Been having a lot of strange and crazy dreams lately - at least one a night. I want to record a few of them.
I dreamt last night that i was someones boyfriend, and that her younger sister had died the day before. Then i went back in time, became her, and was there, knowing how and when she would die, and that despite all that, there was nothing to stop it because no one knew why it happened. The girl had an attack of a pre-existing condition. She was taken to sick kids hospital. And was instantly admitted, but to a room with no beds. Then she was given various things by IV, and all of it was standard treatment but she wasnt getting better like she was supposed to. And i knew how this would end.
She started to have a tonic-clonic siezure (how is it my sleeping brain can identify what type of seizure it was) so i went to get the nurse, knowing at this point it was hopeless. She started posturing (a sign of brain swelling) and the nurse put her into a bed. She was to die shortly after, and though in the dream time slowed down incredibly, because i didnt want her to die, there was nothing to be done for her. Something had gone wrong, it was too late and there was nothing my travelling back in time could do for this girl. I woke before she died.
The night before i had a dream that i was a younger girl. That i had a best friend, and that we each had older brothers. They were best friends. I dreamt we fell in love, each girl with the others brother. Our parents wouldnt approve because of the age differences but we were all dating in secret, and no one thought to question why the older boys were hanging out with us so much.
My boy was sweet. He gave me my first sexual experience, and when i wasnt sure, he explained i had had my first orgasm and was kind enough to hold me in the afterglow and to not pressure me for more. It was a nice dream - and part of me wants to write it all into a type of a book. The confusion over sex, and arousal. The innocence, when pretending to know more. The way it all felt.
It was how it should have been.
I had a dream that my older sister was diagnosed with breast cancer. That she needed treatment immediately - but the fact she was currently pregnant was a problem. She was too far along to abort and not far enough to deliver. The drs transplanted her womb and fetus into me, and i was pregnant. I wanted to do good for her baby - to eat healthy, to take care of it. I lied to the study people and told them i would be busy for a bit so they wouldnt know i was pregnant - because i knew if i came off my crazy meds at this point, i would be harmful to the baby somehow. But that the study also would kick me out for being pregnant.
After having the baby in me for only a few days, the drs decided it was ready and i would have to undergo a c-section as i was too small to deliver the baby and it would cause undue stress. I was at York central, despite the fact my operation was supposed to be at NYGH. I was prepped and put into a line up for surgery. My belly had monitors on it and the baby was doing ok so i was to go later in the day. But no one knew i was there and i knew afterwards i would have to stay at the hospital for a while and i wanted visitors. I called my best friend, but she was crying over something, completely inconsolable and i knew i couldnt tell her what was going on. I didnt know who to tell, but had to talk to someone. I call my ex from high school - first person i ever dated - and just told him the name of a place. He called back quickly and said it was a hospital, to which i told him yes, it was where i was going for surgery any minute now and could he please come visit me.
Except it was the wrong place and i would have to go in a ambulance to Branson, as that was where the surgery was scheduled for. Even though i was in the line up and Branson did not have the NICU that this baby was sure to need.
I woke up.
Sometimes, even when i am having a nightmare I dont want to wake up. Its scary, sure and i dont like the dream but i want to know how it ends. I want a feeling of closure. And mostly, its less scary than the things that happen when i am awake.
I am going to warn you to stop reading now if you dont want to know these things.
I visited my father side of the family a few days ago. It was an obligation.
The instant i walked in the door, he was there. He touched me, on the chest. On Righty. In front of the family who still cant voice out loud that this is wrong.
That getting down on the floor to be at "my level" is wrong.
That this is a problem.
He touched me, and even though it made it nearly impossible to stay in the house, even i couldnt say out loud that this is wrong.
I still dont have a voice when it matters most.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Blogging into the void *trigger warning*
Its late, and im sitting her in the dark, typing. you know this will be dangerous when....
I am the kind of person who feels things, thinks things and sometimes need to express things. The kind of person, for whom, if i dont get something off my chest, in some manner, i will obsess over it and it will fester.
This of course links into my usage of social media, which really is what this post is about.
In the beginning, i had a very public blog, with a number of people reading it and following it in a rather teenaged manner. It was a place that a maintianed to keep a front - to show a certain image to my world. It was a place i never felt safe in.
So i went off and got myself a paper journal. I tried to keep that journal. To write in it when i needed to express things. I understood i was the kind of person who needed to journal and thought the traditional way was best.
I was wrong.
A paper journal was very triggering to me, especially at times when i already was upset and wanting to hurt myself. I cannt use traditional pens - i jam the ball and break the pen, even if it is brand new. Instead, i use felt tipped markers, and prefer to use journals with thick, handmade paper. It turnes out, the type of ink i use on this type of paper produces an image i couldnt see past enough to be able to use the media. When you press hard with these pens, the ink flows faster. On this type of paper, that leads to a "bleeding" effect - small lines that spider out from the main one. It looks eeriely similar to the self injury i was trying to avoid.
So i tried to use traditional pens - tried to make this age old soul healing technique work for me. Instead, i was time and again haunted with the image of the pen ripping through the paper as i tried to write in a bad state. The exercise almost always led to me self injuring because not only was i unable to express myself, trying was making it worse.
I got myself a private blog - a place i thought no one knew about or had traced me to. At lease you can jam on a keyboard pretty hard and it can withstand the abuse. And the people living in my hosue got used to the sounds of angry typing and clack clack clack at all weird hours of the day and night and never mentioned it.
I was wrong about the journal being private. You see, a partner had followed me there - had hacked something, somehow, and was reading my private thoughts and reacting to them, without me knowing. I suspected but it took a while for me to prove this. And while i suspected - while this person was reacting to me in a way that didnt make sense given the information i had given her, while this person was in fact reacting to my private thoughts (including ones about them) - i went though alot of loss of trust over the incident and over what happened.
I felt like it wasn't safe to have these thoughts. To want to get something out of me.
Not writing it down doesnt make what i am thinking and feeling go away. It doesnt stop it from happening, it just means i am not expressing it. I wish the would could understand that in not expressing it, nothing really have changed except YOU dont know its happening. And ignorance is not the bliss we have all been led to believe it might be/
I have been judged for my use of social media. I am on a few of the sites, one of which i maintain a similar facade to the early days on. I dont feel like it is the place for me to express much of anything without fear of judgement.
Another site. when i first started using it, was a safe place for me. I was on teh site and no one knew i was there. I had a few anonymous people who might or might not have been reading what i said but, for the most part, i was just another user posting random meaningless content to the site - except to me it was a way to say things i couldnt other wise say.
Once again, a partner found me. I immediately felt as if i were being censored. I deleted content - not because it wasn't valid, true or because i was afraid to express it but because i knew it would be misunderstood. and judged unfairly.
At this time i was maintaining another public blog. One night i made the grevious mistake of posting content that was happy go luck and craft related. I posted something real. And i was judged, by an anonymous coward. I dont ming people reacting to my cntent, people wanting to challenge what i think and feel. I dont mind having to justify, explain or even admit that in the grand scheme of things, i may be in the wrong. I mind when people attack me without backing themselves and at least showing their face.
It took me too long to find out who that anonymous coward was. And i still see the actions of that individual as unacceptable.
On my use of the social media site i see as being safe, my actions were once again judged and misunderstood. but this time, i didnt retreat. I got angry. I fought back because i am tired of losing my safe spaces to people who decide to pry into information i have chosen not to give and then react negatively to what they learn.
Let me help you out here - if i want you to know something, i will tell you. And if i dont, theres likely a reason. I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself not only the impact my saying or doing certain things would have, but also, if whatever it is is just something i need to express as opposed to something that is "real" or needs dealing with, past just getting it out of me.
I am making this blog public for a reason. I got tired of having my space violated so instead, i am making this an open book. Feel free to read or not as you see fit but here, in my blog, in my space, there is no censorship. I try to keep names out of it, because i am polite like that, but if you find yourself referenced in any way, so be it. Remember, you choose to come here and you choose to see the inner workings of my mind.
And maybe, in making my space open, something will come of it. I dont hold out any hope though.
I need a place to put things down, to get thoughts out of my head so that when it is after midnight and i am lying in bed, in tears, again, at least there is one less things to obsess about. At least i can get things out of my head in writing them down and releasing them to the universe.
I find social media helps. It doesnt have the triggers i experience from traditional journalling. It doesnt have the "locking away/up" feels i experience from password protecting journal files on my computer to keep people from prying. It doesnt have the same feelings i get from locking up a paper journal and keeping the key near me so no one can get in. I find those feelings to be oppressive because its doing the exact opposite of what i need. It is taking my thoughts and feelings and making them even more protected, safer, hidden from the world because they are bad or negative or not something to be said aloud.
Social media lets me put things into the world, where, because of the overwhelming amount of content published daily, it doesnt really matter. It lets me get rid of things and feel like somewhere out there, someone could theoretically car but in a kind and gentle way.
Sometimes it feels like i am blogging into the void - publishing media that is never consumed. I'm ok with this to be honest. I am not hounding after comments or looking for the most number of readers i can find. I am looking for peace within me,
One day at a time, i am finding it. I am find a place for a me.
I am the kind of person who feels things, thinks things and sometimes need to express things. The kind of person, for whom, if i dont get something off my chest, in some manner, i will obsess over it and it will fester.
This of course links into my usage of social media, which really is what this post is about.
In the beginning, i had a very public blog, with a number of people reading it and following it in a rather teenaged manner. It was a place that a maintianed to keep a front - to show a certain image to my world. It was a place i never felt safe in.
So i went off and got myself a paper journal. I tried to keep that journal. To write in it when i needed to express things. I understood i was the kind of person who needed to journal and thought the traditional way was best.
I was wrong.
A paper journal was very triggering to me, especially at times when i already was upset and wanting to hurt myself. I cannt use traditional pens - i jam the ball and break the pen, even if it is brand new. Instead, i use felt tipped markers, and prefer to use journals with thick, handmade paper. It turnes out, the type of ink i use on this type of paper produces an image i couldnt see past enough to be able to use the media. When you press hard with these pens, the ink flows faster. On this type of paper, that leads to a "bleeding" effect - small lines that spider out from the main one. It looks eeriely similar to the self injury i was trying to avoid.
So i tried to use traditional pens - tried to make this age old soul healing technique work for me. Instead, i was time and again haunted with the image of the pen ripping through the paper as i tried to write in a bad state. The exercise almost always led to me self injuring because not only was i unable to express myself, trying was making it worse.
I got myself a private blog - a place i thought no one knew about or had traced me to. At lease you can jam on a keyboard pretty hard and it can withstand the abuse. And the people living in my hosue got used to the sounds of angry typing and clack clack clack at all weird hours of the day and night and never mentioned it.
I was wrong about the journal being private. You see, a partner had followed me there - had hacked something, somehow, and was reading my private thoughts and reacting to them, without me knowing. I suspected but it took a while for me to prove this. And while i suspected - while this person was reacting to me in a way that didnt make sense given the information i had given her, while this person was in fact reacting to my private thoughts (including ones about them) - i went though alot of loss of trust over the incident and over what happened.
I felt like it wasn't safe to have these thoughts. To want to get something out of me.
Not writing it down doesnt make what i am thinking and feeling go away. It doesnt stop it from happening, it just means i am not expressing it. I wish the would could understand that in not expressing it, nothing really have changed except YOU dont know its happening. And ignorance is not the bliss we have all been led to believe it might be/
I have been judged for my use of social media. I am on a few of the sites, one of which i maintain a similar facade to the early days on. I dont feel like it is the place for me to express much of anything without fear of judgement.
Another site. when i first started using it, was a safe place for me. I was on teh site and no one knew i was there. I had a few anonymous people who might or might not have been reading what i said but, for the most part, i was just another user posting random meaningless content to the site - except to me it was a way to say things i couldnt other wise say.
Once again, a partner found me. I immediately felt as if i were being censored. I deleted content - not because it wasn't valid, true or because i was afraid to express it but because i knew it would be misunderstood. and judged unfairly.
At this time i was maintaining another public blog. One night i made the grevious mistake of posting content that was happy go luck and craft related. I posted something real. And i was judged, by an anonymous coward. I dont ming people reacting to my cntent, people wanting to challenge what i think and feel. I dont mind having to justify, explain or even admit that in the grand scheme of things, i may be in the wrong. I mind when people attack me without backing themselves and at least showing their face.
It took me too long to find out who that anonymous coward was. And i still see the actions of that individual as unacceptable.
On my use of the social media site i see as being safe, my actions were once again judged and misunderstood. but this time, i didnt retreat. I got angry. I fought back because i am tired of losing my safe spaces to people who decide to pry into information i have chosen not to give and then react negatively to what they learn.
Let me help you out here - if i want you to know something, i will tell you. And if i dont, theres likely a reason. I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself not only the impact my saying or doing certain things would have, but also, if whatever it is is just something i need to express as opposed to something that is "real" or needs dealing with, past just getting it out of me.
I am making this blog public for a reason. I got tired of having my space violated so instead, i am making this an open book. Feel free to read or not as you see fit but here, in my blog, in my space, there is no censorship. I try to keep names out of it, because i am polite like that, but if you find yourself referenced in any way, so be it. Remember, you choose to come here and you choose to see the inner workings of my mind.
And maybe, in making my space open, something will come of it. I dont hold out any hope though.
I need a place to put things down, to get thoughts out of my head so that when it is after midnight and i am lying in bed, in tears, again, at least there is one less things to obsess about. At least i can get things out of my head in writing them down and releasing them to the universe.
I find social media helps. It doesnt have the triggers i experience from traditional journalling. It doesnt have the "locking away/up" feels i experience from password protecting journal files on my computer to keep people from prying. It doesnt have the same feelings i get from locking up a paper journal and keeping the key near me so no one can get in. I find those feelings to be oppressive because its doing the exact opposite of what i need. It is taking my thoughts and feelings and making them even more protected, safer, hidden from the world because they are bad or negative or not something to be said aloud.
Social media lets me put things into the world, where, because of the overwhelming amount of content published daily, it doesnt really matter. It lets me get rid of things and feel like somewhere out there, someone could theoretically car but in a kind and gentle way.
Sometimes it feels like i am blogging into the void - publishing media that is never consumed. I'm ok with this to be honest. I am not hounding after comments or looking for the most number of readers i can find. I am looking for peace within me,
One day at a time, i am finding it. I am find a place for a me.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Laughter is not always the best medicine.
Last night was knit night. And a good one at that - i got alot of a sock foot knit between knit night and the assorted work events I have been to recently. I grafted, with some degree of success (read, it might not unravel to holes in the next 30 seconds. I did however, still get something that looks like purl stitches and not knit stitches. Despite people talking me though it. And no one is sure how). I am *this* close to being finished my sweater, even with most of the ends woven in. I knit to the point of causing injury to my finger, borrowing an extremely uncomfortable band-aid to keep knitting (wearing band-aids, because i am allergic to adhesives, makes it feel as if a million ants are crawling over my skin) and then kept knitting to the point of bleeding through the bandaid. I have a little needle impression in my finger that insists on bleeding.
Why yes, christmas is coming, and while the goose is getting fat, my stash of gifts is not LOL.
But it was a good knit night, and much laughter was, as usual, had. This is why I go and this is why I love it. And this is why i may be banned from going to knit night again.
I laughed really hard. And then i made this sound I had never heard before, and hope never to hear again. It was kind of like a quacking. So, being as I wasn't sure what it was, I took my asthma puffers. Took the full dose that makes my hands tremble a bit and everything. The sound did not go away (Note, this happened, luckily, at the end of the evening when we were all going to the cars and talking about Captain Awesome.).
Got in my car, drove home. Quacking. And wondering why I was quacking. and how to make it stop.
Mom looked at me when I came in, and we decided, must not be a quack, must be some kind of demented cough. Ok, lets take cough suppressants. Strong ones. Codiene. That should stop this pretty quick. So i tossed back a full dose, lay down quacking, and waited for it to go away.
45 Mins passed, still going on. Ok, this is one stubborn thing my body is doing, I know...I will overmedicate it into submission. More pills, more waiting more quacking.
The sound was painful. As in, whatever was going on was causing my chest to hurt like woah. To the point of lying there, with tears. Standing made it worse. And I couldn't talk really. A word or two, but then that was it.
At 2 and a quarter hours of this not going away, or getting better, despite tossing lots of good drugs at it, we got worried. Mom had been asking me about the hospital since the first set of drugs didn't work, but at the same time, neither of us thought they would be of much help.
Finally, we called telehealth. By which i mean mom called for me (as i couldn't talk) and talked to a nurse, who could hear me quacking in the backgroud. Which ER did we want to go to, the nurse says. This is what they call a breathing emergency, and did i want the ambulance sent to my house? No, i don't want to pay for one of those, its been happening a long time, we can drive. It will be cheaper, more convienent. And, i wanted to make sure i stayed away from the actual local hospital at all costs. As i hate that hospital with a passion and don't actually trust them to keep me alive because the staff there is very very incompetent - as proved by my last experience there. And mom's.
Did we understand that they weren't joking about the ambulance thing? That that sound was me, not breathing right and that with out relatively quick treatment, not only was it not going away but that i would stop breathing? These are questions they asked my mom, even while i was going "but the er sucks. and wont help anyways"
So, at midnight we arrive at the second nearest ER. Stuill breathing, still quacking, and get checked in. The nurse we had talked to had sent information over to the hospital, which they proceeded to ignore. I was still walking, give or take, under my own steam, so please hurry up and wait.
So i sat down in teh waiting room, mask on, knowing this wasn't H1N1 (again) and watching as first everyone moved to the direct opposite of the waiting room from me. Crowded into one corner to avoid the weird person making that sound constantly. Then watched as everyone went to grab masks. Then watching as people who are clearly sick get up and walk out of the hospital. No thanks, don't want to catch whatever she has.
I actually cleared the hospital ER waiting room of everyone who wasn't being treated/wasn't in an emergency more acute. Bleeding people left without treatment, all while watching me as they walked away. I felt.....bad.
Then i started to get tired. Really tired. I don't want to breathe because its taking more energy than i have tired.
I took more medication while in the ER waiting room, trying to get this to stop so we could just go home already and i could sleep. Thats all I wanted, to lie down and to go to sleep. It didn't work.
At just after 2:15 am, the dr was finally able to see me - about 4 and a half hours after this all started. Looked at me, took a quick listen. Yep - my lungs and airway had swollen, and that needed treatment but the good news is no pneumonia. Well no, we didn't actually think that was what was going on.
So they hooked me up to pure oxygen then started giving me mask after mask of assorted breathing treatments. Steroids. Things to open the airway. Things to take away the pain (did i mention this hurt and by this point i had pulled, twisted, or otherwise injured most of the muscles in my neck and torso). Narcotics, to stop the spasms. Hydrated air, as i had damaged my airway. Cortisone, inhaled, to do...something.
The drugs came with side effects. One of them made me space out to the point of not being sure if i was sitting or what. One of them made my heart pound and my blood presure shoot up. Sort of like having a medically induced, can't get rid of it panic attack. One of them made it so that if i tried to sit up, i vomited. I could literally only lie down. The treatment, while it was stopping the sound and the pain, was almost as bad as the condition. And took close to two hours all told.
At just after 4 am they finally released me - with handfuls of new medications to add, some to my daily routine, some just tempory to deal with the new assult to my lungs that already had damage from pneumonia 10 months ago, from surgery, from h1n1, from developing this asthma. Drugs to prevent this from happening again, hopefully. Drugs for the swelling of a somewhat vial organ. Drugs for the pain.
During this time I was messaging with a friend who had ended up at the ER i worked so hard to avoid. My thoughts go out to her as she is still there. They were so busy i was being released before she was being seen. But maybe had i been there, i could have cleared their ER as well LOL.
I am home now, heavily medicated, and with a job that is angry at me for missing part of a day of work (i worked the afternoon shift against medical advice because i think i have missed enough time they are getting ready to fire me.)
I dont know why i am recording this event to be honest. I think i just want to get it out of my system.
Mom went with me, and actually stayed in the ER the whole time - not in the car, sleeping, though i told her she could. I told her i could drive myself (glad i didnt though, i would not have been able to drive home as i could not sit up.) I told her she could just drop me off. She decided this needed someone there.
I felt really bad and guilty for being at the ER - for scaring people with the sound i was making. For not being able to stop it or control it. For needing the medical attention in the middle of the night when people should have been sleeping.
I wanted to go home, and just wait it out and hope it would pass. I think i didnt want to admit what was happening.
I hate the ER. I have never had a good experience there - only shades of bad. My first trip, ever, i was sent home with some pain pills and a "doy......we dont know.....doy". Second trip was probably the "best" but....i was there many many hours of pain and it was still a "well heres what we think happened, good luck with that". Usually, they dont believe me. I was there last night, and i still got this feeling they thought i was faking it or something. I dont know that i can explain how or why i got this feeling, nor that i can say that it isnt just me but...
I dont know what it is i am even trying to say. I am tired, drugged, not sure that i am being clear or understandable and ever so done with being sick.
Clearly, laughter isnt always the best medicine
Why yes, christmas is coming, and while the goose is getting fat, my stash of gifts is not LOL.
But it was a good knit night, and much laughter was, as usual, had. This is why I go and this is why I love it. And this is why i may be banned from going to knit night again.
I laughed really hard. And then i made this sound I had never heard before, and hope never to hear again. It was kind of like a quacking. So, being as I wasn't sure what it was, I took my asthma puffers. Took the full dose that makes my hands tremble a bit and everything. The sound did not go away (Note, this happened, luckily, at the end of the evening when we were all going to the cars and talking about Captain Awesome.).
Got in my car, drove home. Quacking. And wondering why I was quacking. and how to make it stop.
Mom looked at me when I came in, and we decided, must not be a quack, must be some kind of demented cough. Ok, lets take cough suppressants. Strong ones. Codiene. That should stop this pretty quick. So i tossed back a full dose, lay down quacking, and waited for it to go away.
45 Mins passed, still going on. Ok, this is one stubborn thing my body is doing, I know...I will overmedicate it into submission. More pills, more waiting more quacking.
The sound was painful. As in, whatever was going on was causing my chest to hurt like woah. To the point of lying there, with tears. Standing made it worse. And I couldn't talk really. A word or two, but then that was it.
At 2 and a quarter hours of this not going away, or getting better, despite tossing lots of good drugs at it, we got worried. Mom had been asking me about the hospital since the first set of drugs didn't work, but at the same time, neither of us thought they would be of much help.
Finally, we called telehealth. By which i mean mom called for me (as i couldn't talk) and talked to a nurse, who could hear me quacking in the backgroud. Which ER did we want to go to, the nurse says. This is what they call a breathing emergency, and did i want the ambulance sent to my house? No, i don't want to pay for one of those, its been happening a long time, we can drive. It will be cheaper, more convienent. And, i wanted to make sure i stayed away from the actual local hospital at all costs. As i hate that hospital with a passion and don't actually trust them to keep me alive because the staff there is very very incompetent - as proved by my last experience there. And mom's.
Did we understand that they weren't joking about the ambulance thing? That that sound was me, not breathing right and that with out relatively quick treatment, not only was it not going away but that i would stop breathing? These are questions they asked my mom, even while i was going "but the er sucks. and wont help anyways"
So, at midnight we arrive at the second nearest ER. Stuill breathing, still quacking, and get checked in. The nurse we had talked to had sent information over to the hospital, which they proceeded to ignore. I was still walking, give or take, under my own steam, so please hurry up and wait.
So i sat down in teh waiting room, mask on, knowing this wasn't H1N1 (again) and watching as first everyone moved to the direct opposite of the waiting room from me. Crowded into one corner to avoid the weird person making that sound constantly. Then watched as everyone went to grab masks. Then watching as people who are clearly sick get up and walk out of the hospital. No thanks, don't want to catch whatever she has.
I actually cleared the hospital ER waiting room of everyone who wasn't being treated/wasn't in an emergency more acute. Bleeding people left without treatment, all while watching me as they walked away. I felt.....bad.
Then i started to get tired. Really tired. I don't want to breathe because its taking more energy than i have tired.
I took more medication while in the ER waiting room, trying to get this to stop so we could just go home already and i could sleep. Thats all I wanted, to lie down and to go to sleep. It didn't work.
At just after 2:15 am, the dr was finally able to see me - about 4 and a half hours after this all started. Looked at me, took a quick listen. Yep - my lungs and airway had swollen, and that needed treatment but the good news is no pneumonia. Well no, we didn't actually think that was what was going on.
So they hooked me up to pure oxygen then started giving me mask after mask of assorted breathing treatments. Steroids. Things to open the airway. Things to take away the pain (did i mention this hurt and by this point i had pulled, twisted, or otherwise injured most of the muscles in my neck and torso). Narcotics, to stop the spasms. Hydrated air, as i had damaged my airway. Cortisone, inhaled, to do...something.
The drugs came with side effects. One of them made me space out to the point of not being sure if i was sitting or what. One of them made my heart pound and my blood presure shoot up. Sort of like having a medically induced, can't get rid of it panic attack. One of them made it so that if i tried to sit up, i vomited. I could literally only lie down. The treatment, while it was stopping the sound and the pain, was almost as bad as the condition. And took close to two hours all told.
At just after 4 am they finally released me - with handfuls of new medications to add, some to my daily routine, some just tempory to deal with the new assult to my lungs that already had damage from pneumonia 10 months ago, from surgery, from h1n1, from developing this asthma. Drugs to prevent this from happening again, hopefully. Drugs for the swelling of a somewhat vial organ. Drugs for the pain.
During this time I was messaging with a friend who had ended up at the ER i worked so hard to avoid. My thoughts go out to her as she is still there. They were so busy i was being released before she was being seen. But maybe had i been there, i could have cleared their ER as well LOL.
I am home now, heavily medicated, and with a job that is angry at me for missing part of a day of work (i worked the afternoon shift against medical advice because i think i have missed enough time they are getting ready to fire me.)
I dont know why i am recording this event to be honest. I think i just want to get it out of my system.
Mom went with me, and actually stayed in the ER the whole time - not in the car, sleeping, though i told her she could. I told her i could drive myself (glad i didnt though, i would not have been able to drive home as i could not sit up.) I told her she could just drop me off. She decided this needed someone there.
I felt really bad and guilty for being at the ER - for scaring people with the sound i was making. For not being able to stop it or control it. For needing the medical attention in the middle of the night when people should have been sleeping.
I wanted to go home, and just wait it out and hope it would pass. I think i didnt want to admit what was happening.
I hate the ER. I have never had a good experience there - only shades of bad. My first trip, ever, i was sent home with some pain pills and a "doy......we dont know.....doy". Second trip was probably the "best" but....i was there many many hours of pain and it was still a "well heres what we think happened, good luck with that". Usually, they dont believe me. I was there last night, and i still got this feeling they thought i was faking it or something. I dont know that i can explain how or why i got this feeling, nor that i can say that it isnt just me but...
I dont know what it is i am even trying to say. I am tired, drugged, not sure that i am being clear or understandable and ever so done with being sick.
Clearly, laughter isnt always the best medicine
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