Gramma,
Sunday, I sent frequent updates and pictures to Sonny's previous owner. It made me smile. Sonny meets the donkeys. Sonny stalks the peacock and decides against pursuing something bigger than himself. The outside cat is also bigger and doesn't back down. Sonny squeals like a baby when the cat takes a swipe at him. The dogs all have bad breath. I need to start cleaning their teeth. We had no visitors or phone calls. It was eerie. I couldn't burn my hell-fire sized brush pile. It was too windy. A storm was blowing in.
My daughter called. She had met Trashcan at the vet office on Saturday. He said her dog was sick. Afraid he would do something to her baby, she did not call the police. The dog was showing signs of kidney failure. Right away I thought of anti-freeze. He threatened that under common law marriage, he would take her to court for half her condo if she didn't drop the charges. He didn't have a leg to stand on. I told her to bring it up at her appointment with the domestic violence people. "I hope you're going to nail him for this." She reiterated that she didn't want to ruin his life.
Monday morning Girlfriend called and told me all about her mediation session with the soon to be ex. He was livid that she had come in with a list of $70,000 dollars worth of hidden assets. His attorney had neglected to share that with him ahead of time. She had both barrels loaded for bear. He thought he was going to get her to walk away in exchange for her not paying his sorry ass maintenance. She will walk away with about $500,00. He will not be able to live in their nice log house by himself.
He also tried to hide that he could go back to work after his back surgery. There were reasonable accommodations afforded by way of the Union. He thought nobody would notice that he was eligible to collect retirement benefits if he did not want to attend work. She has no pancreas. Her doctors sent a letter stating she should not be working.
He wanted her to pay his attorney fees and expenses related to being sued by the nursing home after his uncle died. "Do you really want to go there Scott," she said. As the executor, Scott had siphoned money from his uncle's bank account and put it in the safe. He knew she would out him on that and the unreported $30,000 dug up in his uncles yard. He and his sisters had quite the dispute over that. I encouraged girlfriend to write a letter to the nursing home detailing the situation. Especially the part where his sister talks the uncle into selling his land to her for pennies on the dollar.
Girlfriend figured she would get drunken hate calls from Scott after their session. Instead, she got drunken calls from his daughter asking "How could you do this to my dad. How is he supposed to live." Oh fucking well. Good thing she has a security system and guns. He is so pathetic that he goes to the food shelf on his way to the liquor store to load up on cigarettes and whiskey.
In the evening, we settled in to watch the Harley and Davidson special on the History Channel. Dave started reading a recent rant against me on Facebook. Then the texting began. He was going to show me. It was my fault that he was losing his house. He and his son would have no place to live. I suspected his dad was kicking him out now that his girlfriend wasn't paying $500 of the $800 monthly rent. I was blamed for breaking up their relationship. He had actually notified her on Facebook that they were no longer together.
He threatened that he would call the police and tell them that I was an alcoholic, pot-smoking, drug addicted. He would see to it that I never saw his son again. He would tell the police that I had guns and I would go to prison for the rest of my life. All in caps, littered with LOL's and HAHA's. Dave called him. He wouldn't answer. Dave left a message asking him if he needed to come over and kick his ass.
I went to bed. A text came in. I didn't look at it, figuring it was another tirade.
To be continued....
Showing posts with label bi-polar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bi-polar. Show all posts
Monday, September 12, 2016
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Open Heart
Gramma,
Before I left, I was in the process of adding another dog to our pack. I put that on hold. Sonny was a four-year-old Jack Russell. I saw him on Craig's List and fell in love with his face. For days I kept going back to look at his picture. I started showing it to Dave. "Isn't he cute? Look at that face. He needs a home."
"What are you saying? You want that dog?" A few more days went by and he said he didn't care. Jack's are our favorite breed. Nothing would ever replace Radar, but this guy looked like a fun time. There was a $250.00 re-homing fee, which was waived because there were no other takers. The daughter was allergic to him, reacting with skin rashes that bled.
To be continued....
Before I left, I was in the process of adding another dog to our pack. I put that on hold. Sonny was a four-year-old Jack Russell. I saw him on Craig's List and fell in love with his face. For days I kept going back to look at his picture. I started showing it to Dave. "Isn't he cute? Look at that face. He needs a home."
"What are you saying? You want that dog?" A few more days went by and he said he didn't care. Jack's are our favorite breed. Nothing would ever replace Radar, but this guy looked like a fun time. There was a $250.00 re-homing fee, which was waived because there were no other takers. The daughter was allergic to him, reacting with skin rashes that bled.
I made arrangements to have the dog out for a meet and greet. Her car broke down. My car broke down. I agreed to pick him on Labor Day Saturday. Dave's son was coming over with the baby. This was a rare occasion. Dave's 82-year-old mother decided to make the forty minute trek up the freeway to see the baby. It probably took her an hour and pissed off a lot of people along the way. I was feeling crappy. Probably stress. I vacuumed and picked up a cake in town.
It was unusual for the daughter-in-law to visit. Then came the bombshell. Dave's son needed open heart surgery. He planned to have it done after hunting season. I think Dave was in a daze. He held the baby. We had cake. Eleanor was going to leave. I told her we were going to the cities anyway, that Dave could drive her home and I would follow. She objected. After we dropped her off, we went to pick up the dog. It was a bright spot.
We sat outside drinking beer and watching the dogs be dogs. We didn't like the name Sonny came with. We tried other names on him. Clark kind of fit. Maybe Spanky, as in Spanky and Our Gang.
Later, when my daughter did not respond to texts or calls, I contacted the police department and asked them to do a wellness check. I got a groggy call back from her, saying she was sleeping. I will keep doing this until she gets it that I need to hear from her. She goes to work at three in the morning, that was enough to worry about. There are only two people that go in at that hour. Ashkan has lots of guns. He also has connections.
My son blocked me on Facebook and his phone. My other son called his dad to take away his brother's guns again. My daughter-in-law threatened to get a restraining order. I couldn't blame her. Early one morning there had been shooting near the end of their long driveway.
My sister texted and said she was sure she would soon be blocked. The two of them were going at it. My son was awful, throwing shit in her face about her actor son and me. She was arguing with a mean little five-year-old. I went to bed at ten, adding a sleeping pill to my cocktail. Later, I heard a text message sound. I ignored it, thinking it was one more insult from my son.
To be continued....
Saturday, September 10, 2016
Bi-polar Shit Show
Gramma,
I was happy to be home, to my sanctuary. The lawn needed baling. It had been two weeks. I had more shit shows waiting. My eldest son's bi-polar med cocktail had been changed. His insurance would no longer cover the real medication, for which he was on a five dollar co-pay plan through the makers of Abilify. For several hundred dollars more, he could have the generic. It wasn't an option. So his therapist gave him something else that he could get free samples of. I could tell the meds weren't working. His therapist said to give it a few weeks.
He started out feeling less than. Then he became easily agitated and annoyed. I could see this from his Facebook posts, where he has always shared way too much. He has no filter and no concept of discretion or appropriation of information. I got reports from people saying he had turned into a raving asshole. He criticized his best friend for his lack of nice things. He bought himself a $22,000 truck that he didn't need with money he didn't have. This is classic bi-polar behavior.
He and his girlfriend came over in the new truck. He was paranoid that everybody was talking about him and his truck, questioning whether or not he could afford it on twenty hours a week at the YMCA and his disability check. He loudly, in caps, ranted on Facebook about how it was nobody's business, that he always paid his bills, which I knew not to be true. When he walked to his truck, I asked girlfriend how long he had been this way. "About a month. I can hardly stand it." I carefully asked him why he bought a new truck.
He ranted about the thousands of dollars in repairs he had made on the truck he had traded in. He got $2000.00 for it on trade. I shook my head. He has always been instant gratification impulsive with his spending. Girlfriend let me know that during visitation, he had been making his nine-year-old son cry until he asked to go home. I notified my ex-daughter-in-law. The rantings became manifesto's. He alienated friends and family, burning bridges and sinking boats.
My own misguided post on Facebook drew a lot of interesting feedback. Basically, I said I was fed up with people who pretend their families are perfect, posing their lovely pictures and words, while behind the scenes they were mean to each other and hid ugly truths. I ended by saying that this façade made other people feel bad about themselves. My rant had been precipitated by some personal business with family. The real people gave positive feedback, while the guilty objected. The controversy I had stirred up made me smile and have another beer.
My bi-polar son called in a rage, saying his girlfriend was uncontrollably crying because I had made her family sound so pathetic. That was not my intent. He insulted me every which way to Sunday. I could not get a word of defense in edgewise. I was just like my evil mother. He called me Joan and Mommy Dearest. He said they would never speak to me again. I took the post down. I had made my point with the right people.
His girlfriend decided to take a bunch of pills, which she did frequently when frustrated. It was her second trip to the hospital in a month. She was not taking her bi-polar meds or going to mandated therapy sessions. Neither was my son. And it only got worse with the confrontational tirades.
I was still reeling from Denver and decided not to engage with him. It would be pointless. In his mania, he was unreachable.
To be continued....
I was happy to be home, to my sanctuary. The lawn needed baling. It had been two weeks. I had more shit shows waiting. My eldest son's bi-polar med cocktail had been changed. His insurance would no longer cover the real medication, for which he was on a five dollar co-pay plan through the makers of Abilify. For several hundred dollars more, he could have the generic. It wasn't an option. So his therapist gave him something else that he could get free samples of. I could tell the meds weren't working. His therapist said to give it a few weeks.
He started out feeling less than. Then he became easily agitated and annoyed. I could see this from his Facebook posts, where he has always shared way too much. He has no filter and no concept of discretion or appropriation of information. I got reports from people saying he had turned into a raving asshole. He criticized his best friend for his lack of nice things. He bought himself a $22,000 truck that he didn't need with money he didn't have. This is classic bi-polar behavior.
He and his girlfriend came over in the new truck. He was paranoid that everybody was talking about him and his truck, questioning whether or not he could afford it on twenty hours a week at the YMCA and his disability check. He loudly, in caps, ranted on Facebook about how it was nobody's business, that he always paid his bills, which I knew not to be true. When he walked to his truck, I asked girlfriend how long he had been this way. "About a month. I can hardly stand it." I carefully asked him why he bought a new truck.
He ranted about the thousands of dollars in repairs he had made on the truck he had traded in. He got $2000.00 for it on trade. I shook my head. He has always been instant gratification impulsive with his spending. Girlfriend let me know that during visitation, he had been making his nine-year-old son cry until he asked to go home. I notified my ex-daughter-in-law. The rantings became manifesto's. He alienated friends and family, burning bridges and sinking boats.
My own misguided post on Facebook drew a lot of interesting feedback. Basically, I said I was fed up with people who pretend their families are perfect, posing their lovely pictures and words, while behind the scenes they were mean to each other and hid ugly truths. I ended by saying that this façade made other people feel bad about themselves. My rant had been precipitated by some personal business with family. The real people gave positive feedback, while the guilty objected. The controversy I had stirred up made me smile and have another beer.
My bi-polar son called in a rage, saying his girlfriend was uncontrollably crying because I had made her family sound so pathetic. That was not my intent. He insulted me every which way to Sunday. I could not get a word of defense in edgewise. I was just like my evil mother. He called me Joan and Mommy Dearest. He said they would never speak to me again. I took the post down. I had made my point with the right people.
His girlfriend decided to take a bunch of pills, which she did frequently when frustrated. It was her second trip to the hospital in a month. She was not taking her bi-polar meds or going to mandated therapy sessions. Neither was my son. And it only got worse with the confrontational tirades.
I was still reeling from Denver and decided not to engage with him. It would be pointless. In his mania, he was unreachable.
To be continued....
Monday, June 13, 2016
Fuckitol Meds Not Working
Gramma
I don't think my meds are working. The pharmacy has been using another manufacturer to fill one of my prescriptions. Since then, things are less than. My daughter's insurance company is forcing her to take a generic form of Abilify. It gives her migraines, and the co-pay is astronomical, whereas the name brand provides a manufacturer subsidy that makes it affordable. We need our Fuckitol pills to work right.
Last week I did not blog. I sat in the driveway/patio area contemplating the hanging trees again. And I was incredibly crabby. My beer supply was exhausted, and didn't want to use my limited funds on more. It didn't help that my tractor was in the shop. If I don't hound them daily, it will be fall before I get it back. I spend a lot of time on hold. If I leave a message, they won't call back.
The neighbor stopped over with a beer in hand and a backup to put in the freezer. I told him I was out. He said he would give me one, but that will just agitate people like us. He was planning to drink himself stupid and suffer the hangover. After he left, I drank Dave's last Chelado with an old Hamm's chaser.
Dave was in union negotiations all week, which ramps up his blood pressure and puts him in irate overdrive. I was hoping he would bring home some calming fluids. When he showed up empty-handed, my inner bitch went silent treatment, which rarely happens.
I went to bed early to escape with an episode of Grace and Frankie. The gay guys were throwing temper tantrums and the women were making bad decisions. Next to my dearth of beer, this was ridiculous. Disgusted, I opted to listen to the frogs.
It is not like me to want to stay in bed when the weather is nice. On Friday, I couldn't overcome the gravitational pull of my mattress. I got out of bed at noon to pick up the grandkids. Having them around usually lifts me out of a fugue. Bubba and Veve were sitting in Dave's big man's chair when I overheard Bubba say, "Grampa's foot is bigger than your head." They make me laugh, the next best thing to Fuckitol.
I don't think my meds are working. The pharmacy has been using another manufacturer to fill one of my prescriptions. Since then, things are less than. My daughter's insurance company is forcing her to take a generic form of Abilify. It gives her migraines, and the co-pay is astronomical, whereas the name brand provides a manufacturer subsidy that makes it affordable. We need our Fuckitol pills to work right.
Last week I did not blog. I sat in the driveway/patio area contemplating the hanging trees again. And I was incredibly crabby. My beer supply was exhausted, and didn't want to use my limited funds on more. It didn't help that my tractor was in the shop. If I don't hound them daily, it will be fall before I get it back. I spend a lot of time on hold. If I leave a message, they won't call back.
The neighbor stopped over with a beer in hand and a backup to put in the freezer. I told him I was out. He said he would give me one, but that will just agitate people like us. He was planning to drink himself stupid and suffer the hangover. After he left, I drank Dave's last Chelado with an old Hamm's chaser.
Dave was in union negotiations all week, which ramps up his blood pressure and puts him in irate overdrive. I was hoping he would bring home some calming fluids. When he showed up empty-handed, my inner bitch went silent treatment, which rarely happens.
I went to bed early to escape with an episode of Grace and Frankie. The gay guys were throwing temper tantrums and the women were making bad decisions. Next to my dearth of beer, this was ridiculous. Disgusted, I opted to listen to the frogs.
It is not like me to want to stay in bed when the weather is nice. On Friday, I couldn't overcome the gravitational pull of my mattress. I got out of bed at noon to pick up the grandkids. Having them around usually lifts me out of a fugue. Bubba and Veve were sitting in Dave's big man's chair when I overheard Bubba say, "Grampa's foot is bigger than your head." They make me laugh, the next best thing to Fuckitol.
Saturday, June 4, 2016
Frog Symphony
Gramma,
The spring frog symphony has arrived. Warm up begins around nine, working up to a crescendo about 11:00. This is one of my favorite sounds. It takes away the constant noise in my head and redirects it to a magic place where nothing matters, almost like laughing gas. Yesterday it rained, so the air was intoxicating, an amazing pairing of sound and smell. I lay in bed, euphoric as I drift off to sleep.
My mind races most of the time, much like the breaking of billiard balls on a pool table--off in every direction, free associating forward, backward and sideways in time. There is background music with this, most often an Italian piece that drives me up the wall. I could take more meds, but I don't want more side-effects.
My nighttime bi-polar cocktail would take a horse to the ground. I can't sleep without it. Even so, I wake up any time after two, and often need a booster to help me get back to sleep. Before I had my dosage upped, I often heard indiscernable voices, like a radio between stations. I could tell what kind of music it was and when there were commercials or the announcer was talking, but nothing clear, too much static.
Another of my favorite sounds are the windchimes hanging from shepherds hooks around the yard. This too, takes away the pervasive racket in my head. Chirping birds at the feeder below my window is a calming morning distraction. The smell of fresh cut grass and new mown hay is therapeutic. If these feelings of serenity could be bottled, we would all be happy.
I love the smell of pot, but ingesting it makes me dopey, incoherent and worst of all, inert. Unproductive is intolerable for me. The kids found my night time baked goods under my bed and that was the end of that. Dave always asks first before eating any cookies stored in the freezer. Some of my friends are incredibly functional on high dosages pot, others, not so much. Beer helps.
When I'm on my way off the planet, I want these sounds and smells to herald my exit. And mainline the beer please. I look forward to the day I am greeted by all the animals I loved and can again apologize to those I failed. Meanwhile, I am sustained by these little bits of heaven.
The spring frog symphony has arrived. Warm up begins around nine, working up to a crescendo about 11:00. This is one of my favorite sounds. It takes away the constant noise in my head and redirects it to a magic place where nothing matters, almost like laughing gas. Yesterday it rained, so the air was intoxicating, an amazing pairing of sound and smell. I lay in bed, euphoric as I drift off to sleep.
My mind races most of the time, much like the breaking of billiard balls on a pool table--off in every direction, free associating forward, backward and sideways in time. There is background music with this, most often an Italian piece that drives me up the wall. I could take more meds, but I don't want more side-effects.
My nighttime bi-polar cocktail would take a horse to the ground. I can't sleep without it. Even so, I wake up any time after two, and often need a booster to help me get back to sleep. Before I had my dosage upped, I often heard indiscernable voices, like a radio between stations. I could tell what kind of music it was and when there were commercials or the announcer was talking, but nothing clear, too much static.
Another of my favorite sounds are the windchimes hanging from shepherds hooks around the yard. This too, takes away the pervasive racket in my head. Chirping birds at the feeder below my window is a calming morning distraction. The smell of fresh cut grass and new mown hay is therapeutic. If these feelings of serenity could be bottled, we would all be happy.
I love the smell of pot, but ingesting it makes me dopey, incoherent and worst of all, inert. Unproductive is intolerable for me. The kids found my night time baked goods under my bed and that was the end of that. Dave always asks first before eating any cookies stored in the freezer. Some of my friends are incredibly functional on high dosages pot, others, not so much. Beer helps.
When I'm on my way off the planet, I want these sounds and smells to herald my exit. And mainline the beer please. I look forward to the day I am greeted by all the animals I loved and can again apologize to those I failed. Meanwhile, I am sustained by these little bits of heaven.
Saturday, May 21, 2016
The Nut Hut
Bad Gramma,
My son's girlfriend is in the nut hut. (And, yes, I can use the term nut hut through appropriation from my personal experience there, and having family who also have been guests in the funhouse.) She and my son are both bi-polar. She decided not to take her meds. This is not uncommon to this segment of society. They think they are doing fine, so they don't need medication.
Girlfriend will be in the nut hut awhile. She had a "nervous breakdown" at work. My son lives on disability, supplemented by his job as a custodian at the YMCA. He tried taking computer classes with the idea of getting a decent paying full time job. It was too stressful for him. At least he tried.
When you are bi-polar, keeping things on an even keel is as important as taking your meds. So the current situation is causing duress. My son does not know how he will be able to pay the extra $500.00 in rent that girlfriend won't be able to contribute. Or pay for her food and other necessities. He is overwhelmed. Girlfriend's adult daughter is also living with them, and not paying her share.
Girlfriend has worked a rash of jobs. She doesn't seem to be able to keep one for very long. There is always some obstacle that can't be overcome. She bought a second-hand car using one of those scam places that gives payday loans. Yay. She will not be able to make the payments, and her bad decision will be repossessed. Bad financial choices are common to bi-polar people. My son is not good with money either.
I advised my son to make a list of things that need to change in this relationship. Then make a list of the positive things and the negative things. What can you not tolerate? This will make a clearer path to what needs to happen. His impulse is to call it a day with her, but they are good for each other. The dating scene for my forty-something son has been grim. I'm not sure trading for someone else is the answer.
I suggest that girlfriend move back in with her evil parents until she can get her shit in a pile. But, they already have a full house of nieces and nephews. I have to wonder what kind of money this is bringing in for them. They are users and abusers to their own children, which likely contributed to the onset of her mental illness. The streets are full of homeless people who didn't take their meds.
My son's girlfriend is in the nut hut. (And, yes, I can use the term nut hut through appropriation from my personal experience there, and having family who also have been guests in the funhouse.) She and my son are both bi-polar. She decided not to take her meds. This is not uncommon to this segment of society. They think they are doing fine, so they don't need medication.
Girlfriend will be in the nut hut awhile. She had a "nervous breakdown" at work. My son lives on disability, supplemented by his job as a custodian at the YMCA. He tried taking computer classes with the idea of getting a decent paying full time job. It was too stressful for him. At least he tried.
When you are bi-polar, keeping things on an even keel is as important as taking your meds. So the current situation is causing duress. My son does not know how he will be able to pay the extra $500.00 in rent that girlfriend won't be able to contribute. Or pay for her food and other necessities. He is overwhelmed. Girlfriend's adult daughter is also living with them, and not paying her share.
Girlfriend has worked a rash of jobs. She doesn't seem to be able to keep one for very long. There is always some obstacle that can't be overcome. She bought a second-hand car using one of those scam places that gives payday loans. Yay. She will not be able to make the payments, and her bad decision will be repossessed. Bad financial choices are common to bi-polar people. My son is not good with money either.
I advised my son to make a list of things that need to change in this relationship. Then make a list of the positive things and the negative things. What can you not tolerate? This will make a clearer path to what needs to happen. His impulse is to call it a day with her, but they are good for each other. The dating scene for my forty-something son has been grim. I'm not sure trading for someone else is the answer.
I suggest that girlfriend move back in with her evil parents until she can get her shit in a pile. But, they already have a full house of nieces and nephews. I have to wonder what kind of money this is bringing in for them. They are users and abusers to their own children, which likely contributed to the onset of her mental illness. The streets are full of homeless people who didn't take their meds.
Friday, April 29, 2016
Everybody Has Something
Bad Gramma
I have a brain scan today. This is not what I want to do on the only nice day all week. I need to clean out a garden bed at the end of the driveway. I need to kill weeds and till up the dirt, maybe bleach the well. But no, I have a brain tumor that we are tracking for size and attitude. I threatened Dave that I wasn't going to do this if he put off having his knee replacement surgery again. "I'll do it next year," he says, again.
I don't like having to take off all my jewelry so the big magnet doesn't suck it off. When Dave said all my bracelets looked ridiculous, I added more. I look like a gypsy. More is better. Too much is just right.
I kind of enjoy the weirdness of the head banging machine. The noise is reminiscent of industrial music, which I don't mind. I put on the headphones and listen to some background music. I breathe deep and go into a meditative state. I could have had the tumor taken out six months ago when it had doubled in size, but I didn't want to cut my hair.
It is benign, or I would be dead by now. It was discovered when I had an MRI done for a neck injury. The doctor didn't call back and didn't call back. So I called his office to ask what gives, I need my results. The nurse said she would have the doctor call me. He didn't. I called again and the nurse said she would give me the results. I waited on hold. She came back and said that she would have the doctor call me. WTF.
The doctor called one evening. He tells me that I have a brain tumor. "What?" I say.
"You have a brain tumor and ....." I didn't hear any words after that and then my shitty Verizon phone dropped the call. I couldn't call back. I sat there stunned. Nice bedside manner. Who delivers that kind of news over the phone?
"Who was that?" Dave asked. He always wants to know who called. I tell him.
"Now? What did he want?
"I have a brain tumor."
Now we are both stunned.
The next day I call the office for an appointment to find out WTF. The doctor shows me the images. He tells me not to be worried, that it is a meningioma and they are usually not cancerous in women. But, I should have brain scans every six months for a while.
That was six years ago. Sometimes I have balance issues, but then I drink and there's the bi-polar meds. Sometimes I have trouble accessing words, but, there's old age approaching and then there's the meds, and stress. Could be stress related. I like when I can't access a simple word and something extravagant comes out. I think my brain is re-circuiting. I have headaches, but who doesn't. Everybody has something.
I have a brain scan today. This is not what I want to do on the only nice day all week. I need to clean out a garden bed at the end of the driveway. I need to kill weeds and till up the dirt, maybe bleach the well. But no, I have a brain tumor that we are tracking for size and attitude. I threatened Dave that I wasn't going to do this if he put off having his knee replacement surgery again. "I'll do it next year," he says, again.
I don't like having to take off all my jewelry so the big magnet doesn't suck it off. When Dave said all my bracelets looked ridiculous, I added more. I look like a gypsy. More is better. Too much is just right.
I kind of enjoy the weirdness of the head banging machine. The noise is reminiscent of industrial music, which I don't mind. I put on the headphones and listen to some background music. I breathe deep and go into a meditative state. I could have had the tumor taken out six months ago when it had doubled in size, but I didn't want to cut my hair.
It is benign, or I would be dead by now. It was discovered when I had an MRI done for a neck injury. The doctor didn't call back and didn't call back. So I called his office to ask what gives, I need my results. The nurse said she would have the doctor call me. He didn't. I called again and the nurse said she would give me the results. I waited on hold. She came back and said that she would have the doctor call me. WTF.
The doctor called one evening. He tells me that I have a brain tumor. "What?" I say.
"You have a brain tumor and ....." I didn't hear any words after that and then my shitty Verizon phone dropped the call. I couldn't call back. I sat there stunned. Nice bedside manner. Who delivers that kind of news over the phone?
"Who was that?" Dave asked. He always wants to know who called. I tell him.
"Now? What did he want?
"I have a brain tumor."
Now we are both stunned.
The next day I call the office for an appointment to find out WTF. The doctor shows me the images. He tells me not to be worried, that it is a meningioma and they are usually not cancerous in women. But, I should have brain scans every six months for a while.
That was six years ago. Sometimes I have balance issues, but then I drink and there's the bi-polar meds. Sometimes I have trouble accessing words, but, there's old age approaching and then there's the meds, and stress. Could be stress related. I like when I can't access a simple word and something extravagant comes out. I think my brain is re-circuiting. I have headaches, but who doesn't. Everybody has something.
Saturday, April 16, 2016
Sunday
Gramma
It's a new day, a new page, a new me. I've gotten a good night's sleep with the Quetapine boost. I only take this when I need to sleep without ruminating half the night. Taken on a daily basis, it will cause weight gain, which is my first consideration when I am prescribed anything. My eldest son takes Quetapine as part of the cocktail of meds that keep him somewhat stabile. He calls himself a fat, jolly man and then laughs. I do not want to add to my fat battle. Jolly is nowhere in my repertoire of emotions.
I let the herd of barking dogs out. The cold air feels good on my swollen face. I manage egg Mc Muffin knock-offs for Dave, then retire to the couch for a day of dozing in front of the TV. The aquarium is more interesting than what's on 2000 channels of shit. I miss football season. Go Pack Go. Dave is a Vikings fan.
Dog hair is building up on the floor. Dave is not accustomed to doing much around the house. He works. I take care of most everything else inside and out. I ask him to vacuum. He "forgets." "Can I get a Haircut?" he asks. I forget.
Dave calls his mother every day. It used to drive me nuts, but now I get it. There is always gossip of family or the senior center oldies she hangs with. Eleanor is on Facebook keeping up with city gossip and extended family. She is opinionated and has her nose in everybody's business. The family used to call her Marie, as in What About Raymond.
Eleanor is in her 80's and lives on her own in the house the three boys were raised in. Glen has been gone for some years now. She drives one of those shiny new old people cars. They always have dents in them. This one is no different. It mostly goes to church, the grocery store, and the senior center, so maybe 30 miles a week.
She said to me one time that she wished she would die in her sleep. It wasn't meant as sometime in the future, she meant it as in sooner is better than later. I appreciated the honesty of it. She doesn't talk that way to the rest of the family. Over the years, I have made no secret of my Emergency Facelift Fund. She says, "You wouldn't do that would you?" I don't think she would put anything past me.
It's a new day, a new page, a new me. I've gotten a good night's sleep with the Quetapine boost. I only take this when I need to sleep without ruminating half the night. Taken on a daily basis, it will cause weight gain, which is my first consideration when I am prescribed anything. My eldest son takes Quetapine as part of the cocktail of meds that keep him somewhat stabile. He calls himself a fat, jolly man and then laughs. I do not want to add to my fat battle. Jolly is nowhere in my repertoire of emotions.
I let the herd of barking dogs out. The cold air feels good on my swollen face. I manage egg Mc Muffin knock-offs for Dave, then retire to the couch for a day of dozing in front of the TV. The aquarium is more interesting than what's on 2000 channels of shit. I miss football season. Go Pack Go. Dave is a Vikings fan.
Dog hair is building up on the floor. Dave is not accustomed to doing much around the house. He works. I take care of most everything else inside and out. I ask him to vacuum. He "forgets." "Can I get a Haircut?" he asks. I forget.
Dave calls his mother every day. It used to drive me nuts, but now I get it. There is always gossip of family or the senior center oldies she hangs with. Eleanor is on Facebook keeping up with city gossip and extended family. She is opinionated and has her nose in everybody's business. The family used to call her Marie, as in What About Raymond.
Eleanor is in her 80's and lives on her own in the house the three boys were raised in. Glen has been gone for some years now. She drives one of those shiny new old people cars. They always have dents in them. This one is no different. It mostly goes to church, the grocery store, and the senior center, so maybe 30 miles a week.
She said to me one time that she wished she would die in her sleep. It wasn't meant as sometime in the future, she meant it as in sooner is better than later. I appreciated the honesty of it. She doesn't talk that way to the rest of the family. Over the years, I have made no secret of my Emergency Facelift Fund. She says, "You wouldn't do that would you?" I don't think she would put anything past me.
Friday, April 15, 2016
Home Alone II
Gramma
Before surgery, I knew I wouldn't be attending the monthly bike club meeting. There had to be an excuse for not showing up, so I decided to have slipped on the ice, hurting my ankle. I needed to stay on the couch until I got in to see the doctor. Dave went alone. I'd seen enough of the club last month. There had been a pool tournament, a regular meeting, and an Abate party.
I got a call from my eldest son.
"Did you have surgery?"
"No, why?"
"I saw the picture."
"I fell off the donkey."
"Yeah, right," but he knew it was possible.
"Did you have your tumor taken out?"
"No." I have a brain tumor, so it was possible.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said. "But how are you doing."
"Fine. Nice she could call you and not me."
"Yeah, you know how she is." She kept us all at a distance.
"Can I talk to my grandson?" It was a good ploy for getting off the phone.
"Sure."
We banter briefly about nothing, exchange I love you's and are done.
I'm angry, upset, hurt and baffled by my daughter not calling me. Is her boyfriend isolating her? Is she overwhelmed by life, curled up in a ball under the covers. Is she mad at me? I can't help but think she is. This situation is a constant source of distress.
She said she doesn't like calling with bad news all the time, so I have to think things are not good. Is she living out of her car again? She rarely answers when I call her. When she does call, if I don't answer, she leaves a message to call her back, but does not pick up.
I see a therapist once a month, for more years than I can remember. I used to see her twice a month. I suffer from a plethora of issues complicated by a family tree full of bipolar, including myself. So I worry incessantly about the welfare of my daughter. Our symptoms are alike--severe bouts of debilitating depression being the most prevalent.
My heart aches. Having a beer is not recommended with the pain meds or the healing process. I'm trying not to cry. I take a knock-out pill and go to bed.
Before surgery, I knew I wouldn't be attending the monthly bike club meeting. There had to be an excuse for not showing up, so I decided to have slipped on the ice, hurting my ankle. I needed to stay on the couch until I got in to see the doctor. Dave went alone. I'd seen enough of the club last month. There had been a pool tournament, a regular meeting, and an Abate party.
I got a call from my eldest son.
"Did you have surgery?"
"No, why?"
"I saw the picture."
"I fell off the donkey."
"Yeah, right," but he knew it was possible.
"Did you have your tumor taken out?"
"No." I have a brain tumor, so it was possible.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said. "But how are you doing."
"Fine. Nice she could call you and not me."
"Yeah, you know how she is." She kept us all at a distance.
"Can I talk to my grandson?" It was a good ploy for getting off the phone.
"Sure."
We banter briefly about nothing, exchange I love you's and are done.
I'm angry, upset, hurt and baffled by my daughter not calling me. Is her boyfriend isolating her? Is she overwhelmed by life, curled up in a ball under the covers. Is she mad at me? I can't help but think she is. This situation is a constant source of distress.
She said she doesn't like calling with bad news all the time, so I have to think things are not good. Is she living out of her car again? She rarely answers when I call her. When she does call, if I don't answer, she leaves a message to call her back, but does not pick up.
I see a therapist once a month, for more years than I can remember. I used to see her twice a month. I suffer from a plethora of issues complicated by a family tree full of bipolar, including myself. So I worry incessantly about the welfare of my daughter. Our symptoms are alike--severe bouts of debilitating depression being the most prevalent.
My heart aches. Having a beer is not recommended with the pain meds or the healing process. I'm trying not to cry. I take a knock-out pill and go to bed.
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