Tuesday September 2
What I'm feeling today is very difficult to put into words. It's like I'm watching from a safe distance while another me loses his mind. In fact so many pieces of me are missing, that sometimes I don’t think I’m “me” any more. I can't remember the last time I looked in the mirror; I shave blind in the shower. It’s like I don’t want to meet the stranger I’ve become eye to eye. I used to care that my hair was just right, my clothes were just right and now I’ve become an unrecognizable slob in an oversized sweat suit.
I've lost the "Jet" I worked so hard to become once I moved to Columbus, and the one from Barberton wants to reclaim my body.
Nowadays, there are things I do that just don’t make sense.
Until I actually touch the doorknob of my apartment, the thought of going outside of it is nearly impossible-irrationally so. Once I'm outside I'm fine-unless it's dark of course. It’s like those three “bogeymen” are outside, just waiting for me to leave my safe haven so they can finish the job they started in late 2004. The former “me” had a ball inviting friends here to dinner and a DVD, or maybe a few games of 8-ball in the rec room. He loved to go out and have fun with friends to the movies, out to dinner, dancing at a bar, but now that desire is gone. I lost that need so gradually over the last four years, that I can’t remember specifically how it left me… only that it’s gone.
I love salads and always have. I'd buy fresh vegetables chop them up by hand, make up my own salad dressings from scratch and then live off them. I wasn’t a vegetarian by any means…. I just loved salads. But now I go to the market, take time and care to select only the best… and then watch them rot in my fridge instead of chopping them up. I just suddenly don’t have the energy; I’ll literally and physically become too tired. My passion used to be cooking and the more complicated the recipe the better.
Then there are the terrible flashbacks that happen in real time while I'm awake walking in Wal-mart or out driving. One of my attackers appears out of nowhere, shoots me and then I feel the bullet tear into my scull and lodge in my brain. I feel and smell the blood, but there’s no pain.
At night the nightmares involve getting on my knees and begging them to kill me rather than live the last four years. Another has me I grabbing the gun to try to take control of the situation, holding them at gunpoint, but the police suddenly arrive and shoot me before I can explain. I've gotten away from them only to find myself being chased down by them in my own car and they run me over. In almost all of them, I'm dead, but I still can sense what's going on around me, and can't tell anyone that I can hear them or cry for help.
Now that I'm safe today, my car loan miraculously approved and my bills are manageable. It’s so unfair that my dreams are still of killing myself before something else catastrophic happens again to spoil how suddenly out of harm's way I feel now. I got my county health card, so I don't have to worry about medical expenses and hospital bills, but it's so god dammed unfair, that I have to live in fear that something new will happen, the loan will suddenly be canceled, my health will fail, welfare will call and say the card was sent by mistake. You’d think I was irrational to fear such things, and just enjoy myself and relax… but I can’t. It hurts so fucking much that I can’t.
So every so often I think of suicide, before god or the devil strikes his next blow to see if I can graduate to the next level of pain and still survive with my sanity. From 1985 till now I've lived a dream come true. A great life, travel, respect, business friends, success, a great body (for a year anyway) one of the best apartments in the city and the well being of being able to handle any problem.
Then not only was it suddenly swept away without warning, it was done tortuously slowly, until I've been reduced to a little begging mouse, unable to walk right, and now irrationally afraid of strangers that I used to extend a glad hand and a smile to.
The only thing I didn't have was a family I could share it with. None of them wanted to hear about their gay brother's success, despite the number of photos I'd send, they didn't believe it anyway. Now I can't lament that they never saw it, because I've lost it now...
...but I had friends that gladly took their place; people that extended love and regard for who I was, instead of disgust at who I was 10 or 20 years ago, or the homoSEXual pervert that their bible-beating priests warned them I’d become.
I NEED the Jet with the body, the brains, the confidence and the budget to grab anything I wanted, anything I needed. I used to be the dependable one that friends came to for help or a shoulder to cry on. Now the roles are reversed and I don’t like living the other side of the coin.
I've gone from paying my rent a year ahead of time, and overpaying the utilities so I didn't have to worry about a bill if I were out of town for an extended period of time, to begging and rolling coins for gas money.
My heart won't let me exercise or even walk short distances without becoming exhausted, keeping any semblance of past fitness out of my grasp. The side effects of the diabetes and other drugs cause weight gain, which only worsens my health.
The 2nd worst day of my life was when I had to apply for county help and food stamps. The worse day, was being told I made about $36 too much in income from disability and workman's comp to qualify for it, and then being informed that I'd have to sell off assets like my piano that's 100-years-old this year in order to qualify for their help.
I'm safe now; I'm scheduled for the operation on my knee that'll get me back on track... so why am I so damned worried? I keep reaching back into the past to try to recapture that "me" but it's gone like nearly every house I grew up in, the neighborhood I loved, and even the airport was torn down.
And all the while I stand to one side, calmly watching myself go through this, not realizing that I'm watching myself slip away...
How is that possible?
Friday September 5
I spent the last two days sleeping, though I fought it as much as I could. I know this is just a physical effect of depression, but I'm trying to mentally fight it, with only mixed results. This being an example since I'm writing this at 6 in the morning on Saturday.
I forced out a new BlogCritic's article on the Classic Rock Group "Heart" demanding that McCain stop using their hit "Barracuda" to introduce Sara Palin. Turns out a bunch of other artists are just as pissed too. After a little polish it’ll probably be published tomorrow.
I got a letter from the county, they want an award letter from Workman's Comp. I asked for one and was e-mailed something scrambled in a ".pdf" file, so I stuck some direct deposit receipts in their envelope and mailed it out, hoping for the best.
Tuesday September 9
Some good news!!
It's 4:30 in the morning and I just woke up. I fell asleep yesterday around 5PM. The day started out early with an eye exam at OSU. I failed my eye test on the right eye miserably.
They had me take off my glasses and they had another look and couldn't find anything wrong. While the doctor explained that things take time after surgery, I happened to glance at the eye chart and was shocked that I could read the 20-25 line!!!... without my glasses! The head surgeon came in and said, if I could do that than "we'd" hit one out of the park. (he did the work)
I've got an exception on my driver's license that I have to wear corrective lenses, and now the comical part is I can see better without them than with them. Finally a problem I can laugh at! They may have to write me a note, telling any cop that stops me that it's okay.
"Officer, here's a note from my mother!"
My left eye seems to have a lot of pressure in it, and they've prescribed yet another kind of drops for it. I'm glad the county's paying for this.
I wound up paying my car insurance Saturday for a month. I waited until the last moment, because technically the car isn't leased, it's owned, but Hunting***'s taking their good old time. I'm past worrying about it-which does no good anyway. I've had three or four different doctors look at me and told me there's no physical reason for the sleep problems, so I'm back to physical effects of depression.
The flashbacks are getting more intense. If I pull up to a traffic light, and the car next to me has young black men in it, it's terrible and I sweat bullets waiting for the light to change. I'm the farthest thing from a racist you can get, so you can imagine how much this bothers me. Thankfully I can't remember much of the nightmares shortly after I wake up, but the horror lingers for about an hour or so.
I couldn't fall asleep until 5:30 AM yesterday morning, and I had to drag myself out of bed to make the early OSU appointment. I got home, put the groceries away and tried to put the new phone system together and suddenly felt tired and woke this morning thinking it was around midnight and it was 4:30!
I'm still looking at the components scattered all over my desk. Any minute now Mischief's bound to jump up and scatter it all over the place. (I'm shocked she hasn't already.)
The desk sort of has a "center console" in the hutch, and I found a phone, answering machine and a "caller ID with voice" that all fit into it like it was made that way, all in black so it goes with the dark cherry wood.
I'm feeling incredibly sleepy...
...I can't believe it's 11:30 PM.
The 11:00 news reported the last thing I needed to see; the manager of the Dairy Queen on Tamarack Circle, that I used to trade pizzas for treats with was shot during a hold up this evening. The location is within the same business circle where I delivered pizzas from and within yelling and sight distance of where I was robbed/beaten.
This is going to be a hard night.
Still no word from Hunting*** bank about my car.
GB wants my written authorization for them to read Dr. Mind's notes of my sessions with her. I don't want to, it's such an invasion of doctor/patient privacy. It's the same as them demanding my personal medical records, probably hoping that they'd find some pre-existing condition that would give them an excuse not to pay my medical bills.
I feel a cloud of choking doom descending. Irrational or not, I'm worried that Hunting*** is about to do what Chrysler did, sign all the papers for me to buy my car, and then pull the rug out from under me 15 days later.
I wish I could stop being so pessimistic, but it's become a iron-willed defense mechanism that I hate, but can't shake off. The constant need to be on alert to defend myself from the next disaster that will befall me.
Wednesday September 10
Dr. Mind suggested hypnosis today to deal with the flashbacks and nightmares, especially since they've intensified since I saw the news story about the Dairy Queen manager being shot. I've very uncomfortable with the idea, possibly because I'm a control freak.
I enjoyed cruising around with the top down and bought some batteries for my new caller I.D> unit. I got home and found my payment book in the mail. The papers said the payments were $292 but they're $296, oh well, I can breath a sigh of relief now, the car is mine.
I got home dead tired but couldn't fall asleep. There are three constants of this ordeal; the love and caring from my sister Betsy, who knows all my secrets, My aunt Margaret who I told first, because she loves me without judgment, and of course "Dr. Mind.
Speaking of Dr. Mind, she told me that workman's comp told her that I didn't have to sign over permission for GB to read my session notes.
I got another letter from the county, Jesus every time I think I've sent them everything they want they demand more. Now they want an injury statement from my doctor... what next?
Tomorrow I go in for my pre-surgery exam. (groan)
Thursday September 11
Spent the morning at Grant Hospital being poked, prodded and measured. After they did an EKG on me, I was a little worried that they wanted another permission from "Dr. Heart".
I went to my usual comfort station after nearly every session with her... Big Boy's out on route 71. Wednesday is my official day to live a little.
Came home and opened my mail and...
SOMETHING GREAT HAPPENED!
Out of what might have been a major headache, something great happened for a change! My first car payment (according to the payment book) is due on the 15th of each month, so dumb ass me goes in and reprograms my checking account to sent them the payment for September... and two days later I realized that the payment is due the 15th, but it wasn't scheduled to go until the 17th (yikes-the due date of the lease payments).
So in a panic I call Hunting*** to explain why my payment will be two days late only to discover that the extra payments on the rental contracts for August and September, were reworked into my payments on the loan... AND I'M ACTUALLY A MONTH AHEAD ON MY CAR PAYMENTS!!!!!!
I must've asked her a dozen times "Do extra payments on the loan go to the end of it, or to the next month due"... and she said it goes toward the next month.
I don't have another car payment until November 15th.
I wish you could see the grin I'm wearing!
Friday September 12
There was a news item about a woman finding a dead body behind... You guessed it, the apartment building on Tamarack. Just when I convinced myself that it was all a coincidence, the Big Boy's where I go every Wednesday got robbed last night.
What me paranoid?
To distract myself I wrote a new article about the media manipulating poll data to make it appear as if the election was closer than it was in order to keep their ratings high. It’s amazing how I can tap into this writer’s persona and pluck out articles.
Saturday September 13th
Spent the day writing formulas for my new financial spreadsheet design. Decided to relax with Ohio State vs USC. Wrong move. It’s rare that OSU’s football team loses. Columbus is not smiling tonight, I'm glad I'm not out in campus area.
I forced myself to watch Saturday Night Live tonight because Hunk/Babe/Champion Michael Phelps was hosting the season premier. I gave it my best, and hated it. I can't see how that audience can laugh at the most unfunny material. I was so pissed, I wrote a review of it that I published on my own website instead of BlogCritic’s
Sunday September 14th
We got hit with hurricane Ike... here in Columbus!?! Not a whole lot of rain, but we had constant wind that took out trees, power lines, and the occasional semi that braved Rt. 71. I watched my lawn furniture out on the patio go flying. Fortunately the railing stopped them from sailing off and hitting cars down below.
I went out for supplies and it was really warm, so I put the top down. It must've been between gusts, because the moment I left the carport, the wind went nuts. We have two beautiful two-story tall blue spruce pines at the outer corner of our swimming pool and they were both destroyed and laying on their sides. Our landlord was out gathering up chaise lounges-it was a miracle none of them wound up in the pool.
Halfway to Wal-mart, I was temped to pull over and put the top up, but I was worried I'd lose it in that wind (no exaggeration). My adventures included being behind a semi whose trailer was penduluming back and forth and I was convinced it'd tip over if I tried to pass it.
The traffic lights were all out, and about every fifth car apparently didn't know that you treat the lack of traffic lights like a 4-way stop. I got the top up between gusts and nearly got taken out by a shopping cart pushed by the wind in Wal-Mart's parking lot. I bought a bunch of groceries, some salad stuff and some ground chuck to stock up in case the power’s out for a while.
I stopped at a restaurant supply store only to find them closed because the power was out. On my way back to the expressway, something caught my eye in the rear view mirror... it was a sizable piece of a tree that was gaining on me. It suddenly blew upward and hit the minivan next to me!
I've got two doctor appointments tomorrow...
Fun fun fun...
Monday September 15
The day started out very cluttered and rushed. Columbus had just endured (barely) hurricane-force winds but no much-needed rain from Ike. A casual glance at the local morning news revealed nearly the entire county was blacked out from trees falling on power lines. I always shake my head at such events and wonder why the hell all power lines aren’t buried under ground.
I guess if it makes sense, it’s against company policy.
The county wanted even more documentation to continue giving me Medicaid help with my hospital bills. First stop was to Work Health two blocks away at 8:45AM. I went outside to find shreds of tree branches everywhere, and a three-story tall pine tree from who knows where laying sideways in front of our building’s car port… directly in front of my car. It took me a while to realize it was one of the trees that line up behind our carports!!! It’d actually been uprooted and flipped up and over our cars to land in front of it!
Well I guess in front of it is better than on it.
I called Work Health and explained why I couldn’t make it in and they said half their staff hadn’t shown up yet, so we re-scheduled for 2 PM. After checking to make sure Mischief had enough food and water in case I was gone most of the day, I set out and was relieved that they got the tree moved in time for me to make my appointment at Grant hospital’s heart failure clinic, where they wrote out a paper to say what ailed me, poked, prodded and punctured me, and sent me on my way around noon.
With two hours until the WH appointment, I decided to make up a supply list and hit Wal-Mart again in case the power was out for a long time. Downtown seems to be one of the few places with electricity. I pulled into my apartment complex and parked in the little green space between the buildings with a swimming pool and trees (what was left of them anyway,) got out of the car and for the tiniest fraction of a second something blurred, then in what was less than a second, my bare knees crashed down painfully onto the concrete, half an instant later, I heard and felt my elbows follow suit, and before I could react my face followed.
I lay there stunned, as a secretary from one of the offices came running out and asked if I was okay.
My right hand was above my head and as I rolled over, I seemed to have lost control of my right arm and every time I willed it to move, it’d flop somewhere else. Everything happened so fast that I was just getting over being stunned of it… then it caught up to me. My knees were bleeding and began to hurt, my right arm held a flash of searing pain and I was still having trouble adjusting to seemingly no longer having any control of it.
A crowd began gathering, and I still couldn’t get up and several people made a point of making sure I didn’t. The wail of a siren brought a rescue squad and I told them I thought I’d dislocated my right shoulder and they immediately wisked me away to Grant Hospital.
Great, just what I needed; another $735 ambulance bill for a two-block ride.
The doctors sort of avoided my direct gaze as they muttered amongst themselves. I’d just overheard one of the firemen telling them he couldn’t get an accurate blood pressure reading, and after they did one of their own, that’s when the muttering commenced.
Next came x-rays and they cut my shirt off of me. I don’t know what they gave me for the pain, but it no doubt was expensive, popular on some backstreets, and did its job very well. Doctors kept milling in and out with frowns and hushed voices and after a while a nurse came in and said she’d turn the lights off and that I should try to relax.
I woke up in agony; I’d been having a nightmare about my three attackers again and suddenly found my mangled right arm under me. I lost my breath, equally afraid and in pain. I had to search for it and when I found the bedside panic button my right hand wouldn’t reach for it, which made me even more scared. Suddenly I couldn’t take more than very short breaths before something painful in my lower right abdomen would hurt and prevent any further intake. With all my strength and about to pass out, I screamed, “HELP ME, GODDAM IT!”
A nurse came stomping in and turned off the little alarm I’d set off, bitched me out that she was the only one on the floor, and that other people were hurt worse than me, and then slammed the door without even asking me why I’d called for her. Now I was completely lost. I didn’t realize until I caught sight of the wall clock that it was now almost 1 in the morning!?!
A few minutes later a male nurse took my blood pressure and it was something like 63 over 24. My normal is 128 over 85, so I was scared. I took stock of myself, I had huge scabs on my knees and elbows, my face didn’t seem damaged, he finished and turned out the lights again…
Tuesday September 16
Sometime around 7 or 8 in the morning, I suddenly realized that I’d been in the emergency room nearly 24-hours! A doctor came in and said they were going to do a cat scan on me to determine why I’d passed out… I didn’t remember passing out.
If the test revealed anything they didn’t tell me, but in the process I was transferred (without realizing it at first) to a regular roll around hospital bed from the gurney I’d come in on. On the trip up to the room he told me that a sudden drop in blood pressure caused me to lose motor control of my body muscles, and they couldn’t explain why. I also had a total of four fractures in my upper right arm, one of which went from top to bottom in a spiral.
I was taken up to a semi private room that I’d seen 11 times before in the last 4 years and someone came up and put a wet splint on my arm. A nurse came in took my vital signs and left, then an orderly arrived and wheeled me, bed and all, down the hall, up a floor and into a private room in the intensive needs ward.
I was immediately confronted with a sign on the wall in big letters (that they read to me) that I was not permitted to get out of bed for any reason unless a nurse was there to assist me. While my head was still spinning, a nurse came in around noon and asked if I’d called room service and ordered lunch yet.
Huh? Room service?
The last thing I was was hungry.
Since a day ago things were going by in such a blur, that reality hadn’t caught back up to me yet, but now it was… big time. I'd left my car in the central park area and it'd probably be towed away as there's a 24-hour restriction on it. I missed the appointment at Work Health and without a signed C84 form from an examining doctor; GB would gleefully cut off my Workman’s Comp checks. Since I didn’t deliver the medical statements to County Medicaid, they’d cut off my financial help with my medical and prescription bills, just as I ran up probably $40-50,000 of them.
In the time it took me to realize that, I occurred to me that some member of the staff insisted on coming in every 10-15 minutes to take my blood pressure.
A deep resentment/depression began building up in me. It was almost as if God had decided that to make up for the success I’d fought to earn, now I had to have a personal failure to balance it out, and each crisis seemed to get worse, and always I wondered if I’d find the strength to endure. I talked a major bank into loaning me $10,000 so I could keep my nice car less than a year after filing bankruptcy, so now for the joy and accomplishment I was foolish enough to celebrate, I had to pay by winding up in pain in the hospital.
“To bend, but not to break,
to yield, but not capitulate,” that’s always been my struggle.
I fell into the all too familiar pattern of sleeping all the time-classic depression-unfortunately knowing that doesn’t help you avoid it, to escape where reality and pain couldn’t find me, but the nightmares could. Sometime later in the night I woke up and realized that Mischief only had about a day of food and water last Monday... it was now Wednesday.
Wednesday September 17
I’ve unfortunately gotten used to the nurses and doctors showing up like clockwork in my room every so often to check my vital signs or draw more blood. The damned diarrhea just won’t let go, and with my arm in it’s splint, I can’t raise myself out of bed by myself, so a nurse has to help me every time I need to go to the bathroom because I can't use the bedpan with only one useable hand; which is humiliating. Since I’m right-handed and my right arm is broken, I’m in really terrible straights. One of the most difficult things is to try to wipe your ass with your left hand when you’re right handed.
After I ordered breakfast and it came, I realized all the things I couldn’t do now, like feed myself. The food fell off the spoon just barely controlled by my left hand, before I could clumsily get it to my mouth. I could no longer sign anything. Every so often when pills came, I had to dump them in my mouth, and then quickly reach for the water to swallow them. Little condiment packets had to be torn open with my teeth and milk cartons were impossible one-handed. I began feeling more and more depressed, and more and more helpless.
I started ordering things like hamburgers that I could manage with one hand. They started trying to cheer me up with tiny cafeteria tubs of ice cream for dessert, and then forget that I couldn’t open them.
Poor Mischief was now probably two days without food. When you’re sick, or hurt over a long period of four years, like it or not, your friends start wandering away. It didn’t hit me full-force until I tried to get someone to check on my cat and my doctors started constantly asking, “Don’t you have a friend that could help you?”
I finally got a hold of T, who thankfully still had the keys I’d given her. About five years ago things weren’t going so well and she asked me if she could come in twice a week and clean my penthouse. With the uncovered hospital bills, and then the bankruptcy costs it wasn’t long before I couldn’t afford her, but I let her keep the keys. She hadn’t been answering her phone because she was busy with her own disasters. Her apartment had been broken into twice and nearly everything of value was stolen; and in the midst of that I had the nerve to ask her if she could go check on my cat.
I felt like a heel.
I fell into the familiar pattern and slept a lot between nurses coming in. I curse the man who invented the hospital bed with control buttons to raise and lower it in places you can’t reach. I quickly learned how to hit the buttons with my elbow.
The nightmares began again about the attack.
God, is there nowhere I can escape from all this? As they loaded on more Percocets to ease the pain in my arm, most of my time was spent thankfully unconscious. Just as often, I’d fall asleep wishing I wouldn’t wake up the next morning…
Thursday, September 18
I woke up startled to find myself standing in the dark, whipped by fierce wind. I was clutching something to my chest that was so big in diameter that my hands barely met on the opposite side of it. I chanced opening my eyes to find myself maybe 30-40 stories up in the air.
An ice-cold gust tore at my hospital gown, nearly clawing me off my perch. I was on some kind of radio/TV tower that gently rocked back and forth in the gale. Below, cars crisscrossed an expressway oblivious to me. The asphalt shimmered in the glossy rain.
My right arm ached from holding on for so long. If I could just lock my fingers together I might have a chance of surviving this, but my fingertips barely met, and each movement allowed a little bit more slippery rain to seep inside of my arm's.
Screaming for help wasn't going to do any good-no one would hear me. Whatever it was I was standing on was sharp; probably rusted, and cutting into my bare feet. Braving a better look, there wasn't anything I could grab onto for a more secure grip.
A blindingly red light was at waist level, and if I could climb up two steps, my feet would have something warm to rest on. My arms began to hurt trying to barely grip the thick pole I was clinging to. For a moment, I thought of trying to reach the top of a guy wire that slung diagonally to the ground. It looked rusted and would probably cut my hands to shreds.
Off to the west an electrical storm was approaching swiftly from the horizon. Aside from the low rumble of thunder, all that I could hear was the tires hissing on the roadway below and a steady low hum from a thick cable that snaked up the tower.
The situation was all too familiar-I'd been here before, and I decided I was just too weary to endure it again, so I simply let go and gracefully fell backwards into the wind, doing a graceful flip to find myself rushing headlong toward the ground.
...I woke up screaming in terror.
...They told me today that I was scheduled to go into surgery on my arm next Tuesday and that I’d probably go home tomorrow. I had a bunch of bills that had to be paid, and I couldn’t program my checking account from a hospital bed, so things became urgent. T (god love her) came up to visit me and got the key for my locking door chain, then went over and cuddled Mischief. When I arrived here, my blood pressure was through the floor and my blood sugar within the mid-300s. We solved one problem by getting them to not use dextrose in the I.V. bags and miraculously my blood sugars started falling below 100! I went Wednesday and today with no insulin at all!
To this day I still theorize that my diabetes was brought on by the "fight or flight" syndrome, in which my body is always prepared for a fight response, loaded with sugar in preparation for a fight that never comes.
The blood pressure was another thing all together and they kept sending me downstairs somewhere for more scans and exams and EKGs, always returning me to my room with worried looks. It was telling that they wouldn’t even transport me down in a wheel chair; I had to be wheeled down bed and all! I was so weak I barely could stand on my own.
Last night I woke up again in about a quart of my own diarrhea and suffered the humiliation of about five nurses cleaning the bed and me up at four in the morning. To their credit, they made me feel like it was something they did all the time and not to be so embarrassed.
The result was I found myself on a liquid diet of broths etc.
Friday, September 19
I’d hoped to go home today but before I’d even gotten my liquid breakfast, they told me I had to stay a while longer because of the low blood pressure. By then I’d lost track of how many, and how many different doctors had come into see me; much less what they were babbling at me in “doctoreze.” They seemed to be concerned that I'd had a stroke. Others seemed to be saying that the stents that'd been installed in my heart weren't working as planned, and might be cutting off bloodflow instead of improving it.
I had a TV on a long arm that extended down in front of me over my bed; I also had a table where I could keep a bottle of water ever at the ready. Whatever the pain meds they had me on were, I suffered the severe side effect of without warning my mouth would go completely dust-bowl dry, to the point of my tongue tasting of salt without any moisture and my lips chapping.
I began threatening the doctors, nurses etc. with a cup at the end of the bed. Every time one of them came in and swung the TV, or food/drink tray out of my reach but never put it back before they left, had to put a quarter in the cup. The threat wasn’t really all that effective, but at least I tried to find something to smile about.
The fluids in the I.V.s were changed to whole blood. I found out for the first time that my blood type was A+.
For the last couple of days I’ve seen people appearing out of the corner of my eye. Of course when I looked up there was no one there. I attributed it to nursing staff walking past my door, casting a shadow into my darkened room. Then it began happening in the daytime and from the direction of the windows. Dear God what else can you do to fuck with my mind. They were always faceless figures in black that’d scamper into my room, stop, and then silently vanish without using the door.
Some new doctors came in this evening and said there was new concern about my heart. My cardiologist signed off on my operation on my arm, substituting the permission that would’ve been for my knee.
My arm became impossible to find a place/position that was comfortable in. As the pain grew, I resisted telling the truth on their “pain level scale” because the side effects of the medications were worse that the agony I endured.
Sometimes, no often, I wished I had the ability to cry; to really flood the place and release all of this frustration and pressure, but the tears won’t come and the pressure stays building behind them. Try as I might, I couldn’t fall asleep between the nightmares, flashbacks, phantoms and worry about my cat.
A nurse came in and brought me a sleeping pill. Up until now I refused to use them for fear of becoming addicted, but tonight I caved and took one.
I woke about four hours later to find a little gold teddy bear from someone with a get-well card…
Saturday, September 20
I’m beginning to wonder if hospitals don’t come with an old man down the hall screaming his head off all night as standard equipment. This one had to be tied to his bed and they put a muzzle on him to shut him up.
So far I’ve consumed two units of A+ and my blood pressure is starting to come up. I’m also not feeling as weak and can go to the bathroom by myself. Some physical therapy people came by yesterday and helped me try to walk around. I was so shocked at how out of breath and panting I was just getting from the bed to the door. Today was a little better and I actually walked up and down the hall.
My Aunt Margaret must employ spies. She never calls unless a meal has just been delivered, or nurses and doctors are surrounding me. Her and Betsy’s calls have saved me from a deep depression, just by letting me know they care.
Doctors kept parading in and out, and I guess I’m going home today. They have to replace the entire bone structure of my upper arm using cadaver bones. (I found out later that they'd used a different method and I didn't need the cadaver bones) I’m surprised I’m not haunted. My blood sugars are staying right on target without much insulin. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m so tired because I’m walking around with only about 1/3 of the usual amount of glucose I have in my blood.
By noon they were ready to usher me out, and gave me a cab pass for the ride home and some new prescriptions, most notably Nitro Glycerin for under my tongue when my chest hurts. The operation to repair my arm will take place at 7:30 AM next Tuesday and I have to be there by 5:30… ugh
I got home around 2PM and moved my dust and pollen coated car back over to my private carport. It took some doing to ignore the flashbacks, as I stood in the exact spot there I’d collapsed on Monday. I can still hear my knees, then my elbows, then my face hitting that concrete. It's an odd sensation, because I can remember the impacts and the sounds, but on pain.
I got in the apartment, dropped the mail on the desk, cuddled Mischief and then went to the fridge for a can of pop. I nearly threw up. All that food I bought was rotting (especially the meat). I’d never have the energy to pull it out of there tonight, so I left it for tomorrow.
The mail contained news that the county was declaring me ineligible for further help with the co-pays of Medicare part B because I was making too much money! I’m making the exact same amount as I was last year when they approved me. This could mean losing $95.50 or more a month from disability… something I definitely can’t afford.
I shuffled the other bills around, got on line and checked my e-mails and paid everything in advance electronically from my checking in case I had to recover more than two weeks after next week’s operation. I’m afraid GB will pull my workman’s comp benefits again when they find out the operation is on my arm (which was what was scheduled) instead of my leg.
At the bottom of the bag of my possessions and clothes that the hospital packed up was my beloved watch of 17 years…
…the crystal was shattered and missing, as were the minute and hour hands. The second hand however was determined to keep treking around its face. My mind just sort of froze for a while. By 5PM I was so tired, I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.
Sunday September 21
I woke up this morning with a mouth so dry it felt like I had salt crystals on my tongue-It’s the damned Percocet’s side effects. I’m going to have to start sleeping with a glass of water next to the bed. Teresa called to see how I was and told me she’d found my lost class ring, but I haven’t been able to find it.
I chanced driving over to Kroger’s to turn in and buy the prescriptions Grant Hospital gave me. With my useless and painful right arm, I had to lay across my driver’s side seat to insert the ignition key with my left hand. I got there at 6PM only to find that the pharmacy closes at 5 on Sundays. Fortunately the pharmacist was still there and he said they fill them and have them delivered tomorrow. There’s a drug called Lovenox that they want me to use instead of the insulin up until I go in for surgery.
Monday September 22
Woke up to my mouth feeling like it was lined with those cheap brown paper towels that you find in public restrooms. My arm hurts like hell when I try to sleep; for one thing I keep rolling over on it. Kroger’s never came with my prescriptions, I called and they said they make their deliveries in the afternoon, so I said to forget it. I should’ve been on the Lovenox for two days before the surgery, so it’s usless to me now. I called them back a little while later and they said their delivery driver couldn’t find me. He was looking on every fifth street (there are 4) in Columbus except the one I was on.
Despite my getting a little dizzy when I stand, I forced myself to drive out to Wal-mart and get my monthly prescriptions for my heart and leg. It seems like every time I think my life is turning around and headed in the right direction, this happens. I’ve got to remember not to eat tonight because of surgery tomorrow. This time I was sure to leave Mischief enough food and water for three weeks just in case.
Tuesday September 23
As many surgeries as I’ve had, they always worry me anyway. For one thing it seems to take longer and longer for me to go under from the anesthetic and I’m still awake in the operating room-which is extremely cold. I forgot to shave my chest. Why? Because they stick these adhesive patches on my chest to attach electrodes for the EKG etc, and then tear all my hair off when they remove them.
After the operation, I woke up in a private room and stayed there long enough to wonder where I was before I was wheeled down for x-rays. Then I came back to another room. This one was semi-private, but no one was in the other bed, so I had it to myself. I must’ve had 8-9 nurses and as many doctors come in and look at me within two hours. I began to worry at how worried they seemed to be about me.
I ordered “room service.” Gads it’s a bitch trying to eat with only one hand (of course I'm right handed and so I have to use the left), and they even tortured me with a little tub of ice cream that I couldn’t get open. I’m trying to smile through all this, but it’s not easy.
Wednesday September 24 thru Monday 29th.
The days are sort of blurred together. They say I lost two units of blood during the operation and they’ve been giving me I.V. fluids to try to make up for it. It took me half the day to realize I wasn’t wearing a cast; just an oversized elastic bandage. I’d like to say I slept through the day, but it was more like dozed. Every time I’d almost drop off, another nurse would come in and want to take my vital signs, take a blood sample, ask me a dozen questions or give me a pill.
The Percocet they’re giving me keeps my mouth bone dry and I insist on having a water pitcher next to my bed at all times.
A nurse told me one morning that they were concerned about my blood sugars… they were marginally low!?! One said that without the stress I normally go through at home, my body doesn’t have that “fight or flight” response.
Suddenly I can’t sleep at night, but instead I’m napping during the day. The nurses have been giving me sleeping pills, which up until now I’ve resisted because I’m afraid of becoming addicted to them. The days seem to be filled with an assortment of doctors, all asking me the same questions and all are concerned with my low blood pressure.
Aunt Margaret calls me daily, and I’m happy she cares. Betsy can’t call me so I can keep her awake on her way to work at 4 in the morning her time, because the switchboard won’t allow incoming calls. Along or about the last weekend of September, I began sleeping all the time, I’m not sure why, only that I was more unconscious than conscious.
Tuesday September 30
Discharged from hospital. According to my discharge papers, I’m scheduled for open-heart surgery on the 9th.
Went through a stack of bills and found a bunch more notices from the county about being turned down for help with my hundred or so dollar co-pay to Medicare. Just what I needed, more stress. That probably means that come November my disability check will fall to about $370.
I almost threw away what looked like one of those phony credit cards they send with applications for credit, and in fact had tossed it in the pile to go in the basket. The next letter I opened said that I’d been approved for food stamps??? I almost smiled until I read the part about how I was only getting $14 a month and it was preprogrammed onto the card I nearly threw away. 14 bucks; well I guess that’s better than nothing, but not by much.
Out of force of habit I’d thrown my broken watch in the tray on my desk with my wallet etc, and was startled by it chiming the hour! It’s a fancy (well it was when I bought it) hybrid analog/electronic, and I guess the electronic part still works.
Teresa did a hell of a lot of cleaning, but the food I bought just before I fell is still rotting in the fridge. I tossed it in a big garbage bag, big mistake, now I can’t lift it to carry it to the dumpster.
I tried to make sense of all the legalese infected mail from the county about being denied benefits because I was making too much money, even though I’m making the same amount I was making 6 months ago when they approved me. I felt so overwhelmed, that I just went to bed and slept.
What I'm feeling today is very difficult to put into words. It's like I'm watching from a safe distance while another me loses his mind. In fact so many pieces of me are missing, that sometimes I don’t think I’m “me” any more. I can't remember the last time I looked in the mirror; I shave blind in the shower. It’s like I don’t want to meet the stranger I’ve become eye to eye. I used to care that my hair was just right, my clothes were just right and now I’ve become an unrecognizable slob in an oversized sweat suit.
I've lost the "Jet" I worked so hard to become once I moved to Columbus, and the one from Barberton wants to reclaim my body.
Nowadays, there are things I do that just don’t make sense.
Until I actually touch the doorknob of my apartment, the thought of going outside of it is nearly impossible-irrationally so. Once I'm outside I'm fine-unless it's dark of course. It’s like those three “bogeymen” are outside, just waiting for me to leave my safe haven so they can finish the job they started in late 2004. The former “me” had a ball inviting friends here to dinner and a DVD, or maybe a few games of 8-ball in the rec room. He loved to go out and have fun with friends to the movies, out to dinner, dancing at a bar, but now that desire is gone. I lost that need so gradually over the last four years, that I can’t remember specifically how it left me… only that it’s gone.
I love salads and always have. I'd buy fresh vegetables chop them up by hand, make up my own salad dressings from scratch and then live off them. I wasn’t a vegetarian by any means…. I just loved salads. But now I go to the market, take time and care to select only the best… and then watch them rot in my fridge instead of chopping them up. I just suddenly don’t have the energy; I’ll literally and physically become too tired. My passion used to be cooking and the more complicated the recipe the better.
Then there are the terrible flashbacks that happen in real time while I'm awake walking in Wal-mart or out driving. One of my attackers appears out of nowhere, shoots me and then I feel the bullet tear into my scull and lodge in my brain. I feel and smell the blood, but there’s no pain.
At night the nightmares involve getting on my knees and begging them to kill me rather than live the last four years. Another has me I grabbing the gun to try to take control of the situation, holding them at gunpoint, but the police suddenly arrive and shoot me before I can explain. I've gotten away from them only to find myself being chased down by them in my own car and they run me over. In almost all of them, I'm dead, but I still can sense what's going on around me, and can't tell anyone that I can hear them or cry for help.
Now that I'm safe today, my car loan miraculously approved and my bills are manageable. It’s so unfair that my dreams are still of killing myself before something else catastrophic happens again to spoil how suddenly out of harm's way I feel now. I got my county health card, so I don't have to worry about medical expenses and hospital bills, but it's so god dammed unfair, that I have to live in fear that something new will happen, the loan will suddenly be canceled, my health will fail, welfare will call and say the card was sent by mistake. You’d think I was irrational to fear such things, and just enjoy myself and relax… but I can’t. It hurts so fucking much that I can’t.
So every so often I think of suicide, before god or the devil strikes his next blow to see if I can graduate to the next level of pain and still survive with my sanity. From 1985 till now I've lived a dream come true. A great life, travel, respect, business friends, success, a great body (for a year anyway) one of the best apartments in the city and the well being of being able to handle any problem.
Then not only was it suddenly swept away without warning, it was done tortuously slowly, until I've been reduced to a little begging mouse, unable to walk right, and now irrationally afraid of strangers that I used to extend a glad hand and a smile to.
The only thing I didn't have was a family I could share it with. None of them wanted to hear about their gay brother's success, despite the number of photos I'd send, they didn't believe it anyway. Now I can't lament that they never saw it, because I've lost it now...
...but I had friends that gladly took their place; people that extended love and regard for who I was, instead of disgust at who I was 10 or 20 years ago, or the homoSEXual pervert that their bible-beating priests warned them I’d become.
I NEED the Jet with the body, the brains, the confidence and the budget to grab anything I wanted, anything I needed. I used to be the dependable one that friends came to for help or a shoulder to cry on. Now the roles are reversed and I don’t like living the other side of the coin.
I've gone from paying my rent a year ahead of time, and overpaying the utilities so I didn't have to worry about a bill if I were out of town for an extended period of time, to begging and rolling coins for gas money.
My heart won't let me exercise or even walk short distances without becoming exhausted, keeping any semblance of past fitness out of my grasp. The side effects of the diabetes and other drugs cause weight gain, which only worsens my health.
The 2nd worst day of my life was when I had to apply for county help and food stamps. The worse day, was being told I made about $36 too much in income from disability and workman's comp to qualify for it, and then being informed that I'd have to sell off assets like my piano that's 100-years-old this year in order to qualify for their help.
I'm safe now; I'm scheduled for the operation on my knee that'll get me back on track... so why am I so damned worried? I keep reaching back into the past to try to recapture that "me" but it's gone like nearly every house I grew up in, the neighborhood I loved, and even the airport was torn down.
And all the while I stand to one side, calmly watching myself go through this, not realizing that I'm watching myself slip away...
How is that possible?
Friday September 5
I spent the last two days sleeping, though I fought it as much as I could. I know this is just a physical effect of depression, but I'm trying to mentally fight it, with only mixed results. This being an example since I'm writing this at 6 in the morning on Saturday.
I forced out a new BlogCritic's article on the Classic Rock Group "Heart" demanding that McCain stop using their hit "Barracuda" to introduce Sara Palin. Turns out a bunch of other artists are just as pissed too. After a little polish it’ll probably be published tomorrow.
I got a letter from the county, they want an award letter from Workman's Comp. I asked for one and was e-mailed something scrambled in a ".pdf" file, so I stuck some direct deposit receipts in their envelope and mailed it out, hoping for the best.
Tuesday September 9
Some good news!!
It's 4:30 in the morning and I just woke up. I fell asleep yesterday around 5PM. The day started out early with an eye exam at OSU. I failed my eye test on the right eye miserably.
They had me take off my glasses and they had another look and couldn't find anything wrong. While the doctor explained that things take time after surgery, I happened to glance at the eye chart and was shocked that I could read the 20-25 line!!!... without my glasses! The head surgeon came in and said, if I could do that than "we'd" hit one out of the park. (he did the work)
I've got an exception on my driver's license that I have to wear corrective lenses, and now the comical part is I can see better without them than with them. Finally a problem I can laugh at! They may have to write me a note, telling any cop that stops me that it's okay.
"Officer, here's a note from my mother!"
My left eye seems to have a lot of pressure in it, and they've prescribed yet another kind of drops for it. I'm glad the county's paying for this.
I wound up paying my car insurance Saturday for a month. I waited until the last moment, because technically the car isn't leased, it's owned, but Hunting***'s taking their good old time. I'm past worrying about it-which does no good anyway. I've had three or four different doctors look at me and told me there's no physical reason for the sleep problems, so I'm back to physical effects of depression.
The flashbacks are getting more intense. If I pull up to a traffic light, and the car next to me has young black men in it, it's terrible and I sweat bullets waiting for the light to change. I'm the farthest thing from a racist you can get, so you can imagine how much this bothers me. Thankfully I can't remember much of the nightmares shortly after I wake up, but the horror lingers for about an hour or so.
I couldn't fall asleep until 5:30 AM yesterday morning, and I had to drag myself out of bed to make the early OSU appointment. I got home, put the groceries away and tried to put the new phone system together and suddenly felt tired and woke this morning thinking it was around midnight and it was 4:30!
I'm still looking at the components scattered all over my desk. Any minute now Mischief's bound to jump up and scatter it all over the place. (I'm shocked she hasn't already.)
The desk sort of has a "center console" in the hutch, and I found a phone, answering machine and a "caller ID with voice" that all fit into it like it was made that way, all in black so it goes with the dark cherry wood.
I'm feeling incredibly sleepy...
...I can't believe it's 11:30 PM.
The 11:00 news reported the last thing I needed to see; the manager of the Dairy Queen on Tamarack Circle, that I used to trade pizzas for treats with was shot during a hold up this evening. The location is within the same business circle where I delivered pizzas from and within yelling and sight distance of where I was robbed/beaten.
This is going to be a hard night.
Still no word from Hunting*** bank about my car.
GB wants my written authorization for them to read Dr. Mind's notes of my sessions with her. I don't want to, it's such an invasion of doctor/patient privacy. It's the same as them demanding my personal medical records, probably hoping that they'd find some pre-existing condition that would give them an excuse not to pay my medical bills.
I feel a cloud of choking doom descending. Irrational or not, I'm worried that Hunting*** is about to do what Chrysler did, sign all the papers for me to buy my car, and then pull the rug out from under me 15 days later.
I wish I could stop being so pessimistic, but it's become a iron-willed defense mechanism that I hate, but can't shake off. The constant need to be on alert to defend myself from the next disaster that will befall me.
Wednesday September 10
Dr. Mind suggested hypnosis today to deal with the flashbacks and nightmares, especially since they've intensified since I saw the news story about the Dairy Queen manager being shot. I've very uncomfortable with the idea, possibly because I'm a control freak.
I enjoyed cruising around with the top down and bought some batteries for my new caller I.D> unit. I got home and found my payment book in the mail. The papers said the payments were $292 but they're $296, oh well, I can breath a sigh of relief now, the car is mine.
I got home dead tired but couldn't fall asleep. There are three constants of this ordeal; the love and caring from my sister Betsy, who knows all my secrets, My aunt Margaret who I told first, because she loves me without judgment, and of course "Dr. Mind.
Speaking of Dr. Mind, she told me that workman's comp told her that I didn't have to sign over permission for GB to read my session notes.
I got another letter from the county, Jesus every time I think I've sent them everything they want they demand more. Now they want an injury statement from my doctor... what next?
Tomorrow I go in for my pre-surgery exam. (groan)
Thursday September 11
Spent the morning at Grant Hospital being poked, prodded and measured. After they did an EKG on me, I was a little worried that they wanted another permission from "Dr. Heart".
I went to my usual comfort station after nearly every session with her... Big Boy's out on route 71. Wednesday is my official day to live a little.
Came home and opened my mail and...
SOMETHING GREAT HAPPENED!
Out of what might have been a major headache, something great happened for a change! My first car payment (according to the payment book) is due on the 15th of each month, so dumb ass me goes in and reprograms my checking account to sent them the payment for September... and two days later I realized that the payment is due the 15th, but it wasn't scheduled to go until the 17th (yikes-the due date of the lease payments).
So in a panic I call Hunting*** to explain why my payment will be two days late only to discover that the extra payments on the rental contracts for August and September, were reworked into my payments on the loan... AND I'M ACTUALLY A MONTH AHEAD ON MY CAR PAYMENTS!!!!!!
I must've asked her a dozen times "Do extra payments on the loan go to the end of it, or to the next month due"... and she said it goes toward the next month.
I don't have another car payment until November 15th.
I wish you could see the grin I'm wearing!
Friday September 12
There was a news item about a woman finding a dead body behind... You guessed it, the apartment building on Tamarack. Just when I convinced myself that it was all a coincidence, the Big Boy's where I go every Wednesday got robbed last night.
What me paranoid?
To distract myself I wrote a new article about the media manipulating poll data to make it appear as if the election was closer than it was in order to keep their ratings high. It’s amazing how I can tap into this writer’s persona and pluck out articles.
Saturday September 13th
Spent the day writing formulas for my new financial spreadsheet design. Decided to relax with Ohio State vs USC. Wrong move. It’s rare that OSU’s football team loses. Columbus is not smiling tonight, I'm glad I'm not out in campus area.
I forced myself to watch Saturday Night Live tonight because Hunk/Babe/Champion Michael Phelps was hosting the season premier. I gave it my best, and hated it. I can't see how that audience can laugh at the most unfunny material. I was so pissed, I wrote a review of it that I published on my own website instead of BlogCritic’s
Sunday September 14th
We got hit with hurricane Ike... here in Columbus!?! Not a whole lot of rain, but we had constant wind that took out trees, power lines, and the occasional semi that braved Rt. 71. I watched my lawn furniture out on the patio go flying. Fortunately the railing stopped them from sailing off and hitting cars down below.
I went out for supplies and it was really warm, so I put the top down. It must've been between gusts, because the moment I left the carport, the wind went nuts. We have two beautiful two-story tall blue spruce pines at the outer corner of our swimming pool and they were both destroyed and laying on their sides. Our landlord was out gathering up chaise lounges-it was a miracle none of them wound up in the pool.
Halfway to Wal-mart, I was temped to pull over and put the top up, but I was worried I'd lose it in that wind (no exaggeration). My adventures included being behind a semi whose trailer was penduluming back and forth and I was convinced it'd tip over if I tried to pass it.
The traffic lights were all out, and about every fifth car apparently didn't know that you treat the lack of traffic lights like a 4-way stop. I got the top up between gusts and nearly got taken out by a shopping cart pushed by the wind in Wal-Mart's parking lot. I bought a bunch of groceries, some salad stuff and some ground chuck to stock up in case the power’s out for a while.
I stopped at a restaurant supply store only to find them closed because the power was out. On my way back to the expressway, something caught my eye in the rear view mirror... it was a sizable piece of a tree that was gaining on me. It suddenly blew upward and hit the minivan next to me!
I've got two doctor appointments tomorrow...
Fun fun fun...
Monday September 15
The day started out very cluttered and rushed. Columbus had just endured (barely) hurricane-force winds but no much-needed rain from Ike. A casual glance at the local morning news revealed nearly the entire county was blacked out from trees falling on power lines. I always shake my head at such events and wonder why the hell all power lines aren’t buried under ground.
I guess if it makes sense, it’s against company policy.
The county wanted even more documentation to continue giving me Medicaid help with my hospital bills. First stop was to Work Health two blocks away at 8:45AM. I went outside to find shreds of tree branches everywhere, and a three-story tall pine tree from who knows where laying sideways in front of our building’s car port… directly in front of my car. It took me a while to realize it was one of the trees that line up behind our carports!!! It’d actually been uprooted and flipped up and over our cars to land in front of it!
Well I guess in front of it is better than on it.
I called Work Health and explained why I couldn’t make it in and they said half their staff hadn’t shown up yet, so we re-scheduled for 2 PM. After checking to make sure Mischief had enough food and water in case I was gone most of the day, I set out and was relieved that they got the tree moved in time for me to make my appointment at Grant hospital’s heart failure clinic, where they wrote out a paper to say what ailed me, poked, prodded and punctured me, and sent me on my way around noon.
With two hours until the WH appointment, I decided to make up a supply list and hit Wal-Mart again in case the power was out for a long time. Downtown seems to be one of the few places with electricity. I pulled into my apartment complex and parked in the little green space between the buildings with a swimming pool and trees (what was left of them anyway,) got out of the car and for the tiniest fraction of a second something blurred, then in what was less than a second, my bare knees crashed down painfully onto the concrete, half an instant later, I heard and felt my elbows follow suit, and before I could react my face followed.
I lay there stunned, as a secretary from one of the offices came running out and asked if I was okay.
My right hand was above my head and as I rolled over, I seemed to have lost control of my right arm and every time I willed it to move, it’d flop somewhere else. Everything happened so fast that I was just getting over being stunned of it… then it caught up to me. My knees were bleeding and began to hurt, my right arm held a flash of searing pain and I was still having trouble adjusting to seemingly no longer having any control of it.
A crowd began gathering, and I still couldn’t get up and several people made a point of making sure I didn’t. The wail of a siren brought a rescue squad and I told them I thought I’d dislocated my right shoulder and they immediately wisked me away to Grant Hospital.
Great, just what I needed; another $735 ambulance bill for a two-block ride.
The doctors sort of avoided my direct gaze as they muttered amongst themselves. I’d just overheard one of the firemen telling them he couldn’t get an accurate blood pressure reading, and after they did one of their own, that’s when the muttering commenced.
Next came x-rays and they cut my shirt off of me. I don’t know what they gave me for the pain, but it no doubt was expensive, popular on some backstreets, and did its job very well. Doctors kept milling in and out with frowns and hushed voices and after a while a nurse came in and said she’d turn the lights off and that I should try to relax.
I woke up in agony; I’d been having a nightmare about my three attackers again and suddenly found my mangled right arm under me. I lost my breath, equally afraid and in pain. I had to search for it and when I found the bedside panic button my right hand wouldn’t reach for it, which made me even more scared. Suddenly I couldn’t take more than very short breaths before something painful in my lower right abdomen would hurt and prevent any further intake. With all my strength and about to pass out, I screamed, “HELP ME, GODDAM IT!”
A nurse came stomping in and turned off the little alarm I’d set off, bitched me out that she was the only one on the floor, and that other people were hurt worse than me, and then slammed the door without even asking me why I’d called for her. Now I was completely lost. I didn’t realize until I caught sight of the wall clock that it was now almost 1 in the morning!?!
A few minutes later a male nurse took my blood pressure and it was something like 63 over 24. My normal is 128 over 85, so I was scared. I took stock of myself, I had huge scabs on my knees and elbows, my face didn’t seem damaged, he finished and turned out the lights again…
Tuesday September 16
Sometime around 7 or 8 in the morning, I suddenly realized that I’d been in the emergency room nearly 24-hours! A doctor came in and said they were going to do a cat scan on me to determine why I’d passed out… I didn’t remember passing out.
If the test revealed anything they didn’t tell me, but in the process I was transferred (without realizing it at first) to a regular roll around hospital bed from the gurney I’d come in on. On the trip up to the room he told me that a sudden drop in blood pressure caused me to lose motor control of my body muscles, and they couldn’t explain why. I also had a total of four fractures in my upper right arm, one of which went from top to bottom in a spiral.
I was taken up to a semi private room that I’d seen 11 times before in the last 4 years and someone came up and put a wet splint on my arm. A nurse came in took my vital signs and left, then an orderly arrived and wheeled me, bed and all, down the hall, up a floor and into a private room in the intensive needs ward.
I was immediately confronted with a sign on the wall in big letters (that they read to me) that I was not permitted to get out of bed for any reason unless a nurse was there to assist me. While my head was still spinning, a nurse came in around noon and asked if I’d called room service and ordered lunch yet.
Huh? Room service?
The last thing I was was hungry.
Since a day ago things were going by in such a blur, that reality hadn’t caught back up to me yet, but now it was… big time. I'd left my car in the central park area and it'd probably be towed away as there's a 24-hour restriction on it. I missed the appointment at Work Health and without a signed C84 form from an examining doctor; GB would gleefully cut off my Workman’s Comp checks. Since I didn’t deliver the medical statements to County Medicaid, they’d cut off my financial help with my medical and prescription bills, just as I ran up probably $40-50,000 of them.
In the time it took me to realize that, I occurred to me that some member of the staff insisted on coming in every 10-15 minutes to take my blood pressure.
A deep resentment/depression began building up in me. It was almost as if God had decided that to make up for the success I’d fought to earn, now I had to have a personal failure to balance it out, and each crisis seemed to get worse, and always I wondered if I’d find the strength to endure. I talked a major bank into loaning me $10,000 so I could keep my nice car less than a year after filing bankruptcy, so now for the joy and accomplishment I was foolish enough to celebrate, I had to pay by winding up in pain in the hospital.
“To bend, but not to break,
to yield, but not capitulate,” that’s always been my struggle.
I fell into the all too familiar pattern of sleeping all the time-classic depression-unfortunately knowing that doesn’t help you avoid it, to escape where reality and pain couldn’t find me, but the nightmares could. Sometime later in the night I woke up and realized that Mischief only had about a day of food and water last Monday... it was now Wednesday.
Wednesday September 17
I’ve unfortunately gotten used to the nurses and doctors showing up like clockwork in my room every so often to check my vital signs or draw more blood. The damned diarrhea just won’t let go, and with my arm in it’s splint, I can’t raise myself out of bed by myself, so a nurse has to help me every time I need to go to the bathroom because I can't use the bedpan with only one useable hand; which is humiliating. Since I’m right-handed and my right arm is broken, I’m in really terrible straights. One of the most difficult things is to try to wipe your ass with your left hand when you’re right handed.
After I ordered breakfast and it came, I realized all the things I couldn’t do now, like feed myself. The food fell off the spoon just barely controlled by my left hand, before I could clumsily get it to my mouth. I could no longer sign anything. Every so often when pills came, I had to dump them in my mouth, and then quickly reach for the water to swallow them. Little condiment packets had to be torn open with my teeth and milk cartons were impossible one-handed. I began feeling more and more depressed, and more and more helpless.
I started ordering things like hamburgers that I could manage with one hand. They started trying to cheer me up with tiny cafeteria tubs of ice cream for dessert, and then forget that I couldn’t open them.
Poor Mischief was now probably two days without food. When you’re sick, or hurt over a long period of four years, like it or not, your friends start wandering away. It didn’t hit me full-force until I tried to get someone to check on my cat and my doctors started constantly asking, “Don’t you have a friend that could help you?”
I finally got a hold of T, who thankfully still had the keys I’d given her. About five years ago things weren’t going so well and she asked me if she could come in twice a week and clean my penthouse. With the uncovered hospital bills, and then the bankruptcy costs it wasn’t long before I couldn’t afford her, but I let her keep the keys. She hadn’t been answering her phone because she was busy with her own disasters. Her apartment had been broken into twice and nearly everything of value was stolen; and in the midst of that I had the nerve to ask her if she could go check on my cat.
I felt like a heel.
I fell into the familiar pattern and slept a lot between nurses coming in. I curse the man who invented the hospital bed with control buttons to raise and lower it in places you can’t reach. I quickly learned how to hit the buttons with my elbow.
The nightmares began again about the attack.
God, is there nowhere I can escape from all this? As they loaded on more Percocets to ease the pain in my arm, most of my time was spent thankfully unconscious. Just as often, I’d fall asleep wishing I wouldn’t wake up the next morning…
Thursday, September 18
I woke up startled to find myself standing in the dark, whipped by fierce wind. I was clutching something to my chest that was so big in diameter that my hands barely met on the opposite side of it. I chanced opening my eyes to find myself maybe 30-40 stories up in the air.
An ice-cold gust tore at my hospital gown, nearly clawing me off my perch. I was on some kind of radio/TV tower that gently rocked back and forth in the gale. Below, cars crisscrossed an expressway oblivious to me. The asphalt shimmered in the glossy rain.
My right arm ached from holding on for so long. If I could just lock my fingers together I might have a chance of surviving this, but my fingertips barely met, and each movement allowed a little bit more slippery rain to seep inside of my arm's.
Screaming for help wasn't going to do any good-no one would hear me. Whatever it was I was standing on was sharp; probably rusted, and cutting into my bare feet. Braving a better look, there wasn't anything I could grab onto for a more secure grip.
A blindingly red light was at waist level, and if I could climb up two steps, my feet would have something warm to rest on. My arms began to hurt trying to barely grip the thick pole I was clinging to. For a moment, I thought of trying to reach the top of a guy wire that slung diagonally to the ground. It looked rusted and would probably cut my hands to shreds.
Off to the west an electrical storm was approaching swiftly from the horizon. Aside from the low rumble of thunder, all that I could hear was the tires hissing on the roadway below and a steady low hum from a thick cable that snaked up the tower.
The situation was all too familiar-I'd been here before, and I decided I was just too weary to endure it again, so I simply let go and gracefully fell backwards into the wind, doing a graceful flip to find myself rushing headlong toward the ground.
...I woke up screaming in terror.
...They told me today that I was scheduled to go into surgery on my arm next Tuesday and that I’d probably go home tomorrow. I had a bunch of bills that had to be paid, and I couldn’t program my checking account from a hospital bed, so things became urgent. T (god love her) came up to visit me and got the key for my locking door chain, then went over and cuddled Mischief. When I arrived here, my blood pressure was through the floor and my blood sugar within the mid-300s. We solved one problem by getting them to not use dextrose in the I.V. bags and miraculously my blood sugars started falling below 100! I went Wednesday and today with no insulin at all!
To this day I still theorize that my diabetes was brought on by the "fight or flight" syndrome, in which my body is always prepared for a fight response, loaded with sugar in preparation for a fight that never comes.
The blood pressure was another thing all together and they kept sending me downstairs somewhere for more scans and exams and EKGs, always returning me to my room with worried looks. It was telling that they wouldn’t even transport me down in a wheel chair; I had to be wheeled down bed and all! I was so weak I barely could stand on my own.
Last night I woke up again in about a quart of my own diarrhea and suffered the humiliation of about five nurses cleaning the bed and me up at four in the morning. To their credit, they made me feel like it was something they did all the time and not to be so embarrassed.
The result was I found myself on a liquid diet of broths etc.
Friday, September 19
I’d hoped to go home today but before I’d even gotten my liquid breakfast, they told me I had to stay a while longer because of the low blood pressure. By then I’d lost track of how many, and how many different doctors had come into see me; much less what they were babbling at me in “doctoreze.” They seemed to be concerned that I'd had a stroke. Others seemed to be saying that the stents that'd been installed in my heart weren't working as planned, and might be cutting off bloodflow instead of improving it.
I had a TV on a long arm that extended down in front of me over my bed; I also had a table where I could keep a bottle of water ever at the ready. Whatever the pain meds they had me on were, I suffered the severe side effect of without warning my mouth would go completely dust-bowl dry, to the point of my tongue tasting of salt without any moisture and my lips chapping.
I began threatening the doctors, nurses etc. with a cup at the end of the bed. Every time one of them came in and swung the TV, or food/drink tray out of my reach but never put it back before they left, had to put a quarter in the cup. The threat wasn’t really all that effective, but at least I tried to find something to smile about.
The fluids in the I.V.s were changed to whole blood. I found out for the first time that my blood type was A+.
For the last couple of days I’ve seen people appearing out of the corner of my eye. Of course when I looked up there was no one there. I attributed it to nursing staff walking past my door, casting a shadow into my darkened room. Then it began happening in the daytime and from the direction of the windows. Dear God what else can you do to fuck with my mind. They were always faceless figures in black that’d scamper into my room, stop, and then silently vanish without using the door.
Some new doctors came in this evening and said there was new concern about my heart. My cardiologist signed off on my operation on my arm, substituting the permission that would’ve been for my knee.
My arm became impossible to find a place/position that was comfortable in. As the pain grew, I resisted telling the truth on their “pain level scale” because the side effects of the medications were worse that the agony I endured.
Sometimes, no often, I wished I had the ability to cry; to really flood the place and release all of this frustration and pressure, but the tears won’t come and the pressure stays building behind them. Try as I might, I couldn’t fall asleep between the nightmares, flashbacks, phantoms and worry about my cat.
A nurse came in and brought me a sleeping pill. Up until now I refused to use them for fear of becoming addicted, but tonight I caved and took one.
I woke about four hours later to find a little gold teddy bear from someone with a get-well card…
Saturday, September 20
I’m beginning to wonder if hospitals don’t come with an old man down the hall screaming his head off all night as standard equipment. This one had to be tied to his bed and they put a muzzle on him to shut him up.
So far I’ve consumed two units of A+ and my blood pressure is starting to come up. I’m also not feeling as weak and can go to the bathroom by myself. Some physical therapy people came by yesterday and helped me try to walk around. I was so shocked at how out of breath and panting I was just getting from the bed to the door. Today was a little better and I actually walked up and down the hall.
My Aunt Margaret must employ spies. She never calls unless a meal has just been delivered, or nurses and doctors are surrounding me. Her and Betsy’s calls have saved me from a deep depression, just by letting me know they care.
Doctors kept parading in and out, and I guess I’m going home today. They have to replace the entire bone structure of my upper arm using cadaver bones. (I found out later that they'd used a different method and I didn't need the cadaver bones) I’m surprised I’m not haunted. My blood sugars are staying right on target without much insulin. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m so tired because I’m walking around with only about 1/3 of the usual amount of glucose I have in my blood.
By noon they were ready to usher me out, and gave me a cab pass for the ride home and some new prescriptions, most notably Nitro Glycerin for under my tongue when my chest hurts. The operation to repair my arm will take place at 7:30 AM next Tuesday and I have to be there by 5:30… ugh
I got home around 2PM and moved my dust and pollen coated car back over to my private carport. It took some doing to ignore the flashbacks, as I stood in the exact spot there I’d collapsed on Monday. I can still hear my knees, then my elbows, then my face hitting that concrete. It's an odd sensation, because I can remember the impacts and the sounds, but on pain.
I got in the apartment, dropped the mail on the desk, cuddled Mischief and then went to the fridge for a can of pop. I nearly threw up. All that food I bought was rotting (especially the meat). I’d never have the energy to pull it out of there tonight, so I left it for tomorrow.
The mail contained news that the county was declaring me ineligible for further help with the co-pays of Medicare part B because I was making too much money! I’m making the exact same amount as I was last year when they approved me. This could mean losing $95.50 or more a month from disability… something I definitely can’t afford.
I shuffled the other bills around, got on line and checked my e-mails and paid everything in advance electronically from my checking in case I had to recover more than two weeks after next week’s operation. I’m afraid GB will pull my workman’s comp benefits again when they find out the operation is on my arm (which was what was scheduled) instead of my leg.
At the bottom of the bag of my possessions and clothes that the hospital packed up was my beloved watch of 17 years…
…the crystal was shattered and missing, as were the minute and hour hands. The second hand however was determined to keep treking around its face. My mind just sort of froze for a while. By 5PM I was so tired, I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.
Sunday September 21
I woke up this morning with a mouth so dry it felt like I had salt crystals on my tongue-It’s the damned Percocet’s side effects. I’m going to have to start sleeping with a glass of water next to the bed. Teresa called to see how I was and told me she’d found my lost class ring, but I haven’t been able to find it.
I chanced driving over to Kroger’s to turn in and buy the prescriptions Grant Hospital gave me. With my useless and painful right arm, I had to lay across my driver’s side seat to insert the ignition key with my left hand. I got there at 6PM only to find that the pharmacy closes at 5 on Sundays. Fortunately the pharmacist was still there and he said they fill them and have them delivered tomorrow. There’s a drug called Lovenox that they want me to use instead of the insulin up until I go in for surgery.
Monday September 22
Woke up to my mouth feeling like it was lined with those cheap brown paper towels that you find in public restrooms. My arm hurts like hell when I try to sleep; for one thing I keep rolling over on it. Kroger’s never came with my prescriptions, I called and they said they make their deliveries in the afternoon, so I said to forget it. I should’ve been on the Lovenox for two days before the surgery, so it’s usless to me now. I called them back a little while later and they said their delivery driver couldn’t find me. He was looking on every fifth street (there are 4) in Columbus except the one I was on.
Despite my getting a little dizzy when I stand, I forced myself to drive out to Wal-mart and get my monthly prescriptions for my heart and leg. It seems like every time I think my life is turning around and headed in the right direction, this happens. I’ve got to remember not to eat tonight because of surgery tomorrow. This time I was sure to leave Mischief enough food and water for three weeks just in case.
Tuesday September 23
As many surgeries as I’ve had, they always worry me anyway. For one thing it seems to take longer and longer for me to go under from the anesthetic and I’m still awake in the operating room-which is extremely cold. I forgot to shave my chest. Why? Because they stick these adhesive patches on my chest to attach electrodes for the EKG etc, and then tear all my hair off when they remove them.
After the operation, I woke up in a private room and stayed there long enough to wonder where I was before I was wheeled down for x-rays. Then I came back to another room. This one was semi-private, but no one was in the other bed, so I had it to myself. I must’ve had 8-9 nurses and as many doctors come in and look at me within two hours. I began to worry at how worried they seemed to be about me.
I ordered “room service.” Gads it’s a bitch trying to eat with only one hand (of course I'm right handed and so I have to use the left), and they even tortured me with a little tub of ice cream that I couldn’t get open. I’m trying to smile through all this, but it’s not easy.
Wednesday September 24 thru Monday 29th.
The days are sort of blurred together. They say I lost two units of blood during the operation and they’ve been giving me I.V. fluids to try to make up for it. It took me half the day to realize I wasn’t wearing a cast; just an oversized elastic bandage. I’d like to say I slept through the day, but it was more like dozed. Every time I’d almost drop off, another nurse would come in and want to take my vital signs, take a blood sample, ask me a dozen questions or give me a pill.
The Percocet they’re giving me keeps my mouth bone dry and I insist on having a water pitcher next to my bed at all times.
A nurse told me one morning that they were concerned about my blood sugars… they were marginally low!?! One said that without the stress I normally go through at home, my body doesn’t have that “fight or flight” response.
Suddenly I can’t sleep at night, but instead I’m napping during the day. The nurses have been giving me sleeping pills, which up until now I’ve resisted because I’m afraid of becoming addicted to them. The days seem to be filled with an assortment of doctors, all asking me the same questions and all are concerned with my low blood pressure.
Aunt Margaret calls me daily, and I’m happy she cares. Betsy can’t call me so I can keep her awake on her way to work at 4 in the morning her time, because the switchboard won’t allow incoming calls. Along or about the last weekend of September, I began sleeping all the time, I’m not sure why, only that I was more unconscious than conscious.
Tuesday September 30
Discharged from hospital. According to my discharge papers, I’m scheduled for open-heart surgery on the 9th.
Went through a stack of bills and found a bunch more notices from the county about being turned down for help with my hundred or so dollar co-pay to Medicare. Just what I needed, more stress. That probably means that come November my disability check will fall to about $370.
I almost threw away what looked like one of those phony credit cards they send with applications for credit, and in fact had tossed it in the pile to go in the basket. The next letter I opened said that I’d been approved for food stamps??? I almost smiled until I read the part about how I was only getting $14 a month and it was preprogrammed onto the card I nearly threw away. 14 bucks; well I guess that’s better than nothing, but not by much.
Out of force of habit I’d thrown my broken watch in the tray on my desk with my wallet etc, and was startled by it chiming the hour! It’s a fancy (well it was when I bought it) hybrid analog/electronic, and I guess the electronic part still works.
Teresa did a hell of a lot of cleaning, but the food I bought just before I fell is still rotting in the fridge. I tossed it in a big garbage bag, big mistake, now I can’t lift it to carry it to the dumpster.
I tried to make sense of all the legalese infected mail from the county about being denied benefits because I was making too much money, even though I’m making the same amount I was making 6 months ago when they approved me. I felt so overwhelmed, that I just went to bed and slept.
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