The New Year Begins With A Look Back (part 5) ~ Late Evening Thoughts

Life is a journey not for us to be lowered into the grave all pretty and looking rested. It is a journey for us to slide into the grave broadside at the last minute ~ banged up, used up but still proclaiming ~
Wow!!! What a ride...WOW!!! What a RIDE!!!

(You can read the previous posts here ... >1<>2<>3<>4<)

At this point in the story, I was finally in a hospital bed. There were bandages for the gash in my forehead ~ for which, since I was hanging by my neck in a looped belt, there is no explanation. There were bandages running up the operation incision (running from just below the ear almost to the collar bone) in my neck ~ which was closed with butterfly bandages to reduce the scarring. There were no bandages on the slits I made in my neck ~ those, I was told, would heal by themselves with no visible scarring. So far ... I was able to absorb that much information. I was also introduced to "the watcher." Basically, there was going to be someone sitting at the foot of my bed 24/7. While people think that it's only to keep someone from trying again, it actually provides much more than that.

There was constant monitoring (and recording) of what I was doing, my mood and my activities. They were also expected, during the day, to engage me in conversation.

They were supposed to, but I really didn't want much of that. I discovered that the day watchers loved "trash TV." If you are not familiar with that term, it covers all the reality (supposedly) type shows from Jerry Springer to Divorce Court and everything in between. So I would turn the TV (which I didn't want to watch anyway.) toward the foot of my bed and they could watch to their heart's delight.

The statistics are a little frightening. Someone of my..um...age who is depressed, is very likely to make a suicide attempt (there had been three half-hearted previous ~ I'd posted about one of them in Poison to Medicine) and what I did before was not more than an overture for this event. The most frightening statistic is that those of my age who make an attempt are probably going to make another one ~ and succeed without life skills retraining and/or serious intervention and/or continued therapy, help/support system. And so, the real journey had started.

--- more tomorrow

THINK!!! ~ Some Mid-afternoon Silliness

I don't very often post videos on my blog, but after I cleaned up the coffee I spewed and dropped on my computer keyboard ... I just couldn't resist!!

And I refuse to be responsible if you get offended ...

ACK!!! ~ Confused Late Night Post

I was determined to add another chapter to the my story . . . A number of things/people got in the way AND my computer decided it wanted a holiday, I decided perhaps I would wait until tomorrow night ... SIGH!!

The New Year Begins With A Look Back (part 4) ~ Late Evening Thoughts

Life is a journey not for us to be lowered into the grave all pretty and looking rested. It is a journey for us to slide into the grave broadside ~ banged up, used up but still proclaiming ~
Wow!!! What a ride...WOW!!! What a RIDE!!!

(You can read the previous posts here ... >1<..>2<..>3<..)

At the ending of the last post, I still had (and have) no idea how long I had been in the trauma unit. I have only some fading in and out memories. I do know that the white coats were re-joined by the black t-shirts. I also remember a discussion about x-rays and MRI. I remember being aware of all the tubes and machines. I didn't have a neck/back board, but everyone kept telling me not to move my head very much. I felt that "they" thought I was a dislocated bobble-head doll. I remember being taken to the MRI room, where I was confronted for the first time with the donut machine. My immediate reaction was that it looked bigger on TV.

I was asked if I knew where I was. I replied that I had been taken to the machine where you were to lay absolutely quiet and not breath if at all possible ~ there was no memory of what the machine was actually called. I suppose they thought I was being an "educated donkey" as there were some chuckles. I was frightened as I really couldn't recall what the thing was called. (hospital machines for $800 Alex.) I finally had a memory kick in that there wasn't supposed to be any metal around and I literally panicked ~ about 15 years ago I had stomach surgery and there were a LOT of staples in there.

I was convinced ~ I'd seen enough TV and movies to know ~ that all that metal was going to rip out of my body and attach itself to the revolving magnets. I was reassured that there would be no such incident as they weren't going down that low . . . and unless the staples were in my head, I was OK. I made it through ~ without breathing I might add ~ and then fade out/fade in. I was being taken to surgery...long hallways...strong smells...funny looking lights. There was a sudden stop (must have been a student driver with a learning permit)

There was a realization that I had not signed even more forms. This meant that somewhere in this hospital maze I was trying to listen to what I had to sign, still didn't have my glasses and still couldn't see what I was signing. Of course, in a trauma unit operating rooms are at a premium and tightly scheduled. This was turning into a delay that needed to be hurried up...STAT! And we were off again to the races. My mind (what was left of it) hauled out a memory of a terribly frightening Discover Health show about people who wake up during operations ~ they feel everything including the pain, but because of the paralyzing drug given to them, they are unable to tell anyone they are awake. Now that certainly added to my comfort level and my already high hysteria level. Not eating or sleeping for a number of weeks can do strange things to you!

We arrived in the operating room, and I was convinced it was a broom closet - at least what I could see. The room was very dark except for the lights on the table where I was being placed. There were two "wings" for my arms that were raised up - which made getting me onto the table quite interesting. And then ~ get this ~ the anesthesiologist made me very angry by lying to me. I had been lying to myself and others for weeks - had just committed suicide and I'm angry?? All he did was tell me that the mask he was putting on my face was going to help me breathe...and right before I finally was allowed/forced to pass out, I'm angry? (right mind behavior, correct?)

When I finally awoke, I had no memory of the recovery room and how I ended up in the hospital bed. A nurse was standing by as I tried to focus my mind and eyes. I felt the bandages on my head and neck. As they were BOTH vertical bandages, I was a little confused ~ the one on my head was OK - that was a vertical gash. The ones on my neck confused me as the slits I had made were horizontal and this was about a 10 inch VERTICAL bandage/gash. It was explained to me the operation I had undergone was by a neurosurgeon who literally opened my neck from the jawline down and did exploratory surgery to see if I had bruised, nicked or damaged anything.

---more of the story tomorrow

Thanks to several of you for the encouraging emails......