Day 6

Day 6:
I didn’t go to many groups because various people were taking me into the meeting room to ask questions and stuff. First it was the financial counsellor. I was way over emotional and cried off and on all day, so I cried when she
Introduced herself. So silly. She asked me about my finances. I dried it up and answered the questions. I was so worried about a big hospital bill. I should have known it wouldn’t cost anything , because they waived the charges for my cholesystectomy, and that was when I had a good job and insurance. She helped me apply for Medicaid for both my husband and Me.  The kids already had it. Now we all have Kancare and it is such a relief! A social worker talked with me about my supports at home. I told her I have my husband and kids for emotional support, and
I own my home and vehicles (thank God). I’m just really worried about income, and what will happen when my savings run out. We talked about disability, and that the hospitalization would help my case. I met the Dr., who seemed really gung-ho on keeping me there for a while.😞 He had an APRN with him. When discussing my medication, they questioned the wisdom of combining the gabapentin with lamotrigine, as they serve similar functions. He started me on seroquel for sleep. That evening, I was sitting in the day room with my roommate, Tweak, and some dude I didn’t know. Tweak was again regaling us with tales of meth manufacture. The guy I didn’t know started asking questions about the science behind the various methods of manufacture. I couldn’t help it. I joined in on the inquest, and we all had a good laugh. I took my seroquel that night. It had no effect.

Standard

Day 5

My thinking was still fuzzy, and my memories of MICU only come to me in pieces. I remember hospital staff sticking papers in my face, saying I needed to sign myself into the psych facility, or they would just put a hold on me. Because I was on suicide watch, I always had a sitter. One sitter took all kinds of attitude with me and said, “you did this to yourself”. Duh! I told her to get the fuck out, and that while what she said was factually correct, it was not what I needed to hear. They got me a different sitter. Mother told me to be nice. I said I’m always nice until someone gives me a reason not to be. Mother asked if that was a threat (toward the sitter). I don’t understand why she would think that. I was merely stating a fact. See, people always assume the worst of me, especially my family. Sure I have an attitude problem. That tends to be the case when a small child is ostracized for thinking differently and having anxiety attacks. I don’t think it makes me a bad person, does it? Anyway, I signed the fucking papers. Then we waited for a room to become available, but not for long. So I was transported to the Good Shepherd. I was given all the paperwork, introduced to my roommate, and given time to read everything. I got there around supper time, so they brought me food in my room. Ugh. How does one make corn taste bad? I figured I must have been tricked into going to fat camp. I didn’t eat until mother came to visit and harassed me about it until I ate. I pretty much just ate fruit and salads. Didn’t even lose any weight, either. Basically, I was responsible for making a plan for when I went home, which they referred to as my “ticket out”. Naturally I finished it right away. Still stayed for three days. There was a tweaker in the day room who was kind of wound up and hyper. The guy actually referred to himself as “Tweak”. I didn’t sleep at all that night. Around midnight, there was a commotion outside my door. I just stayed in bed. My roommate, who was also a nurse, cracked the door to look, turned around and said, “Tweak’s getting tased!”

Standard

Days 3 and 4

Day Three:
I don’t really remember anything from this day. I was in a medically induced coma.

Day Four:
I vaguely recall regaining consciousness, people telling me where I was and the vent tube being pulled out. I remember pulling at the IV and NG tube, although I was not in control of my actions. H, my mother-in-law, and my mother. I won’t lie. I was straight pissed that I woke up. I had certainly not intended to. H says they visited in ICU a few hours. It seemed like a very short time. I must have told them I was angry about waking up. I saw my mother -in-law storm out. I still don’t know if it was me, or my Mother, she was so pissed at. Neither would surprise me. By evening, I was somewhat lucid, and very hungry. Hospital food is the shiznit! Had a salad and a big plateful of stir fry. They let me have pain meds, but my tolerance is very high.

Standard

Seven Days: Day Two

Day Two
I’ll tell this part of the story as best I can. I have to have H. Help me fill in the blanks, because I blacked out intermittently throughout the day. In the morning, I was still pissed. More pissed, even. And not just at D. Pretty much everyone but the fam. A couple of guys owe us some money, and apparently have no intention of paying up. At some point, you need to make an example of a mo’fucker to let everyone know you’re not there to be stole on. On the day before day one, I had attempted to collect from one of them. He lives in some dudes house. I was under the impression that it was like an apartment separate from the rest of the house (I’m still pretty sure it is). and made the mistake of opening the door at the top of the white exterior staircase, and knocking on the apartment door. The kid answered the door, and I told him he needed to pay up. Then the home owner came out of the other part of the house and gave me grief about having opened the exterior door to knock on the kid’s door. I assured him I had no wish to disrespect him or his home, and explained that the kid owed me money, and needed to pay up. Also, I was under the impression that the apartment was separate (I’m still pretty sure it is). The kid said he didn’t have it, and I left, not sure what to do next. Back to Day Two: I went back to collect. I cannot have people thinking I’m here to be stole on! I knocked on the exterior door and waited. Next thing I know, a fucking pig shows up, telling us we have to leave. Then the home owner came out to give me the stink eye. I explained that the kid owed me money, and I needed him to pay up. Asked the guy why the fuck he thought he needed to call the fuzz. I wasn’t trying to cause him any trouble I just need my money. The fucking pig told me I would just have to cut my losses. FECK! Then I went to the home of the other guy who owes us. H. told me to stay in the car, he would handle it. Dude came out the house spouting some shit about it’s his sister’s house, as if that had some bearing on the fact that he owes us money. He didn’t have a shirt on. He has like a gimpy arm. He is chubby and pale and has the strangest little white jiggly man boobs.  H. Has man boobs, but they are full and luscious. A verbal altercation ensued, and all I could focus on was how the odd boobs were jiggling. Then I sprinted out of the car and charged, fist drawn back. I don’t know if H. stopped me, or I stopped myself. Though my emotions were nigh on uncontrollable, I really, really do not want to go to jail. I guess we went home after that. I don’t remember getting on Facebook and messaging this to my former boss, who fired me a few months earlier for something that was BEYOND MY CONTROL:
You are evil. I can’t wait until your daughter treats my son badly in school, and I can get her fired. I have two children who depend on me, and you are so evil that you probably don’t give a shit. Accidents happen. It is understandable for you to be upset about what happened. I am too. But it was an accident. It’s not a good reason to take the only income I had to raise two beautiful boys who did nothing to deserve this. I’m going to tell everyone how evil you are.
I do not remember posting this on my status:
(Former boss) IS EVIL. (Kid that got the cops called on me) IS EVIL. (Gimp with jiggle boobs) IS EVIL. (Some asshole who likes to talk hypocritical shit) IS EVIL. (Other former boss) IS EVIL. THAT COP IS EVIL. (Bully) in third grade IS EVIL. THE KOCH BROTHERS ARE EVIL. DONALD TRUMP AND HILLARY CLINTON ARE EVIL. THAT (tweaker who terrorizes the whole neighborhood) IS EVIL. (Babydaddy’s barrister) IS EVIL. WHOEVER GOT ME FIRED FROM EURKA NURSING CENTER IS EVIL. Some of you asshats need to figure out a way to atone. And if anybody goes whining to my parents about this status is EVIL too. I will refrain from committing assault, but would love a fair fight on neutral ground with any of you (except the pig and the third grader). Someone please take me up on this offer. I’m itching to resolve these issues.
I do remember posting this status:
For those who have been kind to me, thank you.
I vaguely remember going off on H’s schizo cousin. H had asked him nicely (evidently too nicely) to steer clear, and he continued to darken our doorstep occasionally, and sent one of his skanky friends over to ask about buying a car I’m not even trying to sell. I told him, in no uncertain terms, to stay the fuck away!
I do remember kissing my babies goodbye, whispering it’s not your fault, sending them to friends houses, then swallowing, I think, three almost full bottles of psych meds. When my level of consciousness became altered, H. dragged me to the bathroom and attempted, unsuccessfully, to induce vomiting. I don’t really remember anything after that. I’m told the EMTs tried to intubate me, but I was fighting like an animal. I fought the Versed and something else that started with a V that H. Couldn’t remember. They had to give me Succinocholine. I’m told my youngest returned as I was being loaded into the ambulance, and had a panic attack. I didn’t cover my bases and talk to his friends parents to be sure he could stay long enough. I will never forgive myself.

Standard

Seven days

7 Days
Prologue:
My Thirty seventh birthday was, arguably, the worst. All I wanted was my pineapple upside-down cake and to stay stoned all day while playing some tunes with friends. Our “friend” D. had bought the last quarter from under us. I asked if he would flip us an eighth, or just a few grams. He said no, but that he would keep me baked all day. OK. Works for me.

Day One
He did not come over until afternoon, and that was fine. After he arrived, he proceeded to smoke one bowl with us, then said, “I’m going to hang out with B.” (his girlfriend). Still ok. I was under the impression he would return later in the evening. P. And C. showed up because D. had told them he’d be here. As the evening progressed, H. and I became more and more angry. H. was all over the place bitching about this and that. “He always has to go run around with B. He’s got people over waiting over here for two hours,” and the like. I said I don’t give a fuck if he hangs around with his girlfriend. I don’t even really mind the company (though it was quite rude to expect us to entertain his guests at our house for two hours while they waited). I was upset that he said he would make my birthday happy, then failed to do so, and my day was ruined. When he arrived after midnight, needless to say we were all pretty put off and irritated. I had just given up and gone to bed. The guys said, “Come out here”. NO! EVERYONE WHO DOESN’T LIVE HERE NEEDS TO GET THE FUCK OUT! “Come on out, we’re loading a bowl.” NO! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LIKE ME IF I DO! “Come on.” Whatever. I got up and went to the living room. The bowl made one full rotation. When it made its way to me, I proceeded to smoke the rest of it by myself, defiantly challenging someone to say something with my eyes. Go ahead. Give me a reason. A bratty move, I know, but I felt righteous as I had been mistreated. Plus, I was legit trying to calm down. No one said anything. I had smoked so quickly that my utilitarian metal pipe was hot all the way to the mouthpiece. I was so wound that the herb had had no effect. H. Asked D., “Want to load another one?”. “Not if she’s gonna sit there and smoke it all.” THAT’S IT! EVERYONE WHO DOESN’T LIVE HERE GET THE FUCK OUT!!! The room exchanged uncomfortable looks, then the guests shuffled out without further communication. Bye, Felicia.

Standard

Out of the closet?

The other day, I went to my 7-year-old’s first football game. Between plays, he was holding hands with his bestie, as they approached the huddle. Even for boys that young, it struck me as not altogether heterosexual behavior. After the game, we asked if the other boy is his boyfriend (We have taught our children from an early age what sex is, and different orientations). He said yes. I asked him if the neighbor girl was still his girlfriend. He said that she is just a friend. We asked if he liked both boys and girls. He said “kind of, but I’m gay”. I don’t know if he really knows for sure or understands it all. I guess my point is that I consider this a parenting win because he wasn’t scared to tell us “I’m gay”.

Standard