Concrete Floor Pneumonia

About the end of August I came down with a nasty case of bronchitis. Went to the doctor, as most sane people would do, got antibiotics and cough syrup with codeine so I could, at least, sleep at night. I went through the whole ten day course of antibiotics and nothing had changed with my bronchitis. I was still coughing my lungs up and having trouble breathing so, I dropped by the doctor’s office to make a follow up appointment but, both doctors were out of the country the entire week. I was advised by the office staff to just go to the emergency room and see the physician there. Later in the day my youngest son took me to the local emergency room, by which time I had gotten a lot worse and taking in air into my lungs was like breathing in water. I got angry at my son in the emergency room and crawled out of the end of the gurney and ended up crushing my skull into the emergency room concrete floor. After rearranging my own skull, I was taken for a CT Scan and then, a chest X-Ray. That’s when I was diagnosed with pneumonia and admitted to the hospital. Following a breathing treatment and more antibiotics being hung on my IV, I was taken in for a STAT MRI to see if I had done any major damage to my brain from the fall off the gurney and from that point I do not remember much at all until 3 or 4 days later. I just know I was serious sick and couldn’t do much of anything but sleep and eat at mealtimes and when I needed my balance out my blood sugar. There were respiratory therapy people in and out every four hours to give me breathing treatments and eventually by Sunday I was breathing pretty clearly and feeling much better. That was until the ignorant respiratory therapist came into my room and told me that I would have a heart attack if I didn’t use the nasal canulla  instead of the mask. This is when things got very ugly for me. I did not want to have a heart attack. But, using a nasal canulla on me causes vestibular migraines that make me violently ill and hospitalize me for 3 days, at least. But, the jerk scared me with the heart attack diagnosis, which he had no authority to say or demand on me, and I agreed to the nasal canulla. Bad mistake. I wore it just a few hours because, my doctor came in and released me to go home but, I had laid there for several hours with a nasal canulla in my nose. I was feeling well as far as pneumonia was concerned but, the TBI and I had that creepy before vestibular migraine aura going on with tinnitus, light-headedness, and visual  miscues.

I went ahead and came home to my own bed and slept in a vertical position because the room was starting to spin some when I laid flat. All I could think of and feel was the coldness in the vestibular area of my brain. By 3AM Monday morning, I was in a major vertigo experience and had to call 911 to take me back to the hospital. As they were putting me in the ambulance the violent vomiting that comes with vestibular migraines started and the pain in my eyes was unbearable. Everything was spinning and any movement of the ambulance caused upheavals in my gut. I puked all the way to the hospital. My O2 levels were starting to drop, as well, so I was trying to correct my breathing patterns while trying to maintain a sense of *not* falling and the chair being on the ceiling, the window where the door is supposed to be and my sister was out in the hallway even though standing directly by my bed. It’s like falling down a sickening rabbit hole. I was re-admitted to the hospital and spent the entire day Tuesday, moaning in pain and nausea from fear of the room moving and everything in it rearranging themselves into different places. It sends your anxiety disorder into overdrive. Xanax that would naturally knock an adult out like a light is like a sugar pill placebo your angst is so twisted and tangled. It took me two more days to pull out of that migraine caused by that stupid nasal canulla. I have since been placed on Topomax by a neurologist to prevent the vestibular migraines from even happening again. Topomax and 500 mg of magnesium.

There’s quite a lot I don’t remember during my days while in the hospital but, I guess that means that I really needed to be there getting the correct medications and treatments. When I finally was home for good; I still had a huge lump on the back of my head and a ridge on the occipital lobe of my skull for a couple of weeks after. I’m still sort of recovering because, I don’t have a lot of my strength back and I’m still needing extra sleep. Word to the wise: Don’t try to crawl off emergency room gurney’s, if so, you will receive a traumatic brain injury. TBI’s are no fun. They hurt a lot and you for get a whole lot. Stay on the gurney.

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Thrust With Ink

Today’s memories from yesterday, when it was all calm. On deadline we would all gather at computers and enter our own stories or those that needed transcribing being sent over fax. These were the days before internet and putting together and magazine to be ready for the press and then distribution. We were all unpaid writers, photographers, artists and Rickie, who did paste up. I’m not even sure who did paste up on Pagemaker, probably, Chris, but someone with more knowledge, at the time, on how to layout a page. I learned that years after when on staff as a student at St. Petersburg College with the college newspaper. The whole staff and half the bands in town floated in and out over the 2 or 3 days it would take a 24 hour a day job for two days will cause some wild ideas to burst forth and suddenly we would all be eating spinach pizza and listening to 98ROCK. Then, the film was all rushed to the printer and you could have a day’s reprieve to shower and sleep. Then, the printed publication would arrive still wet with ink and my eyes would start to water. As I threw load after load from the back of a truck or a trunk and backseat of cars of magazines into my small trunk and back seat. Then, it would become time to distribute. Off we all ran in opposite directions like it was a race to see who could distribute their load of magazines first and fastest. Sometimes that meant road trips to Miami to leave bundles in front stoops of record stores, head shops and clubs with live performances. Bars, clubs, anywhere we could get placement because, placement meant advertisement and that was the only income that magazine made. The rest was “perks”, i.e., show passes, backstage passes, VIP passes, Photo Pit passes, Meet & Greet passes, and getting to hear the new label material coming out, at least, 6 weeks before release to the public for critical review. Sometimes you became “friends” with the bands and access was no problem because, they would have already given you an All Access laminated pass. Perks. That was our pay.

In the end, you end up with a lot of “friends.” People like to hang out with you because you knew all the bands personally. Sometimes, you would ask them to come along with yourself and your kids. They got to meet the band, hang out, get autographs and pictures. I was a “wanted” friend during my time as a music photographer and journalist.

Then, I started getting sick and I went off in a loop and down the primrose path. Seven years into the roller coaster ride, I am diagnosed with endometrial cancer and I’m gone from the publications. Coming out of the seven year battle with illness after illness, all cancer related and unknown to myself. December 5th, 2012 I was diagnosed. I had surgery at the probes of a robot called DaVinci and my surgeon at a computer making cuts inside my body by a computer screen and joy stick. Where were all those “friends” during that time period when I needed them most of all? I have no clue. My family and my nursing team were the only one’s I had.

I had no backstage passes or friends anymore that were with me when I had access to those show passes. They had all been offended at one point or another because I had been upfront and honest with them and with people I knew. I am still this way. I am welded together to be an honest person and share my known truth’s to those that might be in danger of falling prey to the same kind of “friends” I *HAD* when I was healthy, well and right-minded. You can’t begin to understand the havoc that is wrecked in your mind until you’ve experienced a life threatening illness. You behave and conduct yourself sometimes from as far as usual as you can get. You get extremely angry at yourself for being such a sicko weakling that your body snatches up any disease it desires, despite your eating well or not. You’re mad at the illness, itself; kicking your ass with 3 months of continuous vomiting and diarrhea; sudden loss of muscle control almost always on the left side; falling down in public; swallowing pill after pill after pill, some of them *highly addictive* on a daily basis. You’re attitude is always irritability at everything that rolls off your sarcastic ridden tongue to how you care for your personal hygiene or even seeing the outdoors again. Seeing travel shows on television is your outdoor activity.

You isolate in your bedroom from your family to avoid any conflict. Anything, anything to avoid conflict when you are this raw emotionally and mentally. Once your healed from the surgery and sent home to rest, you are plied with narcotics for pain relief; after all, you have just been drawn and quartered internally. Return visits to the cancer center every six weeks where doctors, nurses, technicians and whomever become personally acquainted with your nether regions. By June of 2013 I was in radiation therapy and having those treatments with my hair growing thin, loss of all body hair, including my eyelashes and arm fuzz. Loss of 98% of my teeth to something stuck unnaturally up into my throbbing constantly now, still, gums. Eating only clam chowder and french onion soups because it hurts to chew and I get facial migraines.

Suddenly one day, approximately 8 weeks ago, I fall into another psychosis. They get me in the emergency room and slap me down with a syringe full of Haldol and then, next thing I know I am being woken up by a nurse trying to give me an injection of insulin. I’ve never been insulin dependent in my entire life. I’ve always be hypoglycemic not the other way around. I was extremely confused and was told my blood sugars were running in the 400’s so, I had to have the injections. I was at 479 when I was released to go home the next day. Now, I’m an insulin-impaired diabetic. Anything, and I mean, anything can have an affect on a person that has Bipolar Disorder 1, General Anxiety Disorder and PTSD. My blood sugar has been on the high side the last 3 days and I have not felt well. I have to quit dabbling around and get myself back on track or, I will fall off the track again.

The point of it all, is that I miss my days of writing, shooting a couple of shows now and again and those perks. I miss the telephone interviews where we end up catching up on our phone call backstage at some later planned tour date. I miss sharing the story I can glean by a casual 20 minute conversation about someone else’s art and it being their passion. I miss listening to that passion in their own words. A man will prove himself by his words but not unless there is action put behind the passion in the words. You have to find that man or woman in a short 20 minute time space. You have to present that person on the other end of the telephone line in a truthful and honest light. I miss those days. I don’t miss being crammed with four feature artists to write up in one month with no perks attached, as was my last publication experience but, I miss listening to the art of music. I don’t miss being a used “friend.” I don’t miss being accused and unconscious of what people say about me. What it all boils down to is a test I had run when I was about 11 years old. I had severe allergies and asthma as a child. So, I had to have a series of allergy tests run and the one thing that came up as the highest ranking allergen on my testing was ink. That’s why my eyes would burn and I would be snotty and sneezy and itching all over when I faithfully distributed those magazines. My plans on getting a couple of tattoos just went flying out the window. But, my plans to write again remain as I wait on *higher level* Microsoft Office IT Technicians to work on my Office issues tomorrow afternoon remotely.

Get The Party Started, Did You Commandeer The Boat?

It’s always on your mind, you constantly check the clock and the time, swirling your constant bottle of water or liquid that stave off the dry mouth and dehydration caused by the medications. It’s all about balancing that critical point of when and where to take your medications. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder I and General Anxiety when I was 18 years old and it took the next 18 years to find the right “cocktail” of medications via Big Pharma and massive amounts of therapy and numerous hospital stays on the psychiatric ward.

But, let’s discuss what Bipolar Disorder, General Anxiety Disorder, PTSD (I was just diagnosed with this added on disorder within a few months ago) and all mental health diagnoses and disorders. Let’s remove the taboo and fear of people with mental illnesses. Do you realize that 1/4 of people in the world have experienced or are living with a mental disorder daily? That’s 1 in 4 people, people. Do you really believe that out of 1/4 of the world are all mass or serial murderers? Do you really believe on our worst days we are a hazard to the general public simply because we have a disorder in our brain chemistry and firings between the neurons make us so different we need to be watched like wayward coyotes that stalk and kill our prey? Do you feel angry at someone when they slip without their own control into a psychosis and do things untoward that they have to make up for or, in the least, apologize for later on in time?  We do not ask for our illnesses anymore than a diabetic asks for a diseased and under functioning pancreas. As a matter of fact, I was just diagnosed with diabetes and people have broken down walls and made late night telephone calls to give me advice on how to handle everything from what you put in your mouth to what kind of sweetener is best to use. Did I experience these helpful people when I was diagnosed or when I have slipped into psychosis from no sleep, no food, illnesses and simple rejection from my so-called friends? No, I lost a lot.

First, you need to be aware that psychosis and psychopathy/sociopathy are two different animals and two different things as apples are different to oranges. Psychosis is a temporary thing that is experience by the mentally ill person when put under too heavy and too much stress. Psychopathy is a life-long decision based behavior. Psychopathy/sociopathy is something akin to morals and knowing right from wrong. They are the narcissists that believe their actions to be correct whether socially, morally and behaviorally. They lie, cheat and betray for their own personal gain or comfort. They lack any sort of sympathy or empathy for the other person.

I don’t have psychopathy but, I do experience psychosis during my illness at stress points. The psychosis’ that effect me are times that I have no memory of but, I have to be reminded by people around me that saw, witnessed and heard what I had done while “out of my mind.” I find out I did certain things while in psychosis that I had no clue I had done months later when someone accuses me or relates to me with, “Don’t you remember when you did such and such?” and I will be clueless to what they are speaking about. It’s frustrating and embarrassing to even think about most of the time because, I become a person unknown to my own self and a person that I do not care for in the worst sort of way. There’s always that apology you have to make and then, you have to explain your whole life,practically, to get people to understand that it really was not you acting as your real every day self. It is akin to being possessed by some otherworldly demon walking in your shoes and acting out their filth in your own skin. Then, after a good psych ward visit, corrections, deletions and additions to your “cocktail” changes and one day you wake up and the date is all wrong. The day you “left” is your yesterday. The days in between are lost and your memory does not glue or cement them into your mind. It’s only when someone tells you what you did that it becomes horrifying to you personally. You sit in a sort of chaotic whirlwind as your family, people you know and friends, if you have any left, relate your behavior back to you. It’s difficult and traumatic to have to muster up the courage to apologize for something you can’t even remember. Then, they relate back to you what you have done and walk away forever. It can be a lonely place if you are surrounded by people who refuse to even attempt to understand you. It can be isolating to feel the rejection and loss of relations and you end up locking your own self away (this is called isolation psychiatrically) in your home in the fear that the psychosis will return when you are out in front of people and with people. You have no control with the exception of staying away from “triggers” and, trying not to engage in acts of anorexia by not wanting to eat to sleeplessness from over exertion of the manic end of your disorder. You try to maintain good health but, sometimes things slip up like the flu, a bad allergy attack or even your blood sugars bouncing up and down the scale from normal range to nearly in a coma range of 600.

It’s something that world-wide needs to be addressed and dealt with. There needs to be more public education to stem the tidal wave of stigma and bias that can launch you into, yet another, psychosis. A viscous circle fed by people around you too afraid of what might happen if you stay in that person’s life and try to be understanding of their disorder. The rejection, fear, out casting and abandonment only make matters much, much worse. The cycle needs to be stopped and ended. We just ask for acceptance and involvement again in the rest of the world without condemnation. We’re just looking for people to love us anyway.

THE 4 MOST COMMON NARC-SADISTIC TRIANGULATION TACTICS

Free From Toxic

image There is already a lot of information about triangulation, one of the favorite manipulation tools used by narcissists and people who suffer from “cluster B” personality disorders. However, I think it’s important in any kind of relationship, that we learn to identify the early warning signs and red flags, when interacting with people who display narcissistic traits or sociopathy. This way we can better arm ourselves from being exploited and abused and make informed decisions about who we allow in our lives, as well as, set appropriate boundaries to avoid and protect us from being negatively impacted by these toxic interactions.

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Moving Mt Status Reports to WordPress

I have decided to move all my status reports from Facebook to WordPress as most people will not want to bother with having to join WordPress to see my daily blogs and reports of my daily activities.

Since I have made very few posts on WordPress, I find this will be an excellent place to post my most private thoughts and activities and hopefully will allow myself some control and to overcome trolls and trolling on my Facebook page as I am experiencing lately.

Today, Sunday, June 7, 2015, I will begin barre training with Pure Barre Clearwater and I am really excited to get started in learning more about working on my own personal barre here at home. My reasoning for choosing barre along with my usual morning walks is that this type of low impact exercise will help me build strength, stretched my muscles that have become atrophied since my cancer two years ago, and it will tighten and firm my muscles to flatten the common belly fat that comes with diabetes. I’ve only known for a week that I have had diabetes for some time now. I am insulin dependent and have to maintain a level of dieting that only allows low carbohydrates in only 15gms per meal. I have been doing well over my first week of knowing and have managed to lower my blood sugar levels and brought them down from the high 400’s down to the mid and lower 200’s. I will see my doctor tomorrow afternoon, begin a diabetes class to help me better understand my new diagnosis, see an ophthalmologist, a podiatrist and a nutritionist on a regular basis. It is already obvious to me that my blood sugar “highs” have effected  my vision. I cannot look down at a medication bottle and read the labels anymore so my nearsighted vision has dramatically weakened over the past 2 weeks, plus I am sure my farsighted vision must have suffered as well in some way. I am supposed to make an appointment with an ophthalmologist within 3 weeks of my diagnosis so I suppose I will need to see one within the next two weeks. I have a lot of questions concerning my eyesight, especially whether or not I am able to have Lasix surgery done on my eyes. I, also, will question my ability to be able to get tattoo’s now that I have developed diabetes because, I was planning on getting several tattoos to cover up surgery and self harm scars on my wrists, legs and abdomen.

I am still upset and discouraged as I have tried and tried to correct and have asked forgiveness for my selfish actions towards Jeremy over the past months but, he is not a forgiving person and probably thinks I am out simply to make him miserable, but when I contact the VERY YOUNG girls he has been bedding down lately with his true nature of deceit and using of people for his own benefit  plus, his ways of cheating with other women when he has made a commitment to one woman known to these young girls so that they have the truth in hand and can make their own decisions with the whole truth available to them on whether or not their time and commitment is worth living and sleeping with a man that cheats sexually against their commitments. This is the behavior I have experienced and observed in him over the last 20+ years and I believe these girls need to know the truth before they have been hoodwinked into a false committed relationship. There’s my reason for posting about him; I want all women to be aware of his true behavior before they become deeply involved and end up getting themselves hurt like the way I was so badly hurt, as well as the pain my children suffered when he tossed all of us to the proverbial curb.

If you are a person from Facebook, welcome to my blog and feel welcomed to make comments and share your thoughts. Maybe even start your own blog here and make sure you let me know you have a blog here so that I can follow you, as well. I am off to dress and get ready for my first barre class and then to plan my walk for this evening. Hope all of you have a most blessed Sunday and Sabbath. ~ Lee Ann

Manna is immature cannabis seed

The Tin Whistle

Tissot_The_Gathering_of_the_Manna_(color)There’s a long passage in Exodus explaining how Moses made it through forty days in the desert while on the edge of starvation. Through the power of the Lord, a new food was delivered magically to Moses called manna.

The descriptions of this food are poetic and symbolic and somewhat contradictory. Apparently, manna was all things to all people, and tasted like honey to kids, and meat to adults, and bread to the elderly. Terrence McKenna was the first to theorize manna was a mushroom, something not found in abundance in the desert, and also something that probably would not have sustained a large tribe for 40 days.

However, there was a plant that might have been flourishing in river beds and every oasis along the route Moses was traveling, and that would have been cannabis, which had been carried by Sakas who introduced the horse to Egypt, India and…

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I Called Out To King Saul

My first “memories” are not actually my own but those of my family, especially my mother who related these things to me. My mother told me that the nurses from the nursery came in and asked her if she had experienced any emotional or mental trauma during her pregnancy, to which she replied, “No, nothing out of the ordinary.” And, she wasn’t lying. Then, she tells me, the nurses gave her a puzzled look and told her, “Well, that’s the most nervous newborn baby we’ve ever seen in our whole lives! She screams and cries in fear at every noise or sound. Constantly needs to be held and calmed. She’s a nervous Nelly, for sure!”

My second “Bipolar” childhood moment came months later as I began to walk. One Sunday evening after I had been put to bed, my parents and grand parents gathers to watch a movie on television about David and King Saul of the Bible. At some point during the movie, David calls out to King Saul, “Saul! Saul! Saul! Saul!” and, within a few minutes after that part of the film, I toddled down the hallway with my monkey saying, “Saul! Saul! Saul! Saul!”

I have had problems throughout my life with extremely lucid nightmares, dreams and night terrors. This caused problems as a child, as I would fall out of bed on more nights than any from fighting my way through these odd, bizarre and very frightening dreams and nightmares. That was a third red flag that something was happening to me that wasn’t like anyone else. It was such a prominent plague in my life that I even immortalized it in crayon drawings and penciled words on large lines in kindergarten.

I became very sensitive to the fact that I was not like other children at an early age and employed myself in playing with projects I would invent or that would opportune into my day. I loved to play music and my older sister was gracious enough to allow me to play with her stereo and vinyl records. I was a raving, lunatic Beatles fan by age three and fell in love with Paul McCartney’s eyes. I learned to read age at 3 years old because, I wanted to know who that man was behind those beautiful eyes. So, I read everything I could about him and the Beatles. Eventually, I moved up to the newspaper with the comics, fashion, cooking and girly things. By age six, I had fallen for Omar Sharif after seeing Doctor Zhivago at the theater with my mother and our friend Clara. So, I had to read Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago, as well. Then, I found Shakespeare and was lost forever in literature. When they handed me “reading books” in first grade I went into shock for a kid. This was it? This is all I have to do? So, I spent a lot of class time day dreaming, of which I have a deep penchant to fall into quickly. I get bored easily and my thoughts drift off and words become a strange, empty rumbling in my ears. But, my eyes will stare out windows and see things that are not even there; I just wish they were there. That was when I was young and still believed things that happened that were weird were just magic for my eyes only.

Thus, began my life and walk and war with mental illnesses. Thus, began my training to learn myself how to heal myself and to teach that skill to others who suffer. My journey to end society’s stigma and bias carried by us all. I don’t understand why they don’t “get it”; or should I say, I don’t understand what they don’t understand?