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.


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!”


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.


Seven days

7 Days
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.


The juice cleanse pt II

One day shy of the end of the juice cleanse, my husband convinced me to have take out, as it was a very busy day. Mini corn dogs and onion rings, delicious! Then he convinced me to have pasta for supper. All day, I felt muddled and negative, as did he. So, my failure to go the full seven days was successful. We learned…no more gluten! Finally, Aspiehubby agrees! Gluten and high fructose corn syrup out, permanently. Sugar, sparsely, and mostly from fruit.
So, there’s the nutshell…



So, here’s the thing…
I work for a living, and cannot get ahead, Or even comfortable. I can barely breathe. I decided to buy my house when I was alone and down on my luck. One month after I signed the contract, I lost my job. I got a lower paying job. Then I found out I was pregnant. I enrolled in school to become an RN. While in school, I resumed my work as an LPN. I got railroaded from school a month from graduation, because the school did not want to deal with my disability. I had not had the resources to be properly diagnosed. At that time, I had been misdiagnosed Borderline. Three years later, I was railroaded from my job, then another job, then another job. We (my family had just grown to 4 by that time) lived on my unemployment for a year and a half. During that time, I applied for disability, and was denied because I still could not be properly diagnosed. I obtained employment with a non-profit, which has been such a blessing to me and my family. Unfortunately, my family does not qualify for disability because I am employed, and make around $35,000 a year. I commute 60 miles to work in an iffy vehicle, because I cannot afford better, and don’t want to be in debt.
That’s my inequality story in a nutshell.