Oscarisms

I had a massive breakdown crying spree on the stupidity of higher education a couple weeks ago. I received a beautiful brand new accounting certificate in the mail.  During the summer all Canadian accounting organizations merged into one. I went from being a CMA to being a CPA. EXCEPT I'm on permanent disability, never to work in accounting again, mailed the new certificate in error during the merging of data bases. I worked so very hard to get an education, to ensure it was in a field that would always exist, to ensure I'd never be on the poor side of poverty again.  The uncertainty of life is hard. 

If spring is seen as a new beginning is fall seen as an ending? The dormant browns blanketing our scenery would seem to think so. There I'd nothing to indicate any hope ahead, just more bleakness.

Crying at the drop of a hat. Tears for any sentimentality. Emotion carried on the cuff. Ready to explode at the tiniest thing. Emotions are overwhelming.

I'd gone into hospital July 13, released October 19.  I couldn't walk more than a few steps unassisted.  I hadn't done a stair in 4 months.  I get home and my house is three stairs up from ground level.  There I am in a wheel chair with no way in.  I was so determined. I crawled out of the chair and up those stairs like a baby learning how.  Scraped knees and palms. Once I was inside the wheel chair came in. But our house has weird halls and it was virtually useless.  

The needle sticker dudes attitudes killed me in hospital.  I had no veins, none at all.  Yet the needle stickers were "it's just a little prick". OMG.  No it isn't "just a little prick".  You will try three times. Then in ten minutes someone else will try three times then ten minutes after that someone else will try three times. Do that every single blood draw that was scheduled every three hours, day in and day out.  It's "NOT JUST A LITTLE PRICK). It's 72 little pricks ... 72.  And the sly comments  "oh if it was that bad you would have a Picc line".  "It's not really that bad".  I knew what needed to be done, where it needed to be done, and what it needed to be done with. But what did I know, I was JUST the patient. I couldn't have a Picc line due to infection. I blew out IVs and central lines. I had anesthesiologists come and try to find veins with ultrasounds. I had my feet used. It was traumat...

What does a person do when they are breaking? When there is nothing to look forward to? When there is nothing but pain? When there is nothing but anguish? When there is nothing but a deep black hole of nothingness? There truly isn't an explanation or understanding of depression until you are there. Every single time you've hit rock bottom and think you can't possibly go down any further and yet something happens to go even deeper. I was recently asked by something what I did with my time. I had to think about it. What time? The time I don't have because I put out one fire after another? The time that's spent just surviving rather than living? Speaking with some people recently about the subject of suicide. It's not like I'd ever deliberately kill myself, it's a matter of just not wanting to live. Not live like this. Why did I fight so hard to live? Why was I so stubborn? Would it have been better to just fade away?

Gender finding was brand new when we had our kids. Both my husband and I said it didn't matter, we just wanted healthy babies. Some family and friends really gave us a hard time for not finding out. But we held firm. It doesn't matter as long as it's healthy was our reply. We were given that illusion of "healthy" for years until two very different diagnosis gave us two very special needs kids.  First at age 7 our youngest, our boy is diagnosed with Aspergers. Which a while later is changed to autism, ADHD, possible odd, and high anxiety. Certainly a handful to deal with every single day. Followed at age 12 with our oldest, our daughter being diagnosed with a sudden Arrythmia death syndrome long qt type 5.  what we wanted above all else, healthy kids, was denied to us. We thought we wouldn't be able to handle special needs kids, but we are. As parents we find that strength from deep within. 

Here is the Wiki Definition. In psychology, confabulation (verb: confabulate) is a memory disturbance, defined as the production of fabricated, distorted or misinterpreted memories about oneself or the world, without the conscious intention to deceive.[1] Confabulation is distinguished from lying as there is no intent to deceive and the person is unaware the information is false.[2] Although individuals can present blatantly false information, confabulation can also seem to be coherent, internally consistent, and relatively normal.[2] Individuals who confabulate present incorrect memories ranging from "subtle alterations to bizarre fabrications",[3] and are generally very confident about their recollections, despite contradictory evidence.[4] Most known cases of confabulation are symptomatic of brain damage or dementias, such as aneurysm, Alzheimer's disease, or Wernicke–Korsakoff syndrome (a common manifestation of thiamine deficiency caused by alcoholism).[5]

One day, then another, then another. So many days all strung together. Where do they go? I realized tonight that I don't like to start things because I'm scared I'll fail at them. Weird thought eh? So I just don't. I don't want to be a failure. I want to be a success. My entire life others made me feel less. Less worthy, less able, just less. I just can't seem to put myself in that spot of making myself feel less. I didn't used to be this way. (Bad grammar eh?) I used to start all kinds of stuff. I used to take risks. I used to put myself out there. But now, I'm safe, secure (but oh so unhappy), in this little box I live in.

With some gentle encouragement  from some friends I decided to pursue getting my medical records from my illness.  I've thought about it often, but never been brave enough to carry through. I've even taken screen shots of addresses to write. On one occasion I even emailed for information to find out how. But I just never carried through. In late October for an medical appointment I had, I needed to complete a form.  I couldn't do it because I really don't know what all happened to me. My family didn't keep records, I certainly didn't know. In mid October on a Sunday afternoon I sat down and filled out three letters. One to a Red Deer Hospital, one to Foothills Hospital, and one to Alberta Health Care for a statement of benefits. Today I received that statement.  It's nine pages of itemized payments to service providers from Alberta Health.  It covers the time period of July 2012 to November 2014. Services for office visits, procedures, and consultations. ...

Long QT comes with it's own list of drugs to avoid. Print books are obsolete before they are printed.  In the age of internet it should be easier right? My favorite site Crediblemeds.org recently changed now.  Prior you could look up any drug at any time from any device.  It rocked.  Now not so much.  Under the guise of sending updates they now require registration.  The site has an absolute fit every single time I log in though. Every single time my drugstore logs in.  The registration page is poorly worded. Login is poorly worded. I'm just not happy with them.  Why make something that is essential to life so difficult to use. Doctors can't and won't register as login can't be saved. Passwords need constantly changed. It's something beyond virus detection, ease of use.  Then of course USA names are different than Canadian names.  Looking at Pulmicort Turbohaler (budesonide) and Mylan-BECLO AQ (beclomethasone), on google have quite th...

Austin and I are getting ready for bed.  I'm trying to explain to him that when I lose my temper and rage that it's not him.  That he's not bad, that my brain just isn't letting me deal with the situation.  I'm not rational. But how to explain that to a little boy? I don't want him to think he is the cause.  What he did may have started my meltdown but really it isn't him.  It's me. I'm trying so hard to explain why I'm not the same Mom I was before I died.  Talking and talking and talking.  I'm so very very glad I lived so I could see him and Alexis grow up.  We share big hugs.  I'm crying and so is he. Then in his little boy tentative voice he says. "I did the best thing I ever did when you died Mom". I hold him tight, and pull back looking into his eyes and ask him what? He tells me the Proudest Thing He has Ever Done...... "When you were in the hospital after you died; Dad and I went to the bank.  Dad started cr...

I'm a sudden cardiac arrest survivor (45) later diagnosed with an electrical issue long qt.  Essentially my heart is healthy just not always beating. I had a traditional ICD implanted shortly after the SCA.  Ten days later I collapsed hallucinating, blood pressure way low.  They fought to save my life for days while my body had turned septic. I had a blood infection, vegetation growth on leads. The ICD needed to come out but if the vegetation broke away it could hit my brain, my heart, or lungs and best case scenario kill me, worst case leave me a vegetative shell.  We were told I really didn't have a chance of survival leaving ICD in, or removing it.  It was an absolutely terrifying week. I was kept awake and talking or singing during the entire surgery and the vegetation broke off but didn't do anything. :) I was further kept in hospital in isolation on IV antibiotics for months while my body healed the blood infection, the sepsis, and other complications....

My young son last night tells me while I'm tucking him into bed "I wish you had never died Mom". I gave him a huge hug and said me too, me too. Within my dark shattered brain I often forget just what those around me went through. I get so focused on me, how the experience affected who I am, that I forget that others went through it too. I may have lost myself but they lost their Mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend. After all they went to bed on July 16, 2012 thinking Mom would be home the next day.  Instead the next day brings a call from the hospital saying I was dead, or dieing or would die. Their world forever changed that day too. Nothing is the same for me.  Who I am, how I think, my abilities, my personality, my actions and reactions.  It is all different. The hospitals and medical field did nothing to prepare my family for the stranger that was coming home.  They saved the body, they saved the life, they saved the beating heart but amidst all that the...

24/7/365 Twenty four hours a Day, seven days every week, and every single day of them 365. I am in pain. Pain from my S-ICD incision site. How to explain it more: Just existing has it hurting me. Laying on my left side is excruciating. Sitting in a hard back chair (concert seats, waiting room seats, kitchen chairs) creates such pressure and pain I could cry. Movements are limited and difficult.  If I bend over the grating feeling against my ribs from unit feels like muscle tearing.  Near the header area it's such a sharp pain I wonder if a scalpel was left in. I can go from tolerable pain, to gasping in tears from an innocent movement. My torso area is numbish. Yet my back area feels like it's on fire. The sharp short stabbing pain is always present.  The hot burning pain is always present. The small electrical buzzes like a tongue on a battery are intermittent. How do I explain the constant sawing action of the leads over my skin.  Back and for...

October 5, 2012 I was implanted with an S-ICD. Actually during that surgery I was implanted with two.  The first one had a failure after my heart spontaneously restarted after having it stopped for S-ICD testing. It was only through luck that there was a second one available for implant.  My surgery had been originally scheduled a week before. A rep from Cameron Health brought the S-ICD up with them.  Then my surgery was cancelled due to infection. The ICD was left. So a week or so later a different Cameron Health rep brought up a second S-ICD. The day of my surgery had the failed one and the one currently residing in my body.  I needed them both. The failure later caused a Dear Doctor letter and a software upgrade.  I still have an untested unit in me. The unit has caused me constant daily pain, impedes movement, interferes with sleep, I hate it with a passion I really haven't felt about anything since my SCAs. On the flip side it provides a measure of securi...

I'm typically a person that believes owning what you do.  You did it, you own it. I lived for 11 months believing that a med I took was at fault for my SCA.  That it was my fault.  That if it hadn't been for "me", I wouldn't have the brain injury, my family wouldn't be destroyed.  My medical team, my family, my friends, were all it's "your fault." Many still do. I recently had my occupational therapist tell me it wasn't my fault. A few days ago my daughter said it wasn't my fault.  Two friends said what happened to them wasn't their fault. So if it wasn't their fault, was it mine? I had a monumental (for me) realization early this morning. It's not my fault this happened to me.  It's not my fault I had many complications.  I didn't do anything to bring them on.   I also realized it pisses me off when people in groups constantly go "ICD is no big deal", "nothing ever goes wrong", "it...

Two years ago I collapsed at my doctors office.  I'd gone in to get the stitches for my ICD out.  I'd woken that morning disoriented, dizzy, and very tired.  Myles wanted to take me to ER.  I was hesitant at first as it was the ER that had led to my SCA. As the day wore on I became insistent, panicked, and outright belligerent that I wouldn't go to ER.  After all I had an appointment with Dr. E. In the afternoon.  I was seeing images of things, then doubles, and finally triples of things.  But I wouldn't tell Myles, as I was NOT going to the ER.  My mind would shut down at the thought of it. By the time we got to doctors office I couldn't even go inside on my own.  In the office the receptionist took me into a room immediately.  She wanted me to lay down, I didn't know how to get on exam table.  The floor sufficed.   Austin sat in the chair, over me, this little feet kicking back and forth over my head.  I wanted him take...

Today I was told if I didn't follow two recommendations put forth by counseling  that they felt there was nothing they could do. Her words were they would not be inclined to help further. The two recommendations are: 1) eliminate all TV, electronics, games, internet, social media, movies, computers 2) enroll the kids in as many activities as I can possibly schedule them into Fulfilling these two recommendations is supposed to fix my sons Aspergers. Doing this is also supposed to make Alexis and I all better.  It is apparently these things that are causing our issues. It's not that our family has undergone a humongous trauma over the past two years.  It's not that Aspergers seems to get worse at puberty. It's not that we have a genetic condition that won't just magically fix itself. Who wouldn't suffer severe anxiety under the circumstances? I'm frustrated. I'm overwhelmed. I don't know where to turn. I was seeking a safe, non-judge mental...

Humiliation comes in many forms.  Some times I think we are embarrassed more by those things out of our control than those things in our control. Take my illness for example.  I'm embarrassed that I died, that I caused this to happen o my family, even though it was completely out of my control.  So I got a brain injury, it's not my fault why be embarrassed. My son is autistic, it's not my fault or his fault so why be embarrassed? But: my weight absolutely completely my fault, yet it never bothered me. For 25 years it didn't bother me.  How did it not? Then this month, humiliation after humiliation regarding my weight just made it hurt so deeply;  it is my fault, I am humiliated. I'm embarrassed. And worse yet I'm ashamed.  I've slowly lost my strength and endurance. Not because of my heart, but because I don't.  Just because I don't.  Horribly humiliating. Visiting Calaway earlier this month and Austin wanted me to go on a ride with him. ...