Posts Tagged ‘health

19
Oct
19

Moving Day

Yesterday, the move began. Had to move, as Salem was getting too expensive, the lady of the house’s commute was too exhausting, all the doctors I need are too far out, and our neighbors suck with their habits of blowing pot smoke under their door and into ours (or out their bedroom window, where it drifts directly into ours) and bioweapons grade insect infestations that crawl up from downstairs. Living in an upstairs apartment for a gimp like me was also massively unpleasant.

I wore myself out, because as is my penchant, I said “fuck it, I’m gonna get shit done” and pushed myself well past my breaking point. Still isn’t even close to done. I got all the dishes moved. Which is a greater accomplishment than you might think (there were roughly 10 boxes of dishes, all fairly large and slightly overpacked, which had to be lugged downstairs, tied into a truckbed, transported 30 miles and then unloaded in a rainstorm), but still not that great. I set the bed up. I got internet turned on. Hooray.

In the process of all that, I got a call from one of my doctors, saying the words I’ve been arguing with 6 doctors over for nearly a year and informing me of the appointment where it will be marked on official documentation, so perhaps my employer will quit stalling and actually pay me (and my lawyer will have the paperwork he wants to send to SSI.) “It is not safe for you to return to work. We’ll see you Friday for your documentation.”

I’m torn on that. On the one hand, it’s somewhat of a relief; it means that maybe I can finally help pay some rent, catch up the credit cards that are maxed and delinquent, that sort of thing. It means there’s hope for at least some income trickling in soon. On the other hand, it probably means my employer’s going to let me go once they pay it (since at this time it appears unlikely I’ll be going back any time soon, surgery or no), which means no insurance (which is already on the verge of cancellation as it is.)

It also feels like a punch to the gut. I’m one of those weirdos who actually wants to work. I liked my job. I’d rather be doing it, and working to the next tier position. Maybe one day I can go back, but it’s likely I’d be starting from the bottom again. That’s assuming I can get my surgery, survive the refractory period, and have significant quality of life increases from it after the six month recovery time expires.  Lots of ifs, there.

Anyway. My brain’s up in the air. Trying to figure out how I’m going to get my computer, PS4 and television to the new house (let alone the furniture.) The rain and driving a Ford Ranger (small cab, short bed) makes moving electronics an exciting proposition. But I’ll figure it out. Hopefully. I’m still trying to do a post a day (doing this at the old house, since I haven’t yet dismantled my “writing corner”) and pretend I actually do stuff with social media, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep that up over the next week. I’ll do my best.

Hope everyone out there is well.

KA Spiral no signature

 

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01
Jan
19

How Broken Am I?

Happy New Year, everyone. December, and by extension 2018, are finally gone, leaving us a fresh 365 days to try to do better.

I hope to all higher and lower powers it’s better. In 2018 I missed roughly 8 months of work due to illness, saw progressive decay in my physical and mental state, and spent quite a bit of time wondering just how sharp the knives in the drawer were. That is not exaggeration, nor is it an attempt to elicit reactions. Merely truth.

Most followers know I’ve got quite a lot wrong with me. For those who don’t, here’s the laundry list:

Asthma. I’m on three kinds of steroid and two kinds of “as needed” meds so I can pretend to function at least semi-normally. Walking down the stairs or across my parking lot on a good day is liable to end with a severe coughing fit and potential vomiting, followed by an hour or more of wheezing. On a bad day it’s impossible and may result in crawling when I try to push myself to do it anyway.

Bipolar Disorder. Apparently I’m on the low end of this one, for which I should be grateful I guess. Doesn’t mean that I can’t go from feeling “okay” to “staring at the knives” in 10 seconds under the right – or wrong, depending on your viewpoint – circumstances. It can also go from placid and considering the knives for… ahem… personal use to contemplating how many times you can stab someone before they just…shut…up. Yes, I am unstable and sometimes not a pleasant person to be around. I do my best, and they gave me a bottle of lovely pills that I take to “even it out,” which helps… but not always.

Chronic Depressive Disorder. On top of being prone to psychotic mood swings, I’m also almost permanently stuck in a depressive state. That means I get all the negatives of the bipolar without the fun and occasionally useful manic periods. I’ve got pills for this, too, but even when they’re working on my brain there’s a lot of factors involved in depression besides just not having the right chemistry lab in your skull. Being a practical invalid, constantly being stressed about bills as you fight with your company’s disability reps – a situation that still hasn’t been resolved – and seeing nothing but doctor’s offices, the gas station between your house and those offices, and the walls of your tiny apartment for months on end, with similarly limited human contact takes its toll on one’s mood and ability to cope just as much as a lack of serotonin and dopamine.

Carpal Tunnel / Arthritis. My wrists and hands are turning into barely functioning hooks, and I spend the first two to three hours of the day – once I sort out my morning candy bag of pills and huff on my assorted aspirators, anyway – with alternating numbness and agony twisting through my forearms and hands. It’s not considered severe enough for medication at this point, and they’re afraid to try surgery due to my lung problems, so I chew naproxen sodium and ibuprofen like they’re going out of style and spend a lot of time trying to type or game with big clunky braces on (which then gets me frustrated and causes problems with the mental/emotional disorders, and what a merry-go-round that is.) I’m supposed to wear them to bed, too; problem is that I have a nasty tendency to strip them off and hide them when I’m asleep. Which leads us to our next issue.

Restless Leg Syndrome. I used to think this one was a joke. Then they did some tweaks on my other meds and I discovered that, hey, this is a thing. Your body will jump around and just do things whether you want it to or not. You can feel the muscles in your thighs and calves thrumming, begging to be flexed, and if you give in to it, it only gets worse. You then get two choices; endure it, and fight for every minute of sleep you manage to get, risking waking yourself up by kicking yourself, the wall, the cat, your sleepmate or whatever, or take the tranquilizers they prescribed, which stops that and helps you sleep, but tends to cause early-waking insomnia and general grogginess for a bit when you wake up. Which also leads to another fun one.

Severe Acid Reflux. With the asthma and allergies, I wheeze and cough a lot in my sleep. With a sensitive gut, sometimes that leads to nausea. More than once I’ve woken myself up with vomit burning in my throat, almost choking as I make a mad dash to the bathroom. Now do that with numb legs and a groggy head because of the tranquilizers you had to take to get to sleep at all and you have a fun situation. More pills for this, but I can’t take them all the time because apparently they can dissolve my stomach lining, so that severely limits diet and when it’s “safe” to eat. Combine with an odd work schedule – when I’m actually capable of working, ha ha – and I get to literally starve some days. Hooray.

Mild Schizophrenia. At least, that’s what they’re debating right now. The docs are teetering on whether they think it’s harmless delusions that should be death with via therapy, just an overactive imagination and lack of stimuli, or actual psychosis that needs more magical pills, but regardless of the final diagnosis, I see shit that’s not there, I hear shit that’s not there, and my memory is only to be trusted about 80%. Fun.

I’m not trying to complain, though I’m not going to lie and say it’s a bloody picnic or anything. The meds help, in as much as they can, and I’m doing my best. But when I disappear for long periods, or the output seems to be suffering, one or some or all of these things are likely to blame.

As noted, it’s a new year. New chance to try again and post as much as I can and try to grow my YouTube and Twitch channels, and publish a new book and finish the one on the burner like it deserves to be. That’s my resolution. To do my best to do those things.

I can always use a little help; like, share, subscribe if you’re of a mind. Follow me on Twitter (or fill my timeline and DMs with vitriol, if you like!). Watch me play games badly here on Twitch. And if you are taken with the spirit, you can help keep my stuff working and my meds on order via Patreon or GoFundMe.

If you can’t – or just won’t – do those things, that’s okay, too. You read this, which means a lot. You’re still paying attention, even with all my bitching and long silences, which is pretty impressive. So thank you.

What about you folks out there? How broken are you, and how does that impact your creative endeavors? Got tips for helping others through those times? Drop your thoughts down below, if you’re of a mind.

Happy New Year!




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