Last July my children and I got the HAIR DEMONS (otherwise known as lice). Guess what, you’ll never guess!! I brushed my hair a couple weeks ago, and out came hair demons! I had really missed those guys, and apparently they’d missed me too. But that’s not all! My eldest, Thing One, also had the parasites from Hades, only she forgot to tell me about them, so just went to school that day, treatment free.
That’s okay, though, because you know what? Now many schools no longer check kids routinely for our buggy friends. Not only that, they don’t warn you when there’s a case of them going around, nor do they send your kid home from school, nor do they require that the kid have been treated before coming back. Isn’t that awesome? Their reasoning is that hair demons aren’t gonna kill you that much, so no biggie. Also some higher ups were afraid of hurting a child’s feelings, should another child find out they had the demons.
Yeah, here’s the thing school administrators, who I dearly hope get a case of these “not that bad” parasites. You know what is worse than annoyed parents who have to keep their kids home cause of bugs, or the school nurse who is annoyed having to check for bugs when she could be gossiping in the office (maybe just my nurse?), or a kid being teased for having bugs? Worse is giving the bugs to every single one of their classmates AND their parents, and if you aren’t looking, maybe YOU administrators. I’m planning on sending lots of infected children to your fancy offices and having them give you BIG HUGS with lots of head touching! That’s how much I appreciate your decisions!
Because while lice do not kill you (unless you take a sledgehammer to your own head), they end up costing lots of money AND time AND stomach acid because I’m sorry but they make me want to hurl. Let’s say you get lucky and you buy a kit of over-the-counter demon treatment, or you get creative and try salad dressing or oil from a tree or you put your child’s head inside a sealed bag for what is it – two weeks? And this treatment (usually a fun shampoo with an eu de rotten eggs that you scrub and rinse out) actually kills the buggers! You still aren’t done. Next you have to comb their hair with a very fine toothed comb to get out what you killed. Don’t even think about using the plastic piece of crap they give you in the kits. Get the Lice Terminator comb from Amazon. It will pull out anything, including hair, but not as much as the other combs. Over the eternity that you comb (because if you miss even one it might still hatch and make a new gang of buddies!) you will find stuff Stephen King wishes he could make up.
Then you get to wash the sheets or whatever else you’ve touched lately in HOT AS HADES water to kill ’em all. I recommend doing this six or seven times to make sure. I did need to wash my sheets as it had been . . . I needed to wash my sheets anyway. But still. Then you wait a week, combing each day (you’ll see why later), and shampoo the head one more time just in case and comb and wallah the infestation is gone! Until a few weeks later, when inevitably your kid gets it again from some other kid who has tons of bugs but hey, positive self-esteem.
Believe it or not, that’s the good scenario. The bad one happened to me, which is why I’m writing this slightly psychotic post. Thing One and I treated ourselves (ice cream is better) and a day later I combed on her hair. And . . .
My eldest has beautiful, thick hair that curls on its own and predicts humidity (Is it a white girl fro? Expect rain!). Unfortunately, the bugs like this also because they get a multi-level condominium. Every time I brought the comb back, it was full of friends. Every. Time. It’s okay, I told myself because I was being all grown-up. We’ll handle it! It will be better tomorrow!
I kept finding the creatures, and way too many of them were still alive. Even Thing Two helped me comb, cause that kid has a stomach of steel. After about a week, I snapped. What was going on here? I’d dealt with this before, but this time we were looking at a spot on that show Infested. (Yes, it’s a show, or it was. Even with my fear of bugs, I watched it just in case I got a new bug, so I could get really paranoid it was deadly). So we went to the doctor for the bug nukes and the girls and I received prescriptions. My husband went to the pharmacist and discovered that bug nukes cost 50 dollars a bottle. That’s right! For little 8 oz bottles that would supposedly be enough for two treatments.
But I’m still not finished! For one thing, at the doctor we discovered that Thing One hadn’t had the demons for one week. She’d been tolerating them for a solid month because she didn’t want to add any more stress to a slightly imploding family. Or like, deal with bugs. That explained some things. I think I’ve found the most tolerant kid in existence. Anyway, we now had the good stuff, one bottle of which took care of ONE treatment of the new civilization we’d found in her hair. Thing Two’s hair is lovely too but thinner and finer which at that point made it the best hair in the universe.
A week (and six years) later and the Things and I have been washed and combed again. No bugs spotted – so far. The Things totally didn’t go back and use the same hairbrushes, I’m sure of it. I found shampoo with mint (the smell not the actual mints I think) that lice supposedly don’t like, as well as another that smells like grass that I don’t like any more than the bugs. Also tea tree oil. It better work cause it smells too. I might have warned my beloved Things that if they didn’t listen to Mommy and do their part in preventing future invasions, there would be much wailing and gnashing of teeth as my psyche would completely dissolve. Also: buzzcuts.
When I started my ECT treatments, I was prepared to document my journey. I wanted others to see that it wasn’t barbaric, so that they too could have a chance at putting a lid on their depression, at least for a little while. I thought I would get a dozen treatments or so, and I’d be done. All better. That didn’t quite happen. Oh, I am better, much better than I was, but my new normal is nothing like what I expected it to be. ECT wasn’t bad or good but a little of both, and the aftereffects are even more mixed.
First of all, those 12 treatments turned into 3 months of constant travel to a city six hours away, at times all the way there and back in two days, other times with a week in a hotel room. They gave us a hospital rate, but that hotel wasn’t free. We never unpacked our suitcases. We hardly bought groceries. Our kids got really sick of staying with grandparents. My husband and I both missed work, since I had to have someone with me for the treatments. I was long past any sick or vacation leave, so I got no pay. He got pay, but I worried they would fire him.
They didn’t. Thank goodness. No, they fired me. Or as the university likes to call it, they “terminated” me.
They aren’t specific with that terminology. Anyone who leaves the university is “terminated.” After student workers quit, my coworker would say “Madison has been terrrrrrminated.” in a threatening voice. And these were people who chose to leave. In fact, I do not recall in my seven years at that workplace anyone ever being fired no matter the gross misconduct. Just me.
Technically I was terrrrminated for, as the letter called it, “excessive absenteeism.” Oh, yeah, it was a letter. No in person meeting. No phone call. No warning. After getting two degrees from that place. After working two different jobs at that place. After struggling just to get up in the morning for so many years, after keeping a job when anyone sane would have quit to rest, after using all my energy for said job with hardly any left to spare, after spending so much time worrying about that job that I couldn’t let myself heal, I opened my mailbox to find a letter.
I’ll simplify what it said. “Hello Alice. I realize that after seven years of a family work atmosphere with people you called “friends”, you thought maybe you might survive your latest bout of illness. But this time you went over your FMLA, that stuff that the government amazingly still offers that lets you have twelve weeks of unpaid time off for pesky things like illness. It’s almost like we were just waiting for you to go over that block of time, and throwing down the hatchet right when you did it. Sure we could have warned you, or heck, called you even ONCE while you were out on leave to check on you, but that would acknowledge you had a real illness, not to mention take time from our schedules. Nevermind that your brain has been shocked into seizure over twenty times, you really shouldn’t have abandoned your job. But you did, so give us your keys and your ID card, and clean out your desk.”
I have been through many emotions after losing my job on August 24, well technically the 22nd, as it took two days for the letter to arrive. (For two days I was fired, and didn’t even know it!) Yet the first thing I felt when I read that I no longer worked at that place was relief. For the first time in a very long time I could breathe. When you have a chronic illness, it becomes another job. Add in parent, spouse, maid, cook, etc – each one a job in itself. No one can do that much, so you start dropping jobs. I stopped cooking. I stopped cleaning. Self-care also fell by the wayside. Depression isn’t big on letting you shower anyway, and add in a severe time crunch, and you can forget it. And this was all before I decided to try ECT as a last ditch effort to help me cope with a disease that has plagued me sense I was a teenager.
Yet the relief was short-lived as I now face a very uncertain financial future. I had wanted to quit, but I felt like I could not. We needed the money, especially after months of no pay AND high medical bills that had gathered up on my kitchen counter. We needed the very good insurance to pay for all my medical woes. I spend thousands each year just for daily medications I get from the pharmacy. My mother pointed out that this might be a reason for them wanting me out of there. Insurance companies aren’t happy when they actually have to pay back some of those premiums.
I feel guilt because of the financial losses my family has taken due to my illness. It isn’t my fault, but that really doesn’t make me feel better. I am far from the only one. It’s all over this supposedly great country: families who work hard but live on the brink, one medical disaster away from total bankruptcy. I know so many this has affected. A hairdresser and family friend who was denied insurance because getting Colon Cancer was a “pre-existing condition”. She’d already had Breast Cancer, no fairsies getting it again. I have a friend deep in debt for trying to keep her chronically ill kids alive. I have a friend with Fibromyalgia and Depression. She had to quit her job because constant debilitating pain forced her to do so, pain many doctors don’t even believe is real. A blogger friend just sold her house to help with her massive medical debt. As she said, all because she got sick.
My brother has struggled with Type 1 Diabetes and Bi-Polar disorder since he was a child. My parents have struggled with being his caretakers. Bipolar disorder and Diabetes are a double whammy. Not wanting to take care of yourself is one thing when you don’t need insulin and a healthy diet to survive. He has already lost part of a toe. Yet my parents spend money they worked hard for all their lives to help him survive, because he cannot stay in a job.
I was supposed to be the Golden Child. In spite of 3 degrees, I have failed. Over and over. I was forced to resign from one job, and forced to quit another due to intolerable working conditions. And these were just my “professional” jobs. Those jobs, and the latest one, were all at libraries. Maybe I shouldn’t like to read so much.
I am lucky, because I have had the help and support of so many people. There is no safety net here for most people. They stop or ignore needed medical treatment every day because they can’t afford it. They can’t afford tests that could not only make their treatment less expensive in the long run, but save their lives. It’s all about money here. God forbid anyone raise taxes.
Let them eat cake.
We need a change. Maybe we don’t have the power to stop these diseases ourselves, but we have power to lessen willful ignorance. We have the power to decrease selfishness and cruelty. Do not doubt your ability to help someone feel better with a simple word, a kindness, an embrace, or a novel length blog post.
And don’t forget to vote. Vote for those who would choose kindness and mercy over greed. Who would help people who are too sick to help themselves. Who would pass laws enforcing humanity in workplaces, in insurance companies, in hospitals. Who would let sick people think only of getting well. If we don’t find those candidates, we can create them. Surely the “greatest nation” could do something as simple as take care of its own.
I’ve been in therapy many years, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: the best way to determine your sanity is by how well you tolerate your doctors. I saw the Dallas doctors, and insisted repeatedly and to several people – including the nurses, the nurse practitioner, and finally the psychiatrist – about wanting to have a definite time for treatment to end. By the way, you get to talk to the psychiatrist on the hospital bed while they are preparing to hook you up to a machine – not distracting at all! Don’t worry, I was prepared to leap off the table and do karate-like chops had they decided to go ahead and treat me. I might have ended up in the looney bin, but their looney bin is kinda like a hotel as compared to the one in my hometown where people are stacked like cord wood- I saw pictures. Also my friend is a lawyer. So you know, I was prepared.
As expected, he got “oh-no-doctor-frowny-face” and rambled on about how studies show something- something. I said I want to know how many more treatments cause I’m ready to stop. Again. So he finally came around with spacing out two more treatments. One two weeks away, and the next another couple weeks. Well, he said two to three which to me means TWO. So I got knocked out, and they did whatever they do while I’m asleep – supposedly the treatment but you know they could be animating me like in that movie Weekend at Bernie’s, I don’t know. Then we did the long, long drive home but this time I was more sleepy than usual, so I don’t remember as much.
After getting home, life moved on. My Things started school again – weeeee! Thing Two is in 8th grade this year – one more year of dreaded junior high – and Thing One is . … . a junior in high school. Because I am kinda old. I was helping them fill out paperwork and remembering when I first filled out paperwork for Thing One at the pediatrician’s office. Under “Mother’s Name” I wrote my mom’s name. Now she’s 17 years old, and next year she can vote. Thank God! She and Thing Two should have been voting in elementary school. I believe in something called “mental age voting” which means that younger people who use their brains can vote, but older people who don’t use brains can’t. As I signed, Thing Two told me her teacher said most of us parents could be signing up for almost anything because we don’t look at what we’re signing. I protest – had that been a PTA form, you can bet I would have avoided it.
Later that day, I went to see my local shrink. He wanted to know about my 10 to 12 treatments. Funny. When I told him it was slightly more than that, I got “confused-face”. Lovely. I explained how I got better, but then I didn’t, but then I DID, but then kinda not and so many treatments later here I was. Then I started to get rather angry. Just how many treatments was I supposed to have? This is rather important stuff here when you’re dealing with a human’s brain. I happen to have one of the few remaining working ones, so I’d rather not change that, thanks. This is why we have to be in charge of our own health care, cause you can bet they are not going to have a clue. Their heads are filled with stuff they learned in school, which does not include interacting with people. People like patients, or their own medical freaking colleagues, for instance. I guess I should have checked back, but when during all the travel and such? Got me!
My husband was there to hold me down.
On the plus side, everyone else thinks I am better. And I am, I guess, now that I have time to sit and think a little. It’s taking a bit to get back in the grove of things, but thank God for Google, which will look up anything I need. Like when I couldn’t remember where the italics were for just a second only to find them again on the toolbar above the text box in WordPress. I’m sure if I had actual Microsoft Word on here (my former computer guy used to get me bootleg Microsoft Word before he went to jail shhhh) I would know where that toolbar is as well. I also finally figured out how to get into a program where I can talk to a counselor over the computer! I think!
I should warn her there’s an article that says some patients were flashing doctors. Because of course they were.
I haven’t made it back to work yet. After this summer of FUN, not sure I’m ready for that yet.
In case anyone was wondering why I haven’t been here in a month (I know I have), here’s an update. Still having ECT. Right now they say I am in maintenance treatments which is much like actual maintenance on highways and such- uncomfortable and lasts forever. I have been at this since June 5th or in my estimate, the beginning of time.
Earlier I promised to give a review of this controversial mental health treatment. Turns out it’s not really as cut and dry as medications. With those you can say “Well I took the Zufrika but it made me gain 15 pounds in my elbows and start watching Fox News so I stopped.” or “Scaramouchi gave me diarrhea but really got rid of my depression and I hope they get it back in stock soon.” It’s not either definitely successful or definitely a waste. I might be able to make a better determination after it finally ends, but it’s almost mid-August, and they haven’t given me a hint about when this stops for good.
When you start treatments, you generally do three a week, then you start spacing out once you feel better. I did feel better, enough that going back to work sounded good, but then as I mentioned I went back down again so I tried part-time, and then I tried no time. I have been on no time for a while, and though this has been good for my relaxation it hasn’t been so hot on my pocketbook. And it’s hard to tell just how much better you’ve gotten when you are still frequently driving six hours to a big city to spend the night, get shocked, and travel another six hours home again. The people at the hospital are nice, but that is wearing thin.
I should also note it’s not just depression but anxiety chumming around with me. And since the treatment meant stopping a medicine for that, I am Squirrel as often as Sad Pony. Vroooooom. Beep beep. Oh, if only I could feel better as easily as little boys, or our President, with a big red truck.
Twice I have felt much, much better. But each time I’ve gone back to – not so great. While yes I am better than I was before any treatments, I can’t really tell you exactly how I’m feeling now, because therapy requires way too much naval gazing. How are you now? How about now? Or now? Or now – compared to yesterday? Or last week? Or before you started? Here, fill out this sheet of questions about whether you are definitely sad, or kind of sad, or slightly less sad than that, or happy! What do you mean you’re confused?
I’m starting to wonder if I have to start lying on the “happy sheet” in order to make them stop. Tapering down on treatments is the best way to go – but this taper is not just slow it’s a crawl. I went from three times a week, to two times a week, to once a week. We might go back two weeks after my treatment tomorrow. And then – I don’t know. Three weeks apart? A month? How about a never? My brain may not be scrambled (completely – you have to remember the condition before) but I’m tired. Each treatment, besides being away from my Things and requiring a trip to Dallas, requires fasting the night before, having anesthesia, getting disgusting goop stuck in my hair, and then the fun waking up where I stumble around and hope someone catches me. It gets old.
I have many ideas for posts that I would like to write. I’ve not been good about sitting down to do it. Or at doing much else useful. It has been nice to just breathe. But I don’t quite know what’s next. I do want to get back to it, though, because a lot is happening right now! Maybe I will finish my treatment before North Korea blows up Guam! Or us! I definitely want to be there should justice actually happen and our dear presidente get taken to his next vacation home behind bars.
If I figure anything out, I’ll let you know! Probably. If you read this, feel free to leave me links to anything you wrote so I can have something to read. It’s good to get out of my head.
I was feeling a lot better, but then I started feeling not as good. I’m not sure why. It might have been going back to work and trying to get used to regular life again. Or maybe that’s just part of treatment. At any rate, I am going back for another extra treatment today. Hopefully that will help.
There’s one other thing that might help, though. I’m not sure if you’ve watched the news (or the comedy shows that do as good a job only more amusing) but it seems little Donny is a moron. Remember how Hillary Clinton lost the election mostly because of her stupid emails? Yeah? Well, guess what?! She’s not the only one with dumb emails. It seems Don Jr met with a Russian lawyer who gave him confidential info on Hillary which they then used to influence the 2016 election. We’ve been suspecting there was collusion between the Trumps and the Russians for a while, but no one thought that a Trump would actually flat out give written proof of it. I told my thirteen-year-old about this and she frowned and asked, “Isn’t that treason?” Yes, Thing Two, yes it is, good job. Now if only adults on Fox News would figure it out, it’d be great. Till then, we can watch them squirm.
Now I have clips from Stephen Colbert of the Late Show and Trever Noah of the Daily Show. Sure I could have found a bunch of official news clips, but you can do that. This is much less boring. Anyway, my point here is that this has the potential to cheer me up quite a bit. I know it did last night when Thing One and I were watching and laughing so hard we nearly fell out of our chairs. Of course, I could be wrong. They are rich jerks and often they tend to get away with anything but – if nothing else they are not going to shake this for a while. It should keep them busy. Too busy – I hope – to keep working on that healthcare bill that will leave 23 million more uninsured. Yes, Fox News is trying to defend the Trumps and sounding almost as ridiculous as Don Jr. did when he tweeted out the entire email chain containing information that directly links him to the scandal. I did you the favor of linking clips from the Daily Show and the Late Show right here!
And not to forget Stephen’s report – view them both to get all the goodies, if you haven’t already . . .
Weee! Who says you can’t have Christmas in July? Stayed tuned.
Your raving reporter,
I was reading this article about President Obama taking a selfie with an Alaskan woman and her baby. It was super weird, see, cause he held this baby, took the picture, and never once told either her mother or her that they were too fat or had bad plastic surgery jobs. And all I could think was of how sweet it was and how jealous I was of that baby.
That might have come out wrong. Anyway, while I was reading my husband walked by and said, “Reading about Obama?” I said yes and that I was sad that some people called him a “monkey” online. He said, “I know you and the girls make fun of Trump. But he should be given respect as the president.” This surprised me, as he rarely talks about politics. I said, “I wouldn’t be racist about him.” Which is true – that is one thing I wouldn’t do. Even orange people should have rights.
Now my husband is a good man. If I’d known he was going to end up voting Republican, I highly doubt we’d have gotten past the second date. He said he wasn’t into politics when I asked him about his. My translation: I can convert him. Young single people – don’t ever think this. He votes Republican primarily because of gun rights. He was raised in the country, where he was taught to respect guns and use them properly. So he thinks other people do. I don’t try to argue about this with him anymore. In fact, we usually do not discuss politics with each other. This is a good thing because we balance each others’ strengths quite well. With politics he doesn’t care and I care way too much. But his statement got me thinking.
Do we need to have respect for the president because of his office alone? When Obama was president, I can remember being deeply bothered that people said such horrible things about him. My Thing One was just eight when he was elected the first time, and it bothered her that people did not show respect for the president since she was taught to respect her elders. I felt the same way. Even if they didn’t care for his positions on issues, there was no reason to be so nasty about him as a person. Then came Trump.
I tried to have basic respect for him at first, honestly I did. But it wasn’t long, definitely by the time he somehow, inexplicably, became the Republican nominee for POTUS that I lost even a semblance of respect. Was I biased about Obama? Well, yes, of course I was. I am a very passionate Democrat. I stand with the views of that party. But that wasn’t the only reason I liked Obama. He also, in my opinion, earned respect. He wasn’t perfect, no one is, but he made an effort. You looked at him and you saw a decent human being. At least I did. I never could understand why some people had so much hatred for him. The Democrat before him, Clinton, was a successful president, even if he had issues with keeping a basic item of clothing on around interns. Obama, as far as anyone knows, had no issues with this. I think it was the whole “Michelle was awesome and he was a good guy” bit. But girl had muscle and could probably bench press him, so ultimately it was in his best interest.
Moving onto Donald Trump. What can I say? I have not cared for the last few Republican presidents, especially George W. Bush, for very good reasons. Yes, I have bias toward my party of choice. I believe the government should take care of ALL people, not just the wealthy. Everyone should have healthcare. Everyone should be able to make choices about their own lives. And so on. Still, I would never have advocated for wild hyenas to chase after either Bush, or Reagan, or any of the other Republicans before them. But Trump? Oh, yes, yes I would.
I don’t dislike him. I loathe him. And I have reasons, so many reasons, all of which can be backed up with written, audio, or video proof. Almost every time he opens his mouth, something hateful, offensive, sexist, racist, or just idiotic comes out. Or any time he types on a keyboard, which he does way too often for any office holder. We need a new law barring people holding office from Twitter. Unless you are a under 18 years old you really do not need to be spending that much time on a form of social media that spits out idiocy 140 characters at a time. Good grief, my children do not spend that much time on Twitter. They are smarter and have more important things to do with their time.
I do expect my kids to show basic respect for authority, even if they don’t like them. But this is unlike anything I have ever experienced when it comes to authority. George W. Bush was not the brightest light on the porch, but he did know how to listen to his advisors. Trump is so arrogant he won’t even listen to his own staff. And he needs to, because he knows nothing about his job. You should understand your job and if you don’t, you darn sure better lean on someone who does get it. This is true at a KFC, and it is certainly true in the highest office in the U.S.A. Have your own views on the issues, views I detest, but at least do some basic things like:
A: Live in the White House – full time – with your wife. Or
B: Prepare for meetings with presidents of other countries, especially if those presidents are extremely dangerous. Or
C: If you can’t say something nice, shut up.
Crazy ideas, I know, but come on! It’s not just me, some crazy “libtard” as Internet Trump supporters like to say. Other world leaders dislike him too. Watch the Chancellor of Germany Angela Merkel roll her eyes and imagine getting to spend the day sandwiched between Putin and Trump.
Or check out the former president of Mexico, Vicente Fox.
He is now one of my new heroes.
Unlike my president. Yes, though I hate it, he is the president, but he is a lousy president and a pretty lousy human being. He could change, but I highly doubt he will. As Vicente says, he would be much happier back in his old life as jerk CEO. There’s no pressure there, and best of all, no tempting buttons to push. There was a time, back when he was first elected, when I thought people were going overboard with worry. Surely he wasn’t going to be that bad.
I was wrong. So wrong. There are scary things happening out there. Other countries with weapons that could destroy what is left of the promise of this great nation. The United States and her people deserve more than this. The world, of which the United States is one of the wealthiest, most influential nations, deserves more than this.
It deserves respect.
Today is the day Americans, or North Americans anyway, celebrate independence from England. I’ve said this before, but I don’t know if there’s ever been a year to my recollection when it’s been more true. England has to be celebrating independence from us.
Still, all I had to do was look at a newspaper yesterday to see that we still have reasons to celebrate, though we’ve done our best to bury them lately. For one thing, we aren’t embroiled in a civil war. No army has beaten down our houses, murdered us, and forced our children to fight. That is real and happening in the Sudan right now. I’m not just talking about teenagers here, but little children.
But there is no time for the Sudan – Trump tweeted again! And it was a stinker, whew. The latest was a video of him superimposed over a wrestler. Because we all know he’s in shape. And he’s beating the crap out of another wrestler, labeled CNN (fake news!) Goody! Nothing like literally showing violence toward the news media just days before we celebrate the fact that we have free press in this country. We also have democratic elections with the exception of the Russian hacking that is becoming more apparent by the day, and the gerrymandering that politicians, especially Republican ones, use to their advantage.
Here’s a clip not just of the juvenile tweet (I’m so happy he has this kind of time on his hands to make videos like this) but also of the reaction of one of his advisors. Yes, he applies suction fast enough, but as the video points out, he can’t hide his immediate reaction which is priceless. Just imagine what the other countries think of us now! By the way guys, I am not with him!
Our mighty president has finally gone far enough that even the Republicans, who up till now have been pretty spineless about disciplining him, have spoken up. Trumpy again insulted a woman based on appearance, saying Mika Brzezinski, co-host of Morning Joe, was bleeding from plastic surgery. She hasn’t had plastic surgery, but even if she had, who the hell says that? I mean, besides someone used to bullying everyone around him to get his way? Certainly not a president. Several high ranking government officials from both parties have said essentially “For God’s sake, you’re killing us here, please grow up.”
The worst thing is that with Trump being such an imbecile, people are distracted from some very serious issues today, including healthcare. Obama helped put the idea that healthcare is a RIGHT into peoples’ heads, as it should be. Those people murdered in the Sudan? That was during war. Throwing people off of health insurance is effectively murder as well. Poor children can die without medical care. They can lose their parents or grandparents young. And everyone needs health insurance because you never know when you could get hit with something out of the blue. Cancer, Heart Disease, and Mental Illness, all of which require costly treatment, don’t send you warning letters years ahead of time. And even if you are always healthy, you still need to pay into health insurance because that is how they pay for the truly sick people. Just like how you pay into Social Security because elderly people who raised you need care now. You might have heard it before – it’s called being a Christian, or simply a decent human being.
My title isn’t an accidental typo. I’m spelling phonetically, like the man in the commercial for red, white and blue pancakes who claims in a dramatic slur that they taste like “Amuuurica.” Credits to the nostalgia critic for finding this gem. I am crying tears of patriotism.
I’m not sure what America tastes like, but these days it might have a slightly bitter taste. Best drown it down with some beer. The right kind of beer of course.
Drink while you try to figure out what the heck Google means with their 4th of July salute.
Are the animals trying to declare their independence from us too, or what? Either way, have a good holiday even if you don’t celebrate. My house celebrated Canada Day because it sounds nice up there, except for the cold. We could cuddle with your Prime Minister. Oh, wait, that’s not very patriotic . . . Happy 4th!
When you’re out of commission as long as I’ve been, things tend to pile up. All those little things you didn’t feel like doing before are now in front of you. This is true for me even though I have had people help me so much. For instance, the church went in to help fix our air conditioner. While they were there, they figured, holy crap these people can’t find their floor – or their cabinets – or likely their sanity. So they cleaned also.
If you know someone who is ill either mentally, physically, or both, and you’re wondering what to do – that’s it. Clean. If they are at all open to the idea, it is a huge help to them, and they likely aren’t going to ask for it because it’s embarrassing. So that and cooking – both great ideas. They might even go to your church if you do it.
Anyway, in spite of this, I still find myself overwhelmed by the amount of stuff that I’ve gotten behind on. Since we had so many clothes, enough to make a new carpet and then some, they bagged many of them up in leaf bags for us to sort through ourselves. Which we will . . . eventually. But right now, the idea of even starting this project makes me itch.
Itch like my head, because now was a perfect time to come up with the little buggers. Sometimes I even wonder if I’m really better, but my husband assures me I am. I want to go out again, I want to do things again, I smile again. The problem is that there is so much left over from when I could do squat that I don’t even know where to begin. I was told I could skip my Friday treatment. So I did, and I went back on Thursday after getting home on Wednesday. I can’t even drive yet, but I’m back at work.
Or I was, until Friday around 10 AM when I had to go home. I just couldn’t figure out what to do with myself. Not like there weren’t things to do, but there were too many things both at work and at home that I was thinking about, and I had no idea how to prioritize them. Of course I know now that the head itching, which was distracting itself, was not psychological for once. So I can treat that. But there isn’t a shampoo for prioritizing.
I just can’t figure out how so much got away from me. I’ve been in treatment for 3.5 weeks, but even before the ECT, I wasn’t getting anything done because of the depression. Its much easier to say “Yes I should do laundry, but that bed looks comfy” etc., etc. So now I have so many decisions to make that at times I will skip an official meal because I would have to decide what I was going to eat. Overwhelmation is taking its toll.
June is a big month. My Things turned 13 and 17 – yes, you heard right. I can believe 13 for Thing Two – she’s been thirteen for the last three years at least. But 17 for Thing One? You realize how old that makes me, right? If you know me on Facebook, you already know – I turned 41 three days ago. I can’t figure out how so much has happened. Turns out that the world goes on even when you don’t.
In some ways, I needed this depression to understand how much things meant to me. Things like, well, my things – my children and the other people who care for me. I feel I’ve gotten much closer to several people through this, including my parents. They love me more than I realized, and have even told me so. I’ve seen how good so many people can be, and I’ve been inspired to be that way myself.
But where to begin? I don’t know. When you are driving to a big city 6 hours away on Sunday, then driving home Friday afternoon, only to repeat all of this again the following Sunday, your regular life takes a back seat. Normal everyday things like getting housework done or even remembering to fill my pills regularly, take a back seat. There just isn’t any time. And I cannot begin to describe the homesickness. A hotel away from it all sounds nice, but only for a certain amount of time. You start to miss your own town, your own house, your own bed, your children, on certain weeks your husband, and your old routine. And you want to smack the ceiling with a stick to shut up those people upstairs.
I haven’t been able to drive since beginning treatment. While I was in Dallas, driving was scary anyway, and on weeks with my father you could forget going anywhere. He’s 75 and much more nervous than he used to be on the road. I’ve always been nervous, so there’s not a lot of change there. Yet that meant more isolation on days I was with him. I could go out with my husband at least, but that traffic was still unreal. I don’t know how people live like that on a normal basis. No wonder so many in Dallas are getting ECT.
Driving represents a certain amount of freedom for me, and I never realized how I took it, like so many things, for granted. Or how much I used the word “thing” to describe everything. Sorry about that. I don’t have great memory loss, but I do get flustered easily. So here I am, discovering how much I’ve missed, and wanting for once to catch up, but getting confused easily and wanting to go hide under my covers at times. Getting a few zaps doesn’t fix things right away. Recovery takes more time, and as usual, I have no patience. Life doesn’t have much patience for you either. Get on the train or get off, it seems.
I don’t know if I’m ready for work, or even if this is the job I should stay with forever. I like my coworkers, especially my immediate boss. I get decent pay and really good insurance and retirement. It involves History and English, which are two subjects I’m good at. I’m proud of my job, and worked hard to get it. My daughter will be in college in a couple of years, and it would be nice to be around there. However, it doesn’t have an exact job description, which sometimes leaves you floundering around, wondering what you’re supposed to be doing exactly. I feel guilty when I’m not working hard enough, which seems to be most of the time. Not only that, I have a hard time concentrating on job tasks I often find boring when so many other tasks need doing elsewhere. That work / life balance idea is rather laughable. Yet I’m not sure what else to do. If I quit, then I need another job, but what? I’m not sure I could bring myself to decide. I can’t even figure out what clothes to keep.
So keep in mind how I really do want to get it in gear, which means catching up on both my own blog and the blogs of others. This used to be a big part of my life, and I think it would help me to make it so again. But I am struggling right now to get my life put back together, to figure out what is most important and what should be first. I’m not sure how to do that. Old Bob Frost said “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.”
I like that poem, but I have a question. Which road is less traveled by, and how do you figure that out?
I have never liked bugs. I really don’t see their purpose. If it’s to feed something, then maybe we can just do without whatever it feeds. I’m not super into birds – they’re annoying also. But I’ll tell you what I really don’t like. More than your regular crawly bugs, stinging bugs, biting bugs, or even flying stinging crawly biting bugs . . . it’s bugs that LIVE on you. That’s right. Lice.
I have two beautiful daughters, as most of you know. I affectionately call them Things. Well guess what the Things brought in? That’s right. Bugs. The first time I somehow escaped them. But not this time. This time I thought my head just itched from the ECT treatments but noooo. It had to come from children. I knew there was some reason besides potty training and the facts of life that having girls would get me. Here it is.
My husband just gets a buzz cut. This doesn’t work so well for me. Instead I get to shampoo with pesticides and then comb the things – the bug things – out bit by bit. Oh sure, I could go with an alternative treatment like Mayo but frankly I do not want both bugs and salad dressing in my hair. I want something that makes them GONE, like yesterday, and the deadlier the better to me! If there were some sort of smoke bomb you could drop on planet Earth that killed every single one of them at once, I would be for that. Lice genocide. Works for me.
I got these suckers once before, when I was in elementary school. It sucked then too, only it was just as bad for my mother. I got my long beautiful hair cut, and then I got them shampooed out, and then combed out. For probably 27 hours or so. I’m pretty sure my mom would go for lice genocide too, since she’s the one that found them in her granchildrens’ hair while I was away getting my brain zapped. Lucky her!
So now I wait for my husband to return with “the stuff” and help me get this stuff out. If only I could save the comb and donate it to the Donald. Bugs would go nicely with that orange mop, and who wouldn’t want to see him dance? Be dears and send nice deadly thoughts in my direction. I hope to hear the creatures screaming by this afternoon.
I wrote down some notes in a notebook on my first morning of ECT, since I figured I would not remember it later. Though I just completed my 11th day of ECT today, I’ll go back to my notes on the very first day.
4:45 A.M. June 5th
Notes: Hey Alice, you remember these? You wrote them! No, really. Weirdly you have not had as many freakout meltdowns the last couple of days. I predict spaz out by 8 AM, but who knows? You probably don’t! My gosh, you are twisted, Alice.
Scared? Yeah but it’s been such a long journey. Like Han Solo said in reply to notice of his “Execution at dawn.” “Oh good – I hate long waits.” Been trying to remember the song “Memory”. From a show about cats. I have this. “Mem-ory! La la la la la la la laaaaaa!”
Great start, Alice.
In writing notes for another post I got nervous. Paying for a seizure? This sounds like a colossally bad idea. What if I get pudding brains later? I am vain about me brain.
Forgot to write down where the procedure will be done for sure. Good one!
5:65 er 5:16 now. O.K. I am scared. Also hungry. No food till after.
But – scared.
Road to Dallas:
You might be wondering what Dallas is like. The city is big, and full of traffic, and six hours from my home town. They made an entire prime time soap about it!
The real Dallas is exactly like the show. My shrink was J.R.
Just kidding. The shrink was actually nice. All of them were nice from the psychiatrists to the nurses to the guys that wheeled me out when the treatment was over. They don’t want you to fall on your face when you wake up, so you get taken out by chair. You will be fairly out of it, but you won’t forget your name or birthday or the awful stuff that happened to you in first grade, so nice try. They will ask you who you are before they even put you under. Heck they even ask each other what they’re doing first, just to make sure. “What procedure is this? Oh, yeah. Right lateral ECT.”
They do care if you keep your memory or not. I know because I got mine tested over and over, which was difficult since my memory kind of sucked to begin with and now I was purposely shooting up my brain. Each time I came for another treatment I got another test. Remember these three random words while I go on talking about other stuff. After a while you can try to guess them because it’s often something like a fruit or a piece of furniture or a kind of currency. It won’t hurt to try any of these things if you’re clueless like I usually am.
When you go into the procedure room, they give you oxygen and put sleep juice and whatever else you can convince them to add into your I.V. After you’re out, they put goopy gel (back to the 80s!) in your hair to attach the electrode thingys. The goop itches like Hades and will hang around until you bother to wash it out. But at least you aren’t biting on a chew toy. At least not that I remember anyway. Nor did I wet my pants. These were concerns of mine.
The first time I woke up I was confused and waiting for them to start the treatment before I realized they’d already done it. I didn’t feel a difference immediately. It took a few weeks before I could look back and realize that I was feeling better. Why was I feeling better? I have no idea. But I’m grateful both for the help and for the people who stood by me while I got it. I found new appreciation for these people in my life. I can’t promise ECT will help anyone else, but I would certainly encourage them to try it. Just watch for cars and rattlesnakes if you’re in Dallas.