeem herself. I had always idolized her but now she really dropped from my esteem. We have since spoken and she seems a bit more sensitive to mentally ill patients. Perhaps she's had some training or grown up a little bit?

I won't argue that it can be difficult to help or treat someone who is a cutter (or who participates in other self-injurious behaviours.) It can be downright disturbing and painful in it's own right to witness it, perhaps even more so if it's habitual. But it doesn't mean that the person deserves less than adequate and/or sensitive care. For someone to get to that point, they are really, really hurting. I know. I never thought I'd find myself there but I did.

A New Tool For My ADD?

2006-12-09T13:50:00.000-05:00

I just saw a commercial for this on television. Caution: it actually shows you the annoying commercial. It actually reminded me of some discussion about Direct Marketing Ads over at Dr. Anonymous' blog, granted they were about selling pharmaceuticals. This is for some "must have" gadget that will make your life so much more manageable.

I always wonder about these ads. I mean, if the product is so great(!) why isn't it sold in stores, in catalogues, all over the free world? Well, I did find it on the internet but well...look what else you can find on the internet.

Hey, you found me right?

But back on point. They said in the commerical that "other" voice recorders (aka microcassette etc...) were *flash flash* more expensive! But this product was so much cheaper, smaller, handier and you get 2-for-the-price-of 1! Ah, there's the hook.

I have a microcassette recorder and I used to try and carry it around whenever I got a great "writing idea" when I used to write (and coincidentally be hypomanic.) But I more often than not forgot to to bring it with me wherever I went. That was the ADD rearing it's head.

This new doodad has a keychain attachment, however. But when you have ADD there's the issue of remembering where exactly you put your keys... Didn't someone come out with something where you could whistle if you lost your keys and that gadget would emit a sound so you could find them...?

Yes! Apparently no longer available through Amazon.com (people in the US aren't losing their keys anymore?) but here's a company in the UK that apparently still has a model to offer: Maplin Electronics.

But by this time, even if you don't have any cutesy personal key tags/trinkets to identify your set, your keychain is going to be getting pretty heavy. Will it still fit into your pocket? And I still have some questions that remain unanswered about that little "reminder thingie." I mean, what's it's capacity? I forget a lot of things in the span of one day. I mean A LOT. How many messages can I record for myself? What's sort of memory is on that thing? Can I get it upgraded? And who will remind me that I need to check my reminders? Does it have a flashing light or a beep? Ooh, a beep would be kind of annoying--probably to all parties involved with the amount of messages I'd need to record.

I guess if I want to scrap adding the extra 5lbs. to my frame, I can always go for the Hipster PDA. But really, I've never been that crafty and it just seems to be too much work. I've already had way too many bad experiences with Post-It notes tacked all over the place. They inevitably end up not being sticky enough and fall off their intended surfaces and then, my reminder is lost into an abyss forever. Paper doesn't seem to work all that well for me. And eternally, there's always the chance that I'd forget to bring my Hipster PDA (like my keys or my microcassette recorder--and just about everything else I use every day) with me wherever I went.

I don't think there's a product out there that can really help me. Certainly not one I'd pay for.

Lipstick For Your Roots?

2006-12-08T11:38:00.000-05:00

So on my way in to work this morning, I saw one of the oddest things. A woman looked like she was applying lipstick to her faded roots with a compact mirror. I just sat and stared. And barely contained myself--I wanted to laugh out loud! I know it's rude to stare but when I see things that I can't comprehend, sometimes my eyes betray me.

Now I don't dye my hair (I've earned every one of my incoming greys and they're staying!) so I don't know if some bizarre product is on the market that looks like lipstick that could be used to "patch up" the offending spots on your scalp before you can get to your stylist.

But still. What on earth could it be made of? And wouldn't it be greasy? And this thing looked like lipstick. It was this dark, almost maroon colour and slid up and down and was shaped like the traditional thing.

I'm sure I could spend some time researching this as there just may very well be something someone has invented out there that matches this description. But I don't know if I will. It's just too much fun to think that this woman was actually applying lipstick to her head (I'm still grinning like a fool as I type this.)

I did ask a colleague when I arrived at work (who does colour her hair) and she'd never heard of such a thing. She also thought the whole incident equally bizarre. Maybe I should ask my own hairdresser when I see him next.

Bipolar Acceptance

2006-12-07T13:27:00.000-05:00

A reader took the time to send me an email about their personal experiences with Bipolar Disorder. How nice. Thank you!

Some of the things in our exchange got me thinking about a post I had been mulling around for a bit so now seems an appropriate time to write it. I think this a great topic that everyone with Bipolar can relate to and I could probably go on about it forever but I'll try to keep it brief. And I'm a little fuzzed out today so...well, let me just give it a go.

Stage 1: The Diagnosis

Oh my god, I'm Bipolar! What the hell does that mean?! If you didn't suffer panic attacks before you just might start now! Welcome to Identity Crisis (Part I.) Congratulations! You've now been affixed with a label that you may proudly (if you dare?) wear for the rest of your life. You get to ponder what the stigma of it all means and how to disclose this new information about yourself. Who do I tell? Do I tell?

Relax. Slow down (if you're still not a whirling dirvish of manic cycling) and breathe. You can and will get help. Find a good psychiatrist and therapist (if you feel necessary--although, I've always been a believer in utilizing both therapies: meds and psychotherapy) and do talk about it with people you are close to that you feel you can trust. Develop a good support system. Get to know what to do in a crisis. Don't be afraid to use hotlines or telephone support numbers or even 911 if you need it! There is nothing wrong with you. You have an illness, not a character flaw.

Stage 2: Meds

Welcome to the med-go-round! Unfortunately it is very rare to find the "magic bullet" right off the hop with Bipolar. In fact, there may not even be such a thing. You'll always need to be wary of triggers as Bipolar is something you are going to have live with for the rest of your life. That's right! There is no cure. You will no doubt need to try several or many medications in order to find the right one or combination (yes combination) of drugs in order to ease your symptoms. Oh, and you will need to stay on these medications for the rest of your life. And they will probably cause you a multitude of side effects ranging from mildly annoying to downright sickening to sometimes even freakishly bizarre. Oh, the fun never stops!

Med compliance is extremely important with Bipolar Disorder. I've heard of so many people who went off their meds and really regretted it. I don't advise it. I never would go off my meds.

Stage 3: Stability (aka The Holy Grail)

...or not? Welcome to Identity Crisis (Part II.) For me, and perhaps a lot of other people with Bipolar, this is the hardest part of having the disorder. It's the last part. It's Limbo. It's this weird no-man's-land, sort of oblivion that you're left in while you manage this life long disorder.

Bipolar comes in many flavours. I'm not a big fan of the DSM-IV diagnostic criteria as it seems too stringent and the ICD-10 seems to take things a little bit further, nonetheless, (as an example) when you've been swinging from the rafters for a long time and now you're medicated, calmed--even flattened--down, no longer behaving as you once were... The questions inevitably arise:

Where did I go?
Who am I?
Who am I now?
Was that the real me?
Is this the real me?
What happened to all of that energy/spark/creativeness (fill in the appropriate noun)?

Feel free to keep asking yourself more questions. I know I still do.

What I keep reminding myself of, though, is all the havoc I wreaked while unmedicated. I mean, sure, it's easy to remember the *fun* times but in reality, they weren't so much fun. If I look through more clear eyes, I can see that my euphoria always came with a hefty price tag--either financial, emotional or both. And that was just the euphoria. There were also periods of self-destruction and harm during the crazy mixed state times.

So, if trading off some of that "spark" (or whatever it was that I thought I had) means finding something else within myself now that I am properly treated and managing this disorder...perhaps that means acceptance?

For Any Canadian Readers...Or If You Have A Big Satellite Dish?

2006-12-06T16:52:00.000-05:00

I forgot to post this earlier. I watched this on television last night and it wasn't bad. If you can, check it out as it's airing a few more times on Radio-Canada and CBC.

I won't criticize it too much (or at all!) because...

Spoiler Alert!

Do not read any further if you do not want to know how this documentary ends...simply close your browser and exit my blog now.

Okay.

Ready?

I won't say much because well...the guy worked as a film/video director and after surviving his injury, he directed this project himself.

Before Vijay Busts a Gut...

2006-12-06T11:22:00.000-05:00

So while over at Vijay's place the other day on scan man's notes pitifully mourning my low IQ score from his online test (108--I normally rank around 130, I swear!!!) I inadvertently made the mistake/discovered the art of link baiting. Oops! I posted that his part of the world (or nearby) was very near and dear to my heart.

I've been trying to map out in my head how to talk about my family. There's just so much of it. I guess you just go with the flow and start typing? So, I may as well drop this bomb. I alluded to it in one of my lists on the right...someone I'd like to meet.

My biological father is from Pakistan. I know very little about him. I might not ever know much more. You see, my Mom is quite ill--mentally--and really in denial about it all. I mean, she's crackers. I've been trying to think of ways ever since I found out this choice piece of information, how to talk to her about it but I may never get anything out of her.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

In the very late 1960s my family (well my non-biological father) was in Karachi on business. Back in those days, companies paid for the entire brood to travel abroad, especially if it was for extended periods. My older sister even had part of her first year of school (a version of Kindergarden) there.

Mom never adapted very well to the cultural change. And she was tremendously agoraphobic. While the other Western woman of the colony would socialize and shop (while the men were away working) Mom would just hide. She was terribly lonely, I think. She ended up having an affair with the hamal, basically a porter or servant in the home. They had several servants, a cook etc... being Westerners. My mother spent a lot of time with this man, as did my father (they were the same age and became good friends) and I believe that she really loved him--that they loved each other. She even nursed him through a terrible case of Dysentery so I've been told.

I was also a twin--or so they thought. Mom miscarried in her first trimester but upon further examination, she was still pregnant. The explanation was that she miscarried my...brother? Sister? Who would know? But the story is that another foetus was there. She was advised to travel to London as the pregnancy and delivery might prove to be difficult but she refused to leave. Was that because she refused to leave the man who fathered me? Or did she just not want to be alone and travel to yet another foreign country? Perhaps both? I have no answers at all surrounding these issues of my birth and so many more.

My family travelled home to Canada and I was born without incident. Oh but I sure looked different! My sister was fair with almost flaxen hair in her childhood. I was so dark! A convenient foil? Oh, there were black genes waaaay back on my non-biological father's side. That was it!

I lived under this assumption until I was 29 and had my first psych hospitalization. I did not call my mother as I did not need absolute hysteria as I could barely deal with my own. Actually, I was more like a puddle on the floor but you get the idea of a world crumbling all around you. I did call my non-biological father (my parents divorced when I was 14.) He told the hospital psychiatrist treating me that his history was irrelevant as he was not my biological father but I did not know this. The psychiatrist told him that everything was relevant.

Sometime later after further hospitalizations and record transfers, I was speaking with a social worker who told me that something "didn't make sense" regarding that hospital stay. She told me of the conversation and I lost it. I got so angry of the accusation that my father could not be "my father!" She told me that was a pretty strong reaction. Could there be any truth in it? I sat silent for a moment and thought about it. I denied it and quickly left the appointment.

Truth time. I called my father and basically caught him in the lie. He came over to my apartment and we talked for about three hours. I tried to get as much information out of him as possible in between trying to just get over the shock. Part of me wasn't shocked, however. I was never "my father's daughter." I was always more his pal, his buddy. And I already knew way too much more about my parents marriage courtesy of him than a child should--like they were swingers and had affairs and things like that. Boundary issues with my Dad? Gee, none at all!

So maybe it wasn't much of a surprise really? But it rocked my world. It did. And I wasn't mentally stable: in and out of the hospital, not on the right meds, drinking every day...this wasn't exactly the news I needed.

So, I guess that's what I was trying to say, Vijay...I'm half Pakistani! I had DNA testing done and everything. I wanted proof that after all the years of lying and deceit that the man who raised me truly wasn't my biological father. Tests conclusively proved that fact. That cost me a lot of money though!

Where to go from here? Who knows? Maybe nowhere but at least I have a better sense of who I am. It's painful. My therapist says she sees it a lot in people she works with who are adopted. It's like you're missing a part of who you are.

It's funny. My mom made me sit down and write this virtual--no complete-- stranger a letter when I was about six or seven years old. I challenged her as I said, he didn't even know who I was! She got very angry and told me to just do it! So I did. I still have the letter he sent back, written by a scribe as he could only speak English, not write, nor read it. Unfortunately the return address got torn off. I'm not even sure how to spell his last name correctly. I wouldn't know how to begin to try and find him.

It's Not Just "All In My Head..." I Have Other Problems Too!

2006-12-05T11:19:00.000-05:00

I feel like shit today. I was going to post about something else (hang on Vijay, it's coming!) but I'd rather rant about this. My gut is killing me. I had a brief respite during my upper respiratory tract infection--or maybe I was just preoccupied with it? Or perhaps my body was being kind enough to let me deal with just one issue at a time.

I'm going to see a Gastroenterologist/Specialist in Internal Medicine (I'm not sure...haven't met him yet!) soon (counting down the days...) and believe me, it won't be soon enough! I've been feeling quite ill since the summer (well, since I was about 13 but that's the longer history.)

I mentioned in my med list that I'm currently taking Nexium for GERD. Well, that has been going along swimmingly for over a couple of years now but I'm not sure what's happening at the moment. I'm in a lot of pain and I've had some night time reflux incidents over the last few months (and other stuff but I won't bother to list everything--post a comment if you want to know.) I've searched high and low for any findings of proton pump inhibitor "poop out" (pardon the bad pun) or (in)tolerance but I can find anything. And then there are the lower GI symptoms. They're pointing in the direction of IBS but who knows? I need to a full work up. I want a full work up.

So I figure a scope is probably in order. Boy, I sure hope things have changed in The Land of Endoscopies in the last 20 some odd years. The last two attempts I had were absolutely horrific.

When I was about 13, they couldn't get the damn tube down. I have a superhuman gag reflex and despite the throat spray (useless) and what I suspect were two benzos and one shot of whatever concoction the anaesthesiologist gave me via IV, I still remained wide awake and chatty. The anaesthesiologist confirmed that I had been given the pills "to relax me" and then told the doctor performing the endoscopy that he'd be on the floor by now after the IV sedation. So he shot me up again and still, the tube would not go down. Gag, gag, gag...the next thing I remember was: nothing. I passed out.

Fast forward to the end of the day (half day procedure.) They had to call my father at work to come and get me. He had to dress me and carry me out of the hospital and into the car. I could not speak I was still so out of it. So, needless to say, that procedure didn't go so well.

A few years later, I went to see a Gastroenterologist at another hospital further away from my small(er) home town where I grew up. He wanted to try the nasal route (I guess because of the swallowing issues?) I was still pretty young (and willing to try anything.) Now I'm just older and willing to try anything--but in the name of science haha!

Anyway, the nurse started lubing up the surgical tubing with the little camera and I'm getting a bit nervous, kind of second guessing this decision. But I really wanted some relief from the pain! Slowly she begins inserting the tube through my nose but she reaches a roadblock. She pushes again. No go. She leaves to get the Gastro who's all prepped for surgery. He places his hand on the back of my head and really gives it the old college try.

Wham! Ow.

Still no movement. "Hmmm," he says. "You seem to have unusually small nasal cavities. This isn't going to work." He removes the tube and I have a gusher of a nosebleed. I'd never had a nosebleed in my life, let alone been punched in the face--by a doctor, no less! He turns and leaves and makes no mention of a follow up appointment.

At this point, I am just bawling. Not only from the pain but from the entire ordeal. To further things along, the nurse then stated sharply: "Oh, what's your problem! You see it every month, don't you?" I kid you not. I should have been stunned into silence but I actually sputtered out: "Not out of my face, I don't!"

And with that, I'd had it with Gastroenterologists.

This upcoming appointment shoud be interesting. With age comes courage?

Private Health (S)Care?

2006-12-04T15:20:00.000-05:00

So I read today that our country's first private health clinic has opened in British Columbia. Huzzah! (sarcasm) Yes, I am a strong supporter of our publicly funded health care system--even if it is in a bit of a shambles right now and sorely in need of some "rehabilitation" and healing in it's own right.

Still, privatization is not the answer. At least not in my opinion. And I think my opinion matters as a patient and health care consumer because in the end, it's us who always end up suffering the brunt of decisions made.

Some people who are onside with, not outright privatization (believe me, I don't think that will ever happen--over certain politician's dead bodies), but maintaining some sort of "two-tiered" approach, think that it will solve some of our current problems with backlogs. They think it will allow for people to seek non-vital services faster. Uh huh. Ah, yes. You have the money, you get to move to the head of the line. But will such "queue jumping" really improve our backlogs? The system is not clogged simply with non-vital services. Oh, take a stroll through the emergency rooms. The "vital" services are looking pretty grim, also.

So here we have this new private clinic that has opened up that treats "vital" or as they say "urgent" services. But wait. According to the article, some vital services are paid for under the public system. This would make the clinic in violation under the Canada Health Act. The doctors there are also working in both systems--private and public so hmmm...dual practice? Conflict of interest? Don't like how slowly things are going at the hospital, well...why don't you come over to the clinic...for a few dollars, we can get you out a lot faster!

So this is that latest in healthcare from our Federal Government. They'll sit and watch this sort of behaviour go on, keep an eye on it and yet they won't actually invest in fixing the problems.

I don't want to be all "Chicken Little" but you know what they say: "Give them an inch..." If one or a few of these start popping up it will turn viral. Maybe the rich don't mind (you'd think they would!) but there are a lot of people that need publicly funded healthcare. We've got a great system. It works. It's just been neglected for way too long by a government that doesn't seem to care.

A Lazy Weekend

2006-12-03T12:54:00.000-05:00

Well, most of my weekends are pretty lazy. They're my time to decompress from work, all things schedule-oriented (although I need schedule to function) and just relax. Except it's also time to do household tasks. And in this weekend's case, I'm still trying to beat this infection.

I watched the Liberal Leadership Convention on television all day yesterday. Yeah, I know. I can hear the multiple comments you must be making. They vary from to "Uber Geek!" to "Are you kidding me...BORING!" to maybe a couple of people saying, "Oh, I didn't know she was into politics."

Well, I'm not really but someone has to do something about our current Prime Minister "Bush Lite." And don't worry, this isn't going to turn into some crazy political rant or (heaven forbid!) blog because I'm really not that passionate about politics. If I was, I would be more crazy than I already am and probably need to be permanently institutionalized.

It (the Convention) was mildly interesting--when I wasn't nodding off or channel switching in between updates. But man, was it long! The problem was, we had so many candidates (a few dropped out and backed others before the final voting) so they had to do four votes. And there's all of this switching to others' camps in between and for the most part, the commentary was gruelling. I mean, think of your favourite sport and how annoying that is. Now magnify it by about 20.

So now we finally have a new Leader of the Opposition in Parliament so we'll see if anything exciting happens. Doubtful.

Finding A New Doctor

2006-12-01T13:08:00.000-05:00

In some previous posts I have referred to my "ex-doctor" or my "ex-GP." In life I have also referred to him as "Ding Dong," "Dr. Asshole" and other unflattering terms. Why did I stay with this man for app. six years?

Well, I have "white coat syndrome" for one. I have a strange fear of the Doctor as Authority Figure. I just gave it that name as I don't believe it's really a classified "Capital-S Syndrome." Also, I always likened us to an old married couple. We would argue over my treatment and it was kind of funny. Or not. I mean, it actually bordered on a co-dependent relationship, looking back. But I got away with a lot because I was smart (he bestowed three Ph.D.s on me in our time together) so I could usually get what I wanted out of him.

But he would do a lot of other, what I feel, unprofessional things. He would huff and puff and complain about how busy he was and tell me of his troubles. Um, excuse me, but is this not my appointment for my troubles? Good thing I'm not in the U.S. and I wasn't paying for this! And he would pull this, kind of, passive-aggressive bullshit where he'd get all uppity about something and then say things like, "Oh, you didn't think I'd do that (for you) did you?" or "Oh, you don't think I care, do you?"

I would have to fight a lot to get things done. Like referrals. Sometimes I'd "win," sometimes, I'd lose. This was not about me being a demanding patient. Remember, this was the same man who did not believe I was having seizures. Upon finally seeing a neurologist, the neuro said to me my brain was "screaming" for an EEG and MRI. He wanted to know why on earth I'd never had them done before. I didn't answer.

No, this was because this GP wanted to treat everything himself and things he couldn't treat simply did not exist. Or they were "stress." And because I was too afraid to leave, I just sat there and took it.

Well, over the last few months, it became unbearable that by appointment times, I was either so anxious I could barely stand it and would burst into tears or feel like I was going to ex/implode or I was so angry I wanted to punch him. And I'm pretty passive and non-violent!

Time to find a new doctor?

So off I went. And I wanted a woman haha! I'd only ever seen men and they'd all proven to be trouble. Sorry all you male GPs out there, I don't like to make blanket statements but I've just had no luck with you! I'm sure women physicians can be jerks too but I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd have better luck with another gal.

Everyone out there, I recommend you interview your prospective GPs! I'd never done it before and boy, did I feel like an ass (I was SO nervous!) but it really makes a difference. These people are responsible for your health! Here is a list of questions that I came up with. Maybe you can think of others that would apply to your situation. I kept these pretty broad:

1. How long have you been in practice?

2. How do you see the role of the patient in your practice?

3. Do you value a collaborative relationship with your patients (eg. valuing my opinions, open to hearing about research/treatments I am interested in?)

4. How would you feel if I brought medical research/information obtained from the internet to an appointment for discussion?

5. What made you want to become a GP?

6. What do you think the role of a GP is?

7. Do you have any personal philosophies concerning treatment?

8. How do you keep abreast of the latest in medical research/trends?

9. What are your feelings about antibiotics? Do you have any other feelings regarding the prescription of any other medications?

10. How would you feel if I did not wish to take a certain medication prescribed?

11. Do you have a specialty?

12. What is your affiliated hospital?

13. Can you refer patients to other practitioners outside of your affiliated hospital?

14. What is your policy/are your feelings about giving referrals?

15. What is your availability, appointment wait times and what is your current patient load?

16. How long do you usually spend with a patient?

17. What is your policy with telephone calls, urgent issues/questions if they arise (i.e. will you speak to me over the telephone, call me back if I leave a message or by appt. only?)

18. Who handles your practice during vacations, leaves of absences etc…?

19. What are your office hours? Is this your only location?

20. How do you handle after hours needs?

21. If lab work needs to be done, where are the tests conducted? How quickly are results usually obtained and how will I be notified?

How did I make out? Well, after almost giving myself an aneurysm (hehe, I know you can't really "do" that to yourself but it sounds fun to say) I finally found someone who I think is good. She seems certainly proficient although a bit distant but we're just getting to know each other. (I talk way too much and I've even prepared long "notes" in Excel/Word for our appointments so maybe she hates me already!) I already have a therapist--it's not like I need her to be my shoulder to cry on. But some level of "humanity" would be good. I don't want to feel like I'm talking to a robot.

Anyway, she's setting up the referrals that I need and we're taking things from there.

Bye bye Dr. Ding Dong Asshole!