I'm sure many of my blog readers have been wondering why I haven't posted any new blogs in over a month. It is because I was busy focusing my energy of finishing my autobiography. It is a project I started shortly after my accident, but kept hitting mental roadblocks and perpetually procrastinated on getting it done.
One of the biggest obstacles was my physical limitations and not being patient enough to work with dictation software. When I still lived at Cheshire I was limited to pecking away on my keyboard with my mouth-stick. I was a lighting fast typer when I could use my hands (never had to look at the keys) and can type surprising fast with my mouth-stick. The task just became tedious. A couple of the other residents highly recommended I buy the dictation software, "Dragon Naturally Speaking" and many of them used it regularly. I felt foolish speaking to the computer, and hated the fact I never had privacy and would have inevitably be overheard by roommates. At that point I decided against wasting the money, and kept on pecking away at the project.
For whatever reason, I only ever seemed to get the first thirty or so pages written. I kept hitting mental roadblocks whenever I tried recalling my time at Kessler. Honestly, I think I was so stressed out by the immediate issues, of being sleep deprived, stuck in a nursing home and dealing with the high stress level of each day, that I couldn't delve into the haunting memories and difficult experiences of my stay at Kessler. If anything, I wanted to run far away from those memories and much preferred to escape my miserable reality, through reading books, watching anime, spending time with friends and vegging out on video games.
After a while, I just stopped trying. I put the project on the back burner and focused my writing on current, day to day things. I used my MySpace blog as an outlet to vent my daily frustrations and every day struggles. When things became unbearable, and I hit my breaking point I switched gears and focused all my time and energy on getting myself out of Cheshire and into my own place. It took six long months of relentless researching, planning, pleading and begging, but I did it.
Once I was home I tried a few times to pick the book project up again, but would constantly spend all my time re-reading and re-editing; never making progress. I started focusing a lot of energy into painting, instead of writing and worked hard to build up a body of work worth exhibiting. I wrote about my artwork, as the book started to collect virtual dust, again. I was limited to the time I was able to be up in my chair, so I had to prioritize how best to spend that time, since it was when I could be most productive. I made the choice to paint and remained focused on that.
The book was always lingering in the back of mind. It bothered me, having it unresolved and unfinished. It wasn't like me to give up on anything I started. I caved in and bought the Dragon dictation software, hoping I could use it to be productive during my time in bed. I figured instead of playing my Nintendo DS, reading, or watching TV, I could begin putting my thoughts down and use my evening hours to write. I still felt silly speaking to the computer, but felt a little better knowing at least I had privacy. The software was glitchy and I didn't have the patience to do the training exercises. It ended up being more irksome than handy, and yet again I abandoned the project.
This past April my ex-boyfriend Jimmy resurfaced into my life. He knew I was struggling, and was at my wits end, with everything. He wanted to know how he could help me. I instantly knew that THIS was my opportunity to dust off my book file, and tackle the project once and for all. He was happy with the idea and we decided to begin working on it right away. I just knew that having HIM help me, would give me the accountability of meeting deadlines and the fact that it was OUR project gave me the focus and motivation I needed. I felt like deep inside there was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to share. I believed my story has the potential to help others and I felt like it would give Jimmy and I some much needed closure and mutual understanding. Although he'd remained in and out of my life over the last six years, there was a lot of things he missed out on. Out of all the people in my life, it was important to me that he understands my WHOLE experience with paralysis; from start to finish. I wanted him to understand my suffering and hope that having completed the project together it will put everything into perspective for him, and for us.
At first it was really challenging, just laying out the structure for the book and putting together a game plan. It had been so long since I had really thought about the dark days of Kessler and my time at Cheshire. I knew writing the book would open up a lot of old scars, but I felt ready and able to handle it. Luckily, for a large majority of my time post accident, I have kept blogs, or journals. I was grateful to have those entries to use as a reference, to try and create outlines of what I wanted to say in each chapter, and to put everything in chronological order, and to attempt to maintain a coherent flow, without too much repetition. If my memories were fuzzy, or I had gaps in my records I turned to family and friends to double check my facts, and to piece it all together.
Jimmy would come down to NJ (from PA) about once a week, or every other week and he would help me type huge chunks of chapters. I tried my best to write a little every day. Having my iPad was a tremendous help. As my health had declined, further and further my time sitting up has progressively decreased. Thankfully, I can write on my iPad laying flat in bed. It allowed me to keep up a fast momentum. Every so often, throughout the day or night I would write a few paragraphs. I tried to save the emotional parts about my relationship as my own personal project and forced myself to get those parts finished, between our visits.
The first third of the book was emotionally the hardest, but having Jimmy's support helped me stay focused and kept me on task. The last third of the book was the easiest part to write, because it focuses on the most current events in my life and my present day thoughts, opinions and struggles. I ended up writing middle portion of the book last, since I had the least amount of reference material to go off of. It took me a while, to interview friends and family and get the outlines finished. Once the outlines were completed, I just worked on checking off each topic from each list, until it was finished.
That said, from start to finish, it took me the past four and a half months of intensive writing to get the entire story down on paper. It's twenty one chapters long and over 250 pages. It was a monumental task, but I did it. I couldn't have done it without Jimmy and am eternally grateful for his assistance, in helping me realize my goal. The hardest part is over. I've said everything I want to say, and truly believe that he and I were meant to do this project together. For so long, we've both struggled over trying to make sense over why we met, and had such a wonderful, loving relationship, only to see our dreams get shattered and torn apart. This is not the life either of us wanted, or planned, but this book is something that we were able to turn our pain and tragedy into something good, and helpful; that hopefully will benefit others and inspire people to support research and change their perspectives on life and death. It will be our legacy and something that can continue to help, and inspire others to enact change, even once we're long gone. That feels good.
Right now I've been working with a couple of editors and trying to determine how much it will cost to get the book professionally edited. I've gotten some great feedback, but it's going to take a substantial (between $2,000-5,000) amount of money to get the job done right. I'm waiting to hear back from lawyer, to see if this is something I can use my trust for. We shall see. Honestly, I think it should be permissible, because it's definitely an expense that will go towards improving the quality of my life and hopefully that of many others. Once I get the editing logistics/fees ironed out and the book is edited and ready for publication, I plan to use lulu.com to covert the book into e-book (aka paperless) format. Once it's published it will be available to purchase through Apple's iBook app (on iPad), through Barnes and Noble's Nook and Nook Color and hopefully through Amazon's Kindle.
I'm super stressed, waiting to hear back from both editors with quotes and timelines. I'm even more stressed at how much it might cost me. I'm anxiously awaiting my lawyers input (and hopefully his approval). As soon as I have those answers, I'll know what is the best way to proceed. Either way, I have faith it WILL get published soon (within the next few months at the latest). I'm thrilled about it and can't wait to share my story (my WHOLE story) with the world. I look forward to hearing reader feedback! I'll keep everyone up to date on the progress and definitely inform you all once it's actually for sale. I'm so close, and very proud of myself. I hope readers will enjoy it, and that it will open some hearts and minds.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Showing posts with label spinal cord injury. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spinal cord injury. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
"Schwartz Center Rounds Annual Dinner"
I'm happy to announce that fifteen of my paintings are going to be on display (October 3, 2011) at Overlook Medical Center, as part of their "Schwartz Center RoundsAnnual Dinner." The event facilitator, Jeanne is a friend of mine. She and I met online about six months (through my many searches about palliative care and hospice). She is the "Ethics & Palliative Care Program Coordinator" at Overlook Hospital (here in NJ). I had contacted her, asking about patient's rights and shared a brief history about my accident, and my struggles. It turned out that she and I shared a mutual acquaintance (from Kessler). We shared email correspondences over a period of several months, and she was very moved by my blogs and artwork. Before long we became friends. She has been very supportive, and caring.
She came to visit me a couple of months ago, and we discussed the possibility of displaying some of my artwork at the hospital. She explained that she worked very closely with doctors, nurses and other medical professionals and thought that the medical community at her hospital could benefit from seeing my paintings and reading my writing. She said that part of her job entailed helping new doctors and nurses learn to be more compassionate and empathetic to patient's needs. I agreed, and was happy for the opportunity. I have often felt frustrated by the lack of help that medical science has been able to offer me, and upset by the treatments and lifestyle that I'm forced to endure because of my injury. I do believe my artwork could potentially help medical professionals better understand what it is like to live paralysis, and to suffer with chronic pain and illness. It has always been my hope, that by sharing my writing and my artwork that I would educate others and open people's hearts and minds.
I truly believe in order for a cure to paralysis being found, more people must understand how horribly and profoundly it can change a person's life and how difficult it can be to live with it, everyday. I have also come to believe strongly in patient's having the right to advocate for themselves and to have the right to die with dignity (when medical science can not offer a cure or relief to severely debilitating or incurable illness/conditions). I think it is important for medical professionals to do everything within their means to give patients the highest quality of life they possibly can, to listen to what their patients are saying and to alleviate suffering whenever possible.
I think it is crucial for the medical community and society at large, to recognize that some conditions are worse than death, and when/if a patient is mentally competent to asses his/her own situation, that he/she alone should be able to determine what lengths he/she is willing to go through to preserve his/her own life and those wishes should be respected. In many ways, I feel our society is more "humane" to our pets than we are to millions of people that are essentially forced into suffering, because there is no cure, or treatment available to alleviate their pain. Not everyone with an incurable, terminal, debilitating disease or injury would choose death, over life. However, I believe there ought to be a quick, peaceful alternative available to those who want it. I hope my artwork and my writing will inspire change.
I think this dinner at Overlook hospital is another small step in my journey to open hearts and minds towards suffering, quality of life and death. I really hope my works hits a soft spot and sinks in, for all the medical professionals that attend. I hope it makes an impact.The dinner itself is an annual event, and has an interesting history. I feel honored to be included in the tradition. I asked Jeanne to tell me a little bit about the purpose of the dinners and about their collective history. This is what she sent me:
"Schwartz Center Rounds were started by Kenneth B. Schwartz, a health care attorney from Boston, who died from lung cancer at a young age. He wanted to leave a legacy of support for professional healthcare workers to enhance and replenish their abilities to provide compassionate care for patients and families. He recognized that some of the most important work of healthcare professionals is to deliver compassion to their patients (hand holding, listening, laughing, combing hair, etc.).
The purpose of the monthly Rounds are to provide a forum and “level playing field” where caregivers from diverse disciplines (doctors, nurses, social workers, chaplains, dietary workers, etc.) discuss difficult emotional and social issues that arise in caring for patients. It is a forum to explore the human and emotional side of clinical medicine ---but with the focus on the patient-caregiver relationship rather than solely on the patient’s medical situation. Even though doctors and nurses cannot cure many conditions/diseases, they can still relate to one another and to patients and families in a way that provides hope, support and sustenance to the healing process.
We have these Rounds monthly and usually present a case that was difficult or emotional in some way. We often shed tears. Once a year, we hold a special “Rounds” where we invite a patient or family member to share their views about the experience they had. As you can see, your artwork and story will be a very powerful topic for discussion and expression of feelings from all.
Your paintings and your voice will carry your story to the hearts of each of those who come and will strengthen their ability to reflect on the suffering of all patients."
Good stuff :) I'm excited to hear the feedback!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
She came to visit me a couple of months ago, and we discussed the possibility of displaying some of my artwork at the hospital. She explained that she worked very closely with doctors, nurses and other medical professionals and thought that the medical community at her hospital could benefit from seeing my paintings and reading my writing. She said that part of her job entailed helping new doctors and nurses learn to be more compassionate and empathetic to patient's needs. I agreed, and was happy for the opportunity. I have often felt frustrated by the lack of help that medical science has been able to offer me, and upset by the treatments and lifestyle that I'm forced to endure because of my injury. I do believe my artwork could potentially help medical professionals better understand what it is like to live paralysis, and to suffer with chronic pain and illness. It has always been my hope, that by sharing my writing and my artwork that I would educate others and open people's hearts and minds.
I truly believe in order for a cure to paralysis being found, more people must understand how horribly and profoundly it can change a person's life and how difficult it can be to live with it, everyday. I have also come to believe strongly in patient's having the right to advocate for themselves and to have the right to die with dignity (when medical science can not offer a cure or relief to severely debilitating or incurable illness/conditions). I think it is important for medical professionals to do everything within their means to give patients the highest quality of life they possibly can, to listen to what their patients are saying and to alleviate suffering whenever possible.
I think it is crucial for the medical community and society at large, to recognize that some conditions are worse than death, and when/if a patient is mentally competent to asses his/her own situation, that he/she alone should be able to determine what lengths he/she is willing to go through to preserve his/her own life and those wishes should be respected. In many ways, I feel our society is more "humane" to our pets than we are to millions of people that are essentially forced into suffering, because there is no cure, or treatment available to alleviate their pain. Not everyone with an incurable, terminal, debilitating disease or injury would choose death, over life. However, I believe there ought to be a quick, peaceful alternative available to those who want it. I hope my artwork and my writing will inspire change.
I think this dinner at Overlook hospital is another small step in my journey to open hearts and minds towards suffering, quality of life and death. I really hope my works hits a soft spot and sinks in, for all the medical professionals that attend. I hope it makes an impact.The dinner itself is an annual event, and has an interesting history. I feel honored to be included in the tradition. I asked Jeanne to tell me a little bit about the purpose of the dinners and about their collective history. This is what she sent me:
"Schwartz Center Rounds were started by Kenneth B. Schwartz, a health care attorney from Boston, who died from lung cancer at a young age. He wanted to leave a legacy of support for professional healthcare workers to enhance and replenish their abilities to provide compassionate care for patients and families. He recognized that some of the most important work of healthcare professionals is to deliver compassion to their patients (hand holding, listening, laughing, combing hair, etc.).
The purpose of the monthly Rounds are to provide a forum and “level playing field” where caregivers from diverse disciplines (doctors, nurses, social workers, chaplains, dietary workers, etc.) discuss difficult emotional and social issues that arise in caring for patients. It is a forum to explore the human and emotional side of clinical medicine ---but with the focus on the patient-caregiver relationship rather than solely on the patient’s medical situation. Even though doctors and nurses cannot cure many conditions/diseases, they can still relate to one another and to patients and families in a way that provides hope, support and sustenance to the healing process.
We have these Rounds monthly and usually present a case that was difficult or emotional in some way. We often shed tears. Once a year, we hold a special “Rounds” where we invite a patient or family member to share their views about the experience they had. As you can see, your artwork and story will be a very powerful topic for discussion and expression of feelings from all.
Your paintings and your voice will carry your story to the hearts of each of those who come and will strengthen their ability to reflect on the suffering of all patients."
Good stuff :) I'm excited to hear the feedback!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Sketchbook Is Finally Digitized & Online!
Last year I entered an Art House Co-Op project, called "Sketchbook Project: 2011." Each artist was asked to choose a theme from a list of predesignated themes (I chose "Help!") and sent a 80 page sketchbook. The only requirements were to fill the sketchbook according to the theme you chose & send it back. Each sketchbook was given a barcode for tracking purposes. About 10,000 artists participated & the sketchbooks were taken on a cross country tour, to multiple exhibits, where people from all different states could look through them. Once the tour was concluded, the books were all brought back to the Brooklyn Art Library and some were digitized (if you chose to pay the additional fee) as part of Art House Co-op's digital library.
Since I do all my artwork by mouth, it was much easier for me to create the sketches/artwork for my sketchbook on my iPad & print them out. I created a description page and image for each two page layout. The book is now digitized and available for viewing through my Art House Co-op profile, or directly through this link (www.arthousecoop.com/library/4604).
It took me months to fill the book. Unlike painting, I can work on my digital artwork in bed. Since I haven't been well enough to get up & paint as often as I'd like (these last couple of years) my iPad has given me a new outlet for artistic expression. I thought this project would be a great way to help raise awareness about paralysis & spinal cord injuries. The theme "Help!" fit in perfectly with my intent to ask people to help me (and the millions of people suffering with paralysis world wide) by supporting research for a cure to paralysis. All the sketches, digital images & collages I included in my sketchbook are about my struggles with my accident, my injury and my life with paralysis.
I'm pleased with how the book turned out (with the exception of the first two page layout- my collage was pasted upside down by mistake). I'm hoping that now it is available online for viewing it will get a lot hits, and get people thinking about paralysis & spinal cord injuries. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I hope my artwork has an impact on the people that see it. I want to open people's eyes, educate the general public & hopefully inspire some people to support research & advocate for a cure. I'd love to hear feedback & please share the link with friends! Thanks <3
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Since I do all my artwork by mouth, it was much easier for me to create the sketches/artwork for my sketchbook on my iPad & print them out. I created a description page and image for each two page layout. The book is now digitized and available for viewing through my Art House Co-op profile, or directly through this link (www.arthousecoop.com/library/4604).
It took me months to fill the book. Unlike painting, I can work on my digital artwork in bed. Since I haven't been well enough to get up & paint as often as I'd like (these last couple of years) my iPad has given me a new outlet for artistic expression. I thought this project would be a great way to help raise awareness about paralysis & spinal cord injuries. The theme "Help!" fit in perfectly with my intent to ask people to help me (and the millions of people suffering with paralysis world wide) by supporting research for a cure to paralysis. All the sketches, digital images & collages I included in my sketchbook are about my struggles with my accident, my injury and my life with paralysis.
I'm pleased with how the book turned out (with the exception of the first two page layout- my collage was pasted upside down by mistake). I'm hoping that now it is available online for viewing it will get a lot hits, and get people thinking about paralysis & spinal cord injuries. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I hope my artwork has an impact on the people that see it. I want to open people's eyes, educate the general public & hopefully inspire some people to support research & advocate for a cure. I'd love to hear feedback & please share the link with friends! Thanks <3
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday, June 19, 2011
My Life Revolves Around Shit
Many of you that read my blogs, know that I struggle A LOT with bathroom related issues. Thanks to my accident, I've been living as a high level (C4/C5 complete) quadriplegic, for the last six years. I have no functional mobility whatsoever, and rely on help for EVERY aspect of my daily life. To complicate matters, I have a diagnosis of having irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), since before my injury. I'm honestly not sure if my IBS is still (considering my injury has left me with a "neurogenic" bowel and bladder) contributing to my daily woes, and discomfort, but am anxious to get some answers.
My regular doctor, and doctors I've seen at the hospital, only ever postulate and hypothesize, based on my theories, and descriptions, but never seem to have clear cut answers, or definitive reasons for why I'm so uncomfortable, and sick, so often. I realize that the fact that I can no longer directly feel what's causing my symptoms, makes it difficult for my doctors to draw conclusions, or pinpoint things, but honestly I feel like the vast majority of the time, they can't give me answers because they don't understand the nature of spinal cord injuries, and its effects on the body in general. I feel like, most times my doctors are treating me, like they would the average able-bodied person, and that is why I'm not getting any answers, or finding any relief. I'm not average, and my body no longer works according to the "normal" rules of science.
My spinal cord injury has severed the connection between brain and body. The messages I do receive are messed up, mangled and chaotic. When my body experiences pain or discomfort below my injury, it responds by signaling me with autonomic dysreflexic (AD) symptoms. AD symptoms vary (headache, sweating, chills, cold sweats, tingling, phantom pain, chest pressure, muscle spasms & fevers), but on the whole, I've come to recognize them, and have a handful of common known triggers. AD episodes can be life threatening, because quite often, my body reacts to pain I can't feel, by elevating my blood pressure. The elevation in blood pressure, is what creates the secondary symptoms, like sweating, headache and chills. When I begin to feel symptomatic, I know to ask for help, to try and alleviate the cause of the pain (such as my catheter being pinched, or my clothing being wrinkled). Gone unchecked, and unresolved AD can lead to stroke and/or death.
Unfortunately, one of the biggest causes of AD for me, is my bowels. I am stuck in a vicious cycle, of never ending discomfort, and pain. My spinal cord injury, and my paralysis have made me a literal prisoner to my body, and its needs. I must eat to survive. Likewise my body must expel waste. Normally, it's not something the average person puts much thought into, or has cause for distress. For me, I feel as though I have become a slave, and prisoner to the simplest of bodily functions. There is no escaping it. It has become so troublesome and uncomfortable for me, that something that is normally simple, private, and in the back of the mind, has instead become the center for which, my life revolves around and is dictated by. It is awful.
My paralysis leaves me with so few choices, none of which are pleasant. I must eat to live; that is a given. I must go to the bathroom; that too is a given. However, nothing in my life is that simple, because I cannot do anything on my own. I need help for everything, including eating and yes, even shitting. For the past six years, I've endured having a bowel program (BP), in order to get rid of the waste I must expel, in order to keep living. It's an awful ordeal, that involves a nurse manually removing stool from body, every other morning. Since I no longer feel the sensation of needing to "go," or the ability to bring myself to the bathroom, or even the ability to "push" it out, those ordinarily natural processes must be FORCED into action.
In order for me to go to the bathroom (shit), my nurse needs to insert a suppository, and digitally stimulate my rectum into going. I'm forced into sitting, strapped to a commode for one to two hours, while my nurse manually stimulates, checks, and rechecks my colon, every ten to twenty minutes, depending on how quickly I go (depends on amount, and consistency). Although I can't feel the digital stimulation directly, it creates AD symptoms. The process is both physically, and emotionally taxing. Every time my nurse checks me, it sends a chill up my spine, creates goosebumps, sweating, and discomfort (sometimes accompanied by chest pressure and nausea). On top of which, my overall condition and constant stimulation, has created chronic hemorrhoids. Again, even though I don't feel the pain of the hemorrhoids directly, I'm positive they contribute to my daily bouts of AD.
The frequency of having a bowel program, depends on the individual. When I was initially injured, I had to have it every night (policy at the nursing home I lived at). They made me do it in bed, after my showers, laying on my side. It was disgusting, painful (for my shoulders) and I hated it. Since moving to my own place, I switched to having it done every other morning, on the commode (over my toilet). Although it has been a big improvement, being able to do it over the toilet (in the privacy of my own bathroom- as opposed to in a bed, in the same room as my roommate) and before getting showered, it is still uncomfortable, and far from ideal. Needing to have ANYONE help me in the bathroom, or with personal hygiene has been horrific, and has never gotten any easier to deal with.
Unfortunately, I don't think I could get away with having it any less than I already do. I know a couple of people (with similar injuries) that do their BP every three days. I wish I could do that. The thing is, I suffer from AD symptoms every day; having several episodes each day (sometimes the symptoms last for hours- like sweating, chest pressure and chills). I've already ruled out a million more serious possible causes, through testing (EKG, ultrasounds, CAT scans, blood work & X-rays). Ninety five percent of the time, I have someone check me for visible problems, and we come up empty. That leaves me thinking that most, if not all of my AD is caused by something to do with my lower hemisphere. I know for sure that my hemorrhoids and gas are two big culprits; neither of which I can do much about.
I wonder if my IBS still has an impact on my body. No one has been able to give me a definitive answer. I'm going to see my physiatrist on Tuesday, in hopes of getting some clear cut answers. I know when I was on my feet, I went to the bathroom every day (sometimes several times). If my colon is still spastic, it could certainly explain why I'm dysreflexic so often. That said, even if she tells me, "Yes Christina, your IBS could be creating AD and offer an explanation as to why it's been so difficult for you to regulate your BP" it doesn't really offer me any relief. I don't know exactly what I expect for my physiatrist to tell me, except if my theory is right, or wrong. Either way, I'm pretty much stuck with the situation I have. I guess I just want to hear her say (essentially) whether I'm screwed, or not, and if she has any suggestions that I haven't yet tried (doubtful).
I've tried taking probiotics to help with my IBS, and prescription medication; neither did anything. I've tried pinpointing food triggers, but am never successful. The only definite trigger for my IBS flaring up, when I was still on my feet, was anxiety. I can't say that I've noticed a definitive correlation, since my injury. Given my condition, and everything I have to deal with on a daily basis, I'm pretty much ALWAYS under a high amount of stress and anxiety. Not to mention, my AD has seemingly gotten worse, and more frequent, as time has gone on. I would've thought if stress and anxiety alone were the causes, I would've had more issues when I was newly injured.
That leaves me thinking that my body has gotten to the point where it wants to "go" every day, and that's why my AD has gotten to be so unbearable. If that's the case, it would also account for why I have occasional "accidents", despite successful having BP (or why it's often hard to regulate at all-despite taking consistent bowel related medication and eating healthy). As it is, I've already had DOZENS of nurses have to help me with BP, over the past six years. Every time I lose a nurse and have to train a new one, it is stressful, and traumatic. I absolutely abhor BP, and dread it. Every other night, I'm full of anxiety and despair, knowing I have to do it the following morning. I've gotten to the point where, even if my body is demanding to go every day, I just can't handle it emotionally. This past year, I've gone through several nurses (I use an agency called Bayada- Medicare covers the sessions) due to circumstances outside of my control. In fact, tomorrow and Thursday I'll be meeting new nurses, because two of my regular nurses won't be here in July (personal reasons & vacation). That's two more people that have to see me naked, touch me and witness me going to the bathroom. I'm dreading it, and wish I could say "No! Go away and leave me alone."
Paralysis doesn't let me say "no." It doesn't leave me with many choices. I need to go to the bathroom, in order to live. I need help, in order to go to the bathroom. Knowing I'm going to be training with TWO new nurses, has just added salt to my wounds. Some people have asked me, "Why don't you just hire a private duty nurse, and not use a nursing agency?" One, my nurses technically are "private duty." The agency assigns them to my case, and Medicare covers the set three hour block of time, every other day. Two, in order for Medicare to pay for the service, it has to be done by a qualified nurse. I can't just pluck someone off the street and train them, like with my aides. A bowel program (at least in NJ) is considered to be a treatment, which involves "skilled nursing care." Having a nursing agency on my case, makes the most sense, because if a nurse quits, calls out sick, goes on vacation, moves, or has a family emergency (which have all happened to me already), there are backup nurses that are already trained. I have to have BP, regardless of my nurse's situation, therefore I can't afford not to have a backup in place. It's a necessary evil.
I have two options on the table. One, I can stick with accepting a BP: which involves nurses, which I hate which is long, which relies on a schedule, which is physically and emotionally taxing, and which is highly intrusive and invasive. Two, I can get a colostomy. I've mentioned in previous blogs why I don't want to even consider a colostomy. To me, it's not even an option worth mentioning. As much as I despise the idea of getting a colostomy, and have sworn to myself I'd never get one, the AD and BP are really wearing me down. I honestly don't know how long I can keep living this way.
Out of desperation, I decided to look even deeper (than I already have in the past) into what it would be like to get the colostomy. So many people have irritated me, by making it seem like getting one is such an "easy" decision, and better option. Sure, it's easy for OTHERS to flippantly suggest I undergo ANOTHER surgery. It's easy, when YOU aren't the one getting sliced open. It's easy when you aren't the one that will have to live every day, for THE REST of your life, with a bag of shit strapped to your side. It's easy, for the able-bodied people, who have told me about their personal experiences with having HAD (key word- their colostomies were eventually reversed- once I do it, the likelihood of going back to having a BP, is slim to none) a colostomy. It's easy for all the quads who talk about having one, that CAN TAKE CARE OF IT INDEPENDENTLY.
The more I've read about colostomies, the more I've discovered as to why, it would NOT be a better option for me. First, I would need to undergo surgery, which would require several days in the hospital, afterwards for recovery. The absolute LAST place I want to be at this point, is in the hospital. There is no guarantee that a colostomy would alleviate my AD. I'd be creating ANOTHER artificial opening in my body (in addition to my suprapubic catheter), that would need to be maintained, and could become infected. The bottom line is, I'd STILL need help with going to the bathroom. I'd need a nurse to clean the stoma, change the bags, and/or irrigate it. No matter what I do, someone else has to handle, and clean up after MY shit. It's not like the colostomy would care for itself.
As much as I hate BP, at least it's over and done with, in a set amount of time. Yes, I do occasionally have episodes of incontinence. However, from what I've read, there is nothing to guarantee that I wouldn't have accidents with a colostomy. One, the bags can bust or leak (as I've had happen with the catheter). I'd need help cleaning that up. Two, even though they'd be re-routing my colon, mucous builds up in the rectum, and needs to be digitally removed (at least once a month- most people fail to mention, or know about this). Three, did I mention, I'd have a bag of shit strapped to me, all day, every day?! Four, some people do "cap off" their stomas and prefer not to wear bags, instead they essentially flush the stool out (similar to an enema, but through the stoma). However this only works once your body has acclimated to having the colostomy (which depends on the individual and can be effected by diet). The other catch, is that this capping off can create AD (since gas and stool build up) and also tends to lead to more frequent accidents. Even the irrigation process itself, could potentially create AD. Not to mention, like I pointed out earlier, someone else would need to be doing all of the care for me.
So basically, I'd be taking a huge gamble, with the high probability of having to deal with most of the problems that I already have with BP. Only, I'd have the added nuisance of having another artificial hole, need to get (and rely on) more medical supplies, and have another bag of bodily waste strapped to me. I'd still need to have help in that area, and have strangers in my business. There's just no avoiding that. Instead of being embarrassed about wearing Depends, I'll be embarrassed by the bag. Oh, and did I mention the added "treat" I discovered about having a colostomy?! You pass gas out of your side, in addition to your ass. Lovely! Double the embarrassment, lack of control and shame. Thanks, but no thanks. It looks like I'm stuck with BP.
My regular doctor, and doctors I've seen at the hospital, only ever postulate and hypothesize, based on my theories, and descriptions, but never seem to have clear cut answers, or definitive reasons for why I'm so uncomfortable, and sick, so often. I realize that the fact that I can no longer directly feel what's causing my symptoms, makes it difficult for my doctors to draw conclusions, or pinpoint things, but honestly I feel like the vast majority of the time, they can't give me answers because they don't understand the nature of spinal cord injuries, and its effects on the body in general. I feel like, most times my doctors are treating me, like they would the average able-bodied person, and that is why I'm not getting any answers, or finding any relief. I'm not average, and my body no longer works according to the "normal" rules of science.
My spinal cord injury has severed the connection between brain and body. The messages I do receive are messed up, mangled and chaotic. When my body experiences pain or discomfort below my injury, it responds by signaling me with autonomic dysreflexic (AD) symptoms. AD symptoms vary (headache, sweating, chills, cold sweats, tingling, phantom pain, chest pressure, muscle spasms & fevers), but on the whole, I've come to recognize them, and have a handful of common known triggers. AD episodes can be life threatening, because quite often, my body reacts to pain I can't feel, by elevating my blood pressure. The elevation in blood pressure, is what creates the secondary symptoms, like sweating, headache and chills. When I begin to feel symptomatic, I know to ask for help, to try and alleviate the cause of the pain (such as my catheter being pinched, or my clothing being wrinkled). Gone unchecked, and unresolved AD can lead to stroke and/or death.
Unfortunately, one of the biggest causes of AD for me, is my bowels. I am stuck in a vicious cycle, of never ending discomfort, and pain. My spinal cord injury, and my paralysis have made me a literal prisoner to my body, and its needs. I must eat to survive. Likewise my body must expel waste. Normally, it's not something the average person puts much thought into, or has cause for distress. For me, I feel as though I have become a slave, and prisoner to the simplest of bodily functions. There is no escaping it. It has become so troublesome and uncomfortable for me, that something that is normally simple, private, and in the back of the mind, has instead become the center for which, my life revolves around and is dictated by. It is awful.
My paralysis leaves me with so few choices, none of which are pleasant. I must eat to live; that is a given. I must go to the bathroom; that too is a given. However, nothing in my life is that simple, because I cannot do anything on my own. I need help for everything, including eating and yes, even shitting. For the past six years, I've endured having a bowel program (BP), in order to get rid of the waste I must expel, in order to keep living. It's an awful ordeal, that involves a nurse manually removing stool from body, every other morning. Since I no longer feel the sensation of needing to "go," or the ability to bring myself to the bathroom, or even the ability to "push" it out, those ordinarily natural processes must be FORCED into action.
In order for me to go to the bathroom (shit), my nurse needs to insert a suppository, and digitally stimulate my rectum into going. I'm forced into sitting, strapped to a commode for one to two hours, while my nurse manually stimulates, checks, and rechecks my colon, every ten to twenty minutes, depending on how quickly I go (depends on amount, and consistency). Although I can't feel the digital stimulation directly, it creates AD symptoms. The process is both physically, and emotionally taxing. Every time my nurse checks me, it sends a chill up my spine, creates goosebumps, sweating, and discomfort (sometimes accompanied by chest pressure and nausea). On top of which, my overall condition and constant stimulation, has created chronic hemorrhoids. Again, even though I don't feel the pain of the hemorrhoids directly, I'm positive they contribute to my daily bouts of AD.
The frequency of having a bowel program, depends on the individual. When I was initially injured, I had to have it every night (policy at the nursing home I lived at). They made me do it in bed, after my showers, laying on my side. It was disgusting, painful (for my shoulders) and I hated it. Since moving to my own place, I switched to having it done every other morning, on the commode (over my toilet). Although it has been a big improvement, being able to do it over the toilet (in the privacy of my own bathroom- as opposed to in a bed, in the same room as my roommate) and before getting showered, it is still uncomfortable, and far from ideal. Needing to have ANYONE help me in the bathroom, or with personal hygiene has been horrific, and has never gotten any easier to deal with.
Unfortunately, I don't think I could get away with having it any less than I already do. I know a couple of people (with similar injuries) that do their BP every three days. I wish I could do that. The thing is, I suffer from AD symptoms every day; having several episodes each day (sometimes the symptoms last for hours- like sweating, chest pressure and chills). I've already ruled out a million more serious possible causes, through testing (EKG, ultrasounds, CAT scans, blood work & X-rays). Ninety five percent of the time, I have someone check me for visible problems, and we come up empty. That leaves me thinking that most, if not all of my AD is caused by something to do with my lower hemisphere. I know for sure that my hemorrhoids and gas are two big culprits; neither of which I can do much about.
I wonder if my IBS still has an impact on my body. No one has been able to give me a definitive answer. I'm going to see my physiatrist on Tuesday, in hopes of getting some clear cut answers. I know when I was on my feet, I went to the bathroom every day (sometimes several times). If my colon is still spastic, it could certainly explain why I'm dysreflexic so often. That said, even if she tells me, "Yes Christina, your IBS could be creating AD and offer an explanation as to why it's been so difficult for you to regulate your BP" it doesn't really offer me any relief. I don't know exactly what I expect for my physiatrist to tell me, except if my theory is right, or wrong. Either way, I'm pretty much stuck with the situation I have. I guess I just want to hear her say (essentially) whether I'm screwed, or not, and if she has any suggestions that I haven't yet tried (doubtful).
I've tried taking probiotics to help with my IBS, and prescription medication; neither did anything. I've tried pinpointing food triggers, but am never successful. The only definite trigger for my IBS flaring up, when I was still on my feet, was anxiety. I can't say that I've noticed a definitive correlation, since my injury. Given my condition, and everything I have to deal with on a daily basis, I'm pretty much ALWAYS under a high amount of stress and anxiety. Not to mention, my AD has seemingly gotten worse, and more frequent, as time has gone on. I would've thought if stress and anxiety alone were the causes, I would've had more issues when I was newly injured.
That leaves me thinking that my body has gotten to the point where it wants to "go" every day, and that's why my AD has gotten to be so unbearable. If that's the case, it would also account for why I have occasional "accidents", despite successful having BP (or why it's often hard to regulate at all-despite taking consistent bowel related medication and eating healthy). As it is, I've already had DOZENS of nurses have to help me with BP, over the past six years. Every time I lose a nurse and have to train a new one, it is stressful, and traumatic. I absolutely abhor BP, and dread it. Every other night, I'm full of anxiety and despair, knowing I have to do it the following morning. I've gotten to the point where, even if my body is demanding to go every day, I just can't handle it emotionally. This past year, I've gone through several nurses (I use an agency called Bayada- Medicare covers the sessions) due to circumstances outside of my control. In fact, tomorrow and Thursday I'll be meeting new nurses, because two of my regular nurses won't be here in July (personal reasons & vacation). That's two more people that have to see me naked, touch me and witness me going to the bathroom. I'm dreading it, and wish I could say "No! Go away and leave me alone."
Paralysis doesn't let me say "no." It doesn't leave me with many choices. I need to go to the bathroom, in order to live. I need help, in order to go to the bathroom. Knowing I'm going to be training with TWO new nurses, has just added salt to my wounds. Some people have asked me, "Why don't you just hire a private duty nurse, and not use a nursing agency?" One, my nurses technically are "private duty." The agency assigns them to my case, and Medicare covers the set three hour block of time, every other day. Two, in order for Medicare to pay for the service, it has to be done by a qualified nurse. I can't just pluck someone off the street and train them, like with my aides. A bowel program (at least in NJ) is considered to be a treatment, which involves "skilled nursing care." Having a nursing agency on my case, makes the most sense, because if a nurse quits, calls out sick, goes on vacation, moves, or has a family emergency (which have all happened to me already), there are backup nurses that are already trained. I have to have BP, regardless of my nurse's situation, therefore I can't afford not to have a backup in place. It's a necessary evil.
I have two options on the table. One, I can stick with accepting a BP: which involves nurses, which I hate which is long, which relies on a schedule, which is physically and emotionally taxing, and which is highly intrusive and invasive. Two, I can get a colostomy. I've mentioned in previous blogs why I don't want to even consider a colostomy. To me, it's not even an option worth mentioning. As much as I despise the idea of getting a colostomy, and have sworn to myself I'd never get one, the AD and BP are really wearing me down. I honestly don't know how long I can keep living this way.
Out of desperation, I decided to look even deeper (than I already have in the past) into what it would be like to get the colostomy. So many people have irritated me, by making it seem like getting one is such an "easy" decision, and better option. Sure, it's easy for OTHERS to flippantly suggest I undergo ANOTHER surgery. It's easy, when YOU aren't the one getting sliced open. It's easy when you aren't the one that will have to live every day, for THE REST of your life, with a bag of shit strapped to your side. It's easy, for the able-bodied people, who have told me about their personal experiences with having HAD (key word- their colostomies were eventually reversed- once I do it, the likelihood of going back to having a BP, is slim to none) a colostomy. It's easy for all the quads who talk about having one, that CAN TAKE CARE OF IT INDEPENDENTLY.
The more I've read about colostomies, the more I've discovered as to why, it would NOT be a better option for me. First, I would need to undergo surgery, which would require several days in the hospital, afterwards for recovery. The absolute LAST place I want to be at this point, is in the hospital. There is no guarantee that a colostomy would alleviate my AD. I'd be creating ANOTHER artificial opening in my body (in addition to my suprapubic catheter), that would need to be maintained, and could become infected. The bottom line is, I'd STILL need help with going to the bathroom. I'd need a nurse to clean the stoma, change the bags, and/or irrigate it. No matter what I do, someone else has to handle, and clean up after MY shit. It's not like the colostomy would care for itself.
As much as I hate BP, at least it's over and done with, in a set amount of time. Yes, I do occasionally have episodes of incontinence. However, from what I've read, there is nothing to guarantee that I wouldn't have accidents with a colostomy. One, the bags can bust or leak (as I've had happen with the catheter). I'd need help cleaning that up. Two, even though they'd be re-routing my colon, mucous builds up in the rectum, and needs to be digitally removed (at least once a month- most people fail to mention, or know about this). Three, did I mention, I'd have a bag of shit strapped to me, all day, every day?! Four, some people do "cap off" their stomas and prefer not to wear bags, instead they essentially flush the stool out (similar to an enema, but through the stoma). However this only works once your body has acclimated to having the colostomy (which depends on the individual and can be effected by diet). The other catch, is that this capping off can create AD (since gas and stool build up) and also tends to lead to more frequent accidents. Even the irrigation process itself, could potentially create AD. Not to mention, like I pointed out earlier, someone else would need to be doing all of the care for me.
So basically, I'd be taking a huge gamble, with the high probability of having to deal with most of the problems that I already have with BP. Only, I'd have the added nuisance of having another artificial hole, need to get (and rely on) more medical supplies, and have another bag of bodily waste strapped to me. I'd still need to have help in that area, and have strangers in my business. There's just no avoiding that. Instead of being embarrassed about wearing Depends, I'll be embarrassed by the bag. Oh, and did I mention the added "treat" I discovered about having a colostomy?! You pass gas out of your side, in addition to your ass. Lovely! Double the embarrassment, lack of control and shame. Thanks, but no thanks. It looks like I'm stuck with BP.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Life Is Unpredictable & Full Of Irony
Today marked the six year "anniversary" of my accident. It's certainly not an anniversary worth celebrating, but one that is impossible to ever forget, or ignore. This year brought with it a twist of surprise, and added sentimental value. Six years ago, one simple mistake, would change my life forever. If my accident has taught me anything, it is how very unpredictable life can be.
This year, marks the first completion of the weekly cycle. Meaning, this is the first year, since my accident, where the date, and day it falls on, is the same as on my accident. My accident happened in the very early hours, of Sunday, June 5th, 2005. This year, June 5th, also landed on a Sunday. Last night, I couldn't help but feel an added twinge of grief, as I replayed the memories of that "fateful" Saturday night, where my life got flipped upside down. To this day, I'm unsure of the precise time of my accident, but know the first hours of that Sunday, were spent in the Emergency room, terrified of what was happening, and in shock of what I'd done. That weekend, my last hours on my feet, and my first few hours paralyzed, will forever be etched into my mind. It is a day I wish I could scrub from memory.
Ever since the moment my neck snapped, I have been replaying those last few memories, on my feet, in my head, and fantasizing how different my life might be, if I had never gone to that party, never drunk, or never dove. I have reviewed, replayed, relived, analyzed, questioned, and scrutinized every second, of that final day on my feet. I have beat myself up, and find it hard to be forgiving, to myself, for my foolish actions. I have wondered, "What if..." to a million different scenarios, and have searched in vain for reasons, or self explanations, for why I chose to do, what I did. The lists go on, and on: we should've never gone to that party, I should've never drank, I should've had more to eat, I should've waited to go swimming, I should've used the ladder, I should've never dove. Each action, seems more stupid, worse and irresponsible than the one before it. The truth is, there are no reasons, or good explanations, and even if there were, it wouldn't change the outcome.
Although I never intended to do harm to myself, or anyone, my actions that day, have caused me, and my loved ones a tremendous amount of pain and grief. The combination of many common mistakes, resulted in a gigantic disaster. One moment I was happily, enjoying a self sufficient adult life, the next I was crippled beyond saving. I went from having everything I wanted, to my worst nightmare, overnight. While my life has been the most permanently effected, my accident has had a rippling effect, on everyone that was closest to me, at the time of the accident.
My accident created a horrible strain on my relationships, with many of the people I love. The sheer magnitude of loss, the fear of the uncertain, and the reality of the irreversible nature of my injury, effected everyone I love. The Christina I was, died the day of my accident, and it's been a very bumpy rode, living a completely new reality, being a completely new person. My accident has changed the way I can interact with the people I love, and has forced limitations on what I can do, and how much of a role I can play, in the lives of my family and friends. I've had to come to terms with my new life, and they've had to come to terms with the new me.
My family and friends have at times been my biggest obstacle, while at other times my biggest supporters. I have had many fights, falling outs, and disagreements, with the people closest to me. Thankfully, most of my relationships have stood the test of time, and have whethered this storm, called paralysis. Most of my loved ones have stayed right along side me, through laughs and tears, through thick and through thin. Although they might not all get along with one another, or see eye to eye, they have put aside their differences and rallied behind me. I am so grateful for my family and friends. I feel so blessed, to have so many people that love, and support me.
The rode has been especially difficult, these last couple of years, and I know for sure, I'd be long dead, if it were not for the many loving hands and hearts, that prop me up, and give me strength. There are a few people, that I have lost through this all, and for them, all I can say is sorry. I wish I knew a way to fix my mistakes, or how to repay them. It makes me sad, to think I am missing out, on being a part of their lives, and vice versa. All I can do, is try my best, with whatever time I have left.
2,190 days ago, I thought by now I'd be married to Jimmy, we'd have a couple of kids and I'd be a veteran teacher. I never thought for a moment, that life could throw me a curve ball, or that life would not fall into place, like I had planned. I thought I'd be healthy, and able to care for myself, until I was old and grey. The future seemed brighter than ever, and full of a million possibilities. I was the happiest I had ever been.
2,191 days ago, my entire life was crumbling in front of me, and my future was terrifyingly uncertain. I was newly paralyzed. I was vulnerable and scared. I was in and out of consciousness, and on the verge of death. I knew I might lose everything. I was in tremendous pain, and utter shock. I couldn't imagine a worse situation, a worse moment. I prayed with all my being, that somehow things would be ok. My loved ones were fighting, blaming, and fracturing. I didn't know who to turn to, or what to do.
Today, was not how ever imagined it to be; not during my best, or worst days. I spent the day with Jimmy, my exboyfriend. It was bittersweet, and strangely ironic, spending today with him. It was a mix of extreme high, and extreme low emotions, for both of us, as we remembered a day that changed both our lives, forever. Although we are no longer together, we will always love each other, and share a special bond. He is still one of my closest, dearest friends, with whom I feel I can be most open. He is the one that saved my life, that night, and pulled me from the water. Even though we split (romantically) months after my accident, we have been perpetually drawn back to one another, over these past six years. My accident has changed us both in profound ways, but despite everything, we share a bond, unlike any other.
Six years ago, I had bought him a birthday cake, that we had planned to share together, that coming Monday (6/6/2005), in celebration of his twenty third birthday. Those plans, like so many others, were ruined, and never came to fruition, because of my accident. I have always felt like my accident stained his birthday, with such a horrible memory. I have always wished things could've turned out differently for us, and that we would be able to share a happy memory, for his birthday. Today that wish came true.
Although today was not the ideal day, of how I wished to be spending Jimmy's birthday, I was thankful nonetheless. I feel blessed to have him back in my life, even if it's just as friends. Of course, I'll always wish for more; for both of us. However, I've come to accept my reality, for what it is, and know no amount of wishing can make it be, what I want it to be. I tried my best to enjoy our time together, despite my longings, and limitations. I tried to savor what I could, and be glad to have sitting beside me.
I don't know what the future holds for me, for Jimmy, or "us" for that matter. I gave up trying to predict the future a long time ago. All I know is that, despite my cold sweats, and relentless chills, I was able to have a few laughs, and enjoy seeing his smile. It felt good, taking a bite into a piece of his birthday cake, and for as much as it stung, to not be able to do everything I wished we could be doing, I am so glad we spent today together. Today was a day of closure, and an opportunity to create a positive memory. I hope we can make a few more happy memories together, before this life is over.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
This year, marks the first completion of the weekly cycle. Meaning, this is the first year, since my accident, where the date, and day it falls on, is the same as on my accident. My accident happened in the very early hours, of Sunday, June 5th, 2005. This year, June 5th, also landed on a Sunday. Last night, I couldn't help but feel an added twinge of grief, as I replayed the memories of that "fateful" Saturday night, where my life got flipped upside down. To this day, I'm unsure of the precise time of my accident, but know the first hours of that Sunday, were spent in the Emergency room, terrified of what was happening, and in shock of what I'd done. That weekend, my last hours on my feet, and my first few hours paralyzed, will forever be etched into my mind. It is a day I wish I could scrub from memory.
Ever since the moment my neck snapped, I have been replaying those last few memories, on my feet, in my head, and fantasizing how different my life might be, if I had never gone to that party, never drunk, or never dove. I have reviewed, replayed, relived, analyzed, questioned, and scrutinized every second, of that final day on my feet. I have beat myself up, and find it hard to be forgiving, to myself, for my foolish actions. I have wondered, "What if..." to a million different scenarios, and have searched in vain for reasons, or self explanations, for why I chose to do, what I did. The lists go on, and on: we should've never gone to that party, I should've never drank, I should've had more to eat, I should've waited to go swimming, I should've used the ladder, I should've never dove. Each action, seems more stupid, worse and irresponsible than the one before it. The truth is, there are no reasons, or good explanations, and even if there were, it wouldn't change the outcome.
Although I never intended to do harm to myself, or anyone, my actions that day, have caused me, and my loved ones a tremendous amount of pain and grief. The combination of many common mistakes, resulted in a gigantic disaster. One moment I was happily, enjoying a self sufficient adult life, the next I was crippled beyond saving. I went from having everything I wanted, to my worst nightmare, overnight. While my life has been the most permanently effected, my accident has had a rippling effect, on everyone that was closest to me, at the time of the accident.
My accident created a horrible strain on my relationships, with many of the people I love. The sheer magnitude of loss, the fear of the uncertain, and the reality of the irreversible nature of my injury, effected everyone I love. The Christina I was, died the day of my accident, and it's been a very bumpy rode, living a completely new reality, being a completely new person. My accident has changed the way I can interact with the people I love, and has forced limitations on what I can do, and how much of a role I can play, in the lives of my family and friends. I've had to come to terms with my new life, and they've had to come to terms with the new me.
My family and friends have at times been my biggest obstacle, while at other times my biggest supporters. I have had many fights, falling outs, and disagreements, with the people closest to me. Thankfully, most of my relationships have stood the test of time, and have whethered this storm, called paralysis. Most of my loved ones have stayed right along side me, through laughs and tears, through thick and through thin. Although they might not all get along with one another, or see eye to eye, they have put aside their differences and rallied behind me. I am so grateful for my family and friends. I feel so blessed, to have so many people that love, and support me.
The rode has been especially difficult, these last couple of years, and I know for sure, I'd be long dead, if it were not for the many loving hands and hearts, that prop me up, and give me strength. There are a few people, that I have lost through this all, and for them, all I can say is sorry. I wish I knew a way to fix my mistakes, or how to repay them. It makes me sad, to think I am missing out, on being a part of their lives, and vice versa. All I can do, is try my best, with whatever time I have left.
2,190 days ago, I thought by now I'd be married to Jimmy, we'd have a couple of kids and I'd be a veteran teacher. I never thought for a moment, that life could throw me a curve ball, or that life would not fall into place, like I had planned. I thought I'd be healthy, and able to care for myself, until I was old and grey. The future seemed brighter than ever, and full of a million possibilities. I was the happiest I had ever been.
2,191 days ago, my entire life was crumbling in front of me, and my future was terrifyingly uncertain. I was newly paralyzed. I was vulnerable and scared. I was in and out of consciousness, and on the verge of death. I knew I might lose everything. I was in tremendous pain, and utter shock. I couldn't imagine a worse situation, a worse moment. I prayed with all my being, that somehow things would be ok. My loved ones were fighting, blaming, and fracturing. I didn't know who to turn to, or what to do.
Today, was not how ever imagined it to be; not during my best, or worst days. I spent the day with Jimmy, my exboyfriend. It was bittersweet, and strangely ironic, spending today with him. It was a mix of extreme high, and extreme low emotions, for both of us, as we remembered a day that changed both our lives, forever. Although we are no longer together, we will always love each other, and share a special bond. He is still one of my closest, dearest friends, with whom I feel I can be most open. He is the one that saved my life, that night, and pulled me from the water. Even though we split (romantically) months after my accident, we have been perpetually drawn back to one another, over these past six years. My accident has changed us both in profound ways, but despite everything, we share a bond, unlike any other.
Six years ago, I had bought him a birthday cake, that we had planned to share together, that coming Monday (6/6/2005), in celebration of his twenty third birthday. Those plans, like so many others, were ruined, and never came to fruition, because of my accident. I have always felt like my accident stained his birthday, with such a horrible memory. I have always wished things could've turned out differently for us, and that we would be able to share a happy memory, for his birthday. Today that wish came true.
Although today was not the ideal day, of how I wished to be spending Jimmy's birthday, I was thankful nonetheless. I feel blessed to have him back in my life, even if it's just as friends. Of course, I'll always wish for more; for both of us. However, I've come to accept my reality, for what it is, and know no amount of wishing can make it be, what I want it to be. I tried my best to enjoy our time together, despite my longings, and limitations. I tried to savor what I could, and be glad to have sitting beside me.
I don't know what the future holds for me, for Jimmy, or "us" for that matter. I gave up trying to predict the future a long time ago. All I know is that, despite my cold sweats, and relentless chills, I was able to have a few laughs, and enjoy seeing his smile. It felt good, taking a bite into a piece of his birthday cake, and for as much as it stung, to not be able to do everything I wished we could be doing, I am so glad we spent today together. Today was a day of closure, and an opportunity to create a positive memory. I hope we can make a few more happy memories together, before this life is over.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
"A Gradual Awakening"
I just finished reading a book by Stephen Levine, called "A Gradual Awakening." It is a book about meditation, and philosophy, based on Theravada, and Zen Buddhism. It was recommended to me, by someone who reads my blogs, and is a fellow member of the "Care Cure" online community I belong to. Curiously enough, his name also happens to be Stephen, and he has been living with paralysis since the early 80's (paraplegic- due to an arteriovenous malformation). He and I correspond, from time to time, and he thought the book might offer me some insight, and comfort, with my struggles, trying to cope with life with paralysis. Luckily, it was available in e-book format, which made it easy to read (I buy books through iBooks & the Kindle app, on my iPad- it's much more convenient than reading traditional books, because I can easily switch between tasks, look up definitions, highlight important passages, and take notes).
I've read many books on meditation, since my accident, so I was already familiar with some of the book's concepts, and practical advice. My grandpa (my stepmom's dad) has been into meditation, mysticism and dream psychology (he owns an impressive collection of books by Carl Jung), for decades, and has hundreds of books in his library (mostly religious texts [of various religions], spiritual, philosophical, and psychological in basis/theory). He has practiced meditation (and prayer- his approach is from a Christian perspective) and kept dream journals, since he was in his forties. He and I spent quite a lot of time together, as I was growing up, and over the years he told me about his studies. I always viewed his studies, as an interested sceptic. I was always open to listen, and to read through books he gave me (more so, since my accident- before I was often busy, and did, or could not make time).
I have always found religion, philosophy, and psychology to be fascinating subjects, worth investigating, pondering, debating, and questioning. Eastern philosophy, in particular has always been appealing to me, and something I have found myself drawn to, time and again, throughout my life. My fascination, for Asian art, philosophy, and culture, started with my discovery of anime (with Sailor Moon- sophomore year of high school- in 1995), and blossomed into a genuine love, and passion to study many facets of Japanese, art and culture, in particular.
In college, I took an "Art of Japan" course, as one of my art history requirements. It was through that course, that I began a serious study of Buddhist art, and philosophy. As with every art history course, I've ever taken, religion played an integral role, in the inspiration, and creation, of much of the artwork I studied. I can remember having to study, and being able to identify hundreds of varying Buddhist statues, and paintings. I learned how to "read" the symbology present (posture, hair knots, drooping earlobes, lotus flowers, etc.) in varying types, and styles of Buddhist art, and about the principles, and philosophy behind such things as, Zen ink paintings, sand mandalas, rock gardens, and tea ceremonies. I especially fell in love with Ukiyo-e wood cut prints, and can remember spending hours at the M.E.T. looking at them, and using their library to write a paper about Ukiyo-e's influence on the post impressionistic movement.
In the years right before my accident, I used to go into NYC monthly. I would sometimes spend all day, getting lost in the Asian, and Egyptian wings of the M.E.T., looking at the artwork, and making sketches. I would take trips down to Chinatown, and spend all day (in the summer and on weekends) browsing in, and out of tea shops, and buying all sorts of Asian style accessories, clothes, figurines and nick knacks. Over the years, I've amassed quite a collection of both traditional and contemporary Asian books, and art. Not to mention, my over the top collection, of hundreds of anime DVDs and Blue-ray disks (I'm an otaku, in every sense of the word). To this day, my apartment is filled with Buddhist iconography, and Asian artwork, and inspiration.
It was no surprise to me, that I'd enjoy, or be drawn towards the teachings, in "A Gradual Awakening." Like I said, it's not the first book I've read on how to meditate. Most books I've read in the past have been more well rounded, in terms of offering varying religious and non-religious approaches, and offering more direct, step by step guided meditations, or contrarily, vague techniques or generic mantras. The difference in this book, is that the author focuses specifically on the teachings of Buddah himself, and offers more specific examples Zen philosophy, with a few guided, purpose based meditations. Even if you've never read about Buddhism, and/or meditation, it is simple to understand, and pretty straightforward.
Naturally, "knowing" and "doing" are two different things. While, Levine's writing style makes the concepts understandable (and approachable), it is a whole other ball of wax, to be able to apply the content, and practice the principles he describes. The book is definitely a good jumping point, to begin reflection, and offers a lot of rational, practical sense, that make the reader (namely me) want to try the theories out for himself/herself, and that can be applied to, and compliment various, existing religious beliefs, or mindsets.
In the book, Levine's (based on Buddah's teaching) overriding theme, is that the root of all suffering, is based on our (collectively) inability to be at one with the present moment. He says it is our attachment to our preconceived notion of "who" we are (as individuals), "what" WE think we should be doing, and/or "where" we should be, that interferes with our ability to be happy, and/or peaceful with our reality. He states that in order to be truly happy, to be whole, and fulfilled, we must begin by letting go of the personal "I."
According to Levine, we are all part of a bigger whole, and that through meditation, we can start to return to this natural state of feeling complete. He asserts that everyone has the innate ability to access this grander sense of truth, by honing one's concentration, through mindful meditation, and gradually awakening. He says everyone must start by focusing on the mind, as an observer, to watch thoughts, as they pass through the mind, and to begin to recognize the constant change, and flow, that is present, from moment, to moment. He warns, not to let one's self get pulled in, or get attached to any one thought, but to detach and let each moment unfold.
He briefly explains the concept of karma, as being "the perfect outcome of previous input." In other words, you sow what you reap. So, from a Buddhist standpoint, my current situation (being paralyzed) is because of some past action. From a rational, logical standpoint, anyone would agree, that my diving into a shallow pool, head first, resulted in me breaking my neck, and thus left me paralyzed. However, looking at my life, from the viewpoint of the larger picture, and the seemingly unjust nature, of how drastically one small action, has caused me so much loss, and suffering, the logical cause and effect explanation, does not seem comforting, and lacks the deeper meaning of "Why?" Levine says, that this is where karma comes into play.
From the Buddhist perspective, the karma I have in this life, can (and has been) effected by this life, as well as by actions in past lives. So, even though it might seem unfair, or unjust, for someone like me (a relatively, honest, kind, hardworking person) to have to suffer so much, for such a small mistake, it is the result of past mistakes, and it is part of a much, much bigger picture. Levine explains, like a circle, it is impossible to determine where one cause, or effect begins, or ends. He doesn't go much into reincarnation specifically, but implies, that whatever desires we have, when we die, or feelings left, unfulfilled, those grasping qualities create karma, and propel us (condition, and effect us) into our next life. Luckily, according to Levine, we each have the potential to reach "enlightenment" and stop the karmic cycle. He offers Buddah, and Jesus, as two examples of individuals who were able to attain enlightenment, through their loving, selfless, detachment, and return to their place, within the universal wholeness.
So, in my case, it makes perfect sense, to say that most (if not all) my suffering is a result of my attachments to my perceived image of myself. I feel sad, angry, and empty, because I am clinging onto the past (aka- an illusionary version on "myself") and onto an idealistic future self. Levine would assert, I am in pain, because I am not living life, in the present moment. According to him, in order for me (everyone) to find peace, I need to learn to love myself, forgive myself, practice loving kindness towards others and to live only in the present moment. He says, in order to be whole, we must let go of our egos; we must accept the present moment.
While I'll admit, the dichotomy between my "ideal" present, and my "actual" present does account for a tremendous amount of suffering, it is easier said than done, to abandon every like, dislike, preference, preconceived notion, desire, wish, dream, hope, and aspiration I've ever had, and what I believe (falsely- according to Buddah) to have been "me" as being me. From an analytically viewpoint, it makes perfect sense, that if I could let go of everything I had, and give up the dreams, and goals I had, for my future, I would be a more content person. In the book, Levine offers guided meditations, to help the reader work through the process of how to live life in the present, and ways to let go of "self."
I definitely agree with A LOT of what the book discusses, from a logical perspective. That might sound strange, given the fact the author is proposing radical ideas on being completely selfless, to the point, where the reader must choose to accept concepts of multiple lifetimes, collective consciousness, and universal oneness. I'm not sure if I'm sold on the idea of karma, to the extent of believing in past lives, or even that the present moment in my life (as I write this) as being perfect and correct, but it does make COMMON, practical sense that clinging to ideals, memories, or even hopes, IS a recipe for suffering. One undeniable truth, throughout this book, is that life changes. From the birth of this moment, to the death of the past moment, life is a continuous flow of change, of beginnings and endings, of causes and effects. The more you resist change, and fight, or try to escape the present reality, the more you hurt yourself. That is basic, powerful, truth.
While I continue to try and let go of my past, accept my reality, and work on being the best person I can be, in the given moment, it is extremely hard. Change, while difficult for everyone, is inescapable. However, most people have the luxury of being able to adapt to change gradually, as it slowly unfolds. My reality, was brutally, abruptly turned upside down, literally overnight. I had no choice but to let go (in a physical sense) of most of my acquired skills, and abilities, in the matter of minutes, because they were forcefully stolen from me, by my paralysis. Contrarily, many new, painful, realities were thrust upon me, like having to accept help (for everything), having to expose myself, needing bowel program, a catheter, and medications. Paralysis did not afford me any time, to ease into my new life, or grant me a transition period. I went from being one person, with one life, to becoming a new person, with a new life, overnight. To make matters more difficult, I have EVERY memory of my old life, and the shadow of the old "me" looming over me.
In a figurative (and literal) sense, paralysis has forced me to consciously experience my own death, and rebirth. While, it is an interesting theory, to explain this present life (my life post spinal cord injury), and my very real physical pain, and discomfort, as a product of past karma, it is not comforting. Even if I accepted the principle of karma as truth, it still doesn't give me the explanation of what actions I did, to create the karma I'm experiencing, right now. I suppose, Levine (and perhaps Buddah) would say, my past actions, and even my current situation are irrelevant, except for the opportunity my present situation affords me to grow, and learn, and of how I choose to act, from this moment forward.
The book is clearly written with the average person in mind, and not aimed at the severely disabled, or terminally ill people. He touches briefly, on dealing with physical pain, but focuses primarily on the psychological pain, and negative feelings, and attitudes, that hold people back. It has certainly given me some food for thought, and some concrete strategies, and techniques, for beginning to work on my emotional pain, and psychological wellbeing, but leaves me with many questions, about how to deal with the physical limitations, physical pain, and chronic illness that are also part of my present reality. Even if I am able to let go, of everything, including my ego, my body can't escape the physical limitations, and discomfort.
I suppose, the hope, or goal, would be that this pain, and physical suffering is only temporary, and ultimately, by becoming enlightened, I could potentially ensure that this lifetime is the last time I have to experience it. The thought of letting go of all desires, seems like an impossibility, and thus dooming me, to forever repeat my mistakes; never feeling satisfied. In this regard, the Christian, Jewish, and Muslim promise of an eternal heaven, seems much, much more appealing. Although the thought at a second chance, to experience the things I can't/couldn't in this life, sounds tempting, the thought of having to experience the drastic, abrupt change that I have had to endure, in this lifetime, has been intense enough to never, ever want to repeat it.
I'm curious to read another book Levine wrote, entitled "Healing Into Life and Death," which focuses more on situations of chronic, and terminal illness. I'll be sure to write a review, if/when I finish it.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
I've read many books on meditation, since my accident, so I was already familiar with some of the book's concepts, and practical advice. My grandpa (my stepmom's dad) has been into meditation, mysticism and dream psychology (he owns an impressive collection of books by Carl Jung), for decades, and has hundreds of books in his library (mostly religious texts [of various religions], spiritual, philosophical, and psychological in basis/theory). He has practiced meditation (and prayer- his approach is from a Christian perspective) and kept dream journals, since he was in his forties. He and I spent quite a lot of time together, as I was growing up, and over the years he told me about his studies. I always viewed his studies, as an interested sceptic. I was always open to listen, and to read through books he gave me (more so, since my accident- before I was often busy, and did, or could not make time).
I have always found religion, philosophy, and psychology to be fascinating subjects, worth investigating, pondering, debating, and questioning. Eastern philosophy, in particular has always been appealing to me, and something I have found myself drawn to, time and again, throughout my life. My fascination, for Asian art, philosophy, and culture, started with my discovery of anime (with Sailor Moon- sophomore year of high school- in 1995), and blossomed into a genuine love, and passion to study many facets of Japanese, art and culture, in particular.
In college, I took an "Art of Japan" course, as one of my art history requirements. It was through that course, that I began a serious study of Buddhist art, and philosophy. As with every art history course, I've ever taken, religion played an integral role, in the inspiration, and creation, of much of the artwork I studied. I can remember having to study, and being able to identify hundreds of varying Buddhist statues, and paintings. I learned how to "read" the symbology present (posture, hair knots, drooping earlobes, lotus flowers, etc.) in varying types, and styles of Buddhist art, and about the principles, and philosophy behind such things as, Zen ink paintings, sand mandalas, rock gardens, and tea ceremonies. I especially fell in love with Ukiyo-e wood cut prints, and can remember spending hours at the M.E.T. looking at them, and using their library to write a paper about Ukiyo-e's influence on the post impressionistic movement.
In the years right before my accident, I used to go into NYC monthly. I would sometimes spend all day, getting lost in the Asian, and Egyptian wings of the M.E.T., looking at the artwork, and making sketches. I would take trips down to Chinatown, and spend all day (in the summer and on weekends) browsing in, and out of tea shops, and buying all sorts of Asian style accessories, clothes, figurines and nick knacks. Over the years, I've amassed quite a collection of both traditional and contemporary Asian books, and art. Not to mention, my over the top collection, of hundreds of anime DVDs and Blue-ray disks (I'm an otaku, in every sense of the word). To this day, my apartment is filled with Buddhist iconography, and Asian artwork, and inspiration.
It was no surprise to me, that I'd enjoy, or be drawn towards the teachings, in "A Gradual Awakening." Like I said, it's not the first book I've read on how to meditate. Most books I've read in the past have been more well rounded, in terms of offering varying religious and non-religious approaches, and offering more direct, step by step guided meditations, or contrarily, vague techniques or generic mantras. The difference in this book, is that the author focuses specifically on the teachings of Buddah himself, and offers more specific examples Zen philosophy, with a few guided, purpose based meditations. Even if you've never read about Buddhism, and/or meditation, it is simple to understand, and pretty straightforward.
Naturally, "knowing" and "doing" are two different things. While, Levine's writing style makes the concepts understandable (and approachable), it is a whole other ball of wax, to be able to apply the content, and practice the principles he describes. The book is definitely a good jumping point, to begin reflection, and offers a lot of rational, practical sense, that make the reader (namely me) want to try the theories out for himself/herself, and that can be applied to, and compliment various, existing religious beliefs, or mindsets.
In the book, Levine's (based on Buddah's teaching) overriding theme, is that the root of all suffering, is based on our (collectively) inability to be at one with the present moment. He says it is our attachment to our preconceived notion of "who" we are (as individuals), "what" WE think we should be doing, and/or "where" we should be, that interferes with our ability to be happy, and/or peaceful with our reality. He states that in order to be truly happy, to be whole, and fulfilled, we must begin by letting go of the personal "I."
According to Levine, we are all part of a bigger whole, and that through meditation, we can start to return to this natural state of feeling complete. He asserts that everyone has the innate ability to access this grander sense of truth, by honing one's concentration, through mindful meditation, and gradually awakening. He says everyone must start by focusing on the mind, as an observer, to watch thoughts, as they pass through the mind, and to begin to recognize the constant change, and flow, that is present, from moment, to moment. He warns, not to let one's self get pulled in, or get attached to any one thought, but to detach and let each moment unfold.
He briefly explains the concept of karma, as being "the perfect outcome of previous input." In other words, you sow what you reap. So, from a Buddhist standpoint, my current situation (being paralyzed) is because of some past action. From a rational, logical standpoint, anyone would agree, that my diving into a shallow pool, head first, resulted in me breaking my neck, and thus left me paralyzed. However, looking at my life, from the viewpoint of the larger picture, and the seemingly unjust nature, of how drastically one small action, has caused me so much loss, and suffering, the logical cause and effect explanation, does not seem comforting, and lacks the deeper meaning of "Why?" Levine says, that this is where karma comes into play.
From the Buddhist perspective, the karma I have in this life, can (and has been) effected by this life, as well as by actions in past lives. So, even though it might seem unfair, or unjust, for someone like me (a relatively, honest, kind, hardworking person) to have to suffer so much, for such a small mistake, it is the result of past mistakes, and it is part of a much, much bigger picture. Levine explains, like a circle, it is impossible to determine where one cause, or effect begins, or ends. He doesn't go much into reincarnation specifically, but implies, that whatever desires we have, when we die, or feelings left, unfulfilled, those grasping qualities create karma, and propel us (condition, and effect us) into our next life. Luckily, according to Levine, we each have the potential to reach "enlightenment" and stop the karmic cycle. He offers Buddah, and Jesus, as two examples of individuals who were able to attain enlightenment, through their loving, selfless, detachment, and return to their place, within the universal wholeness.
So, in my case, it makes perfect sense, to say that most (if not all) my suffering is a result of my attachments to my perceived image of myself. I feel sad, angry, and empty, because I am clinging onto the past (aka- an illusionary version on "myself") and onto an idealistic future self. Levine would assert, I am in pain, because I am not living life, in the present moment. According to him, in order for me (everyone) to find peace, I need to learn to love myself, forgive myself, practice loving kindness towards others and to live only in the present moment. He says, in order to be whole, we must let go of our egos; we must accept the present moment.
While I'll admit, the dichotomy between my "ideal" present, and my "actual" present does account for a tremendous amount of suffering, it is easier said than done, to abandon every like, dislike, preference, preconceived notion, desire, wish, dream, hope, and aspiration I've ever had, and what I believe (falsely- according to Buddah) to have been "me" as being me. From an analytically viewpoint, it makes perfect sense, that if I could let go of everything I had, and give up the dreams, and goals I had, for my future, I would be a more content person. In the book, Levine offers guided meditations, to help the reader work through the process of how to live life in the present, and ways to let go of "self."
I definitely agree with A LOT of what the book discusses, from a logical perspective. That might sound strange, given the fact the author is proposing radical ideas on being completely selfless, to the point, where the reader must choose to accept concepts of multiple lifetimes, collective consciousness, and universal oneness. I'm not sure if I'm sold on the idea of karma, to the extent of believing in past lives, or even that the present moment in my life (as I write this) as being perfect and correct, but it does make COMMON, practical sense that clinging to ideals, memories, or even hopes, IS a recipe for suffering. One undeniable truth, throughout this book, is that life changes. From the birth of this moment, to the death of the past moment, life is a continuous flow of change, of beginnings and endings, of causes and effects. The more you resist change, and fight, or try to escape the present reality, the more you hurt yourself. That is basic, powerful, truth.
While I continue to try and let go of my past, accept my reality, and work on being the best person I can be, in the given moment, it is extremely hard. Change, while difficult for everyone, is inescapable. However, most people have the luxury of being able to adapt to change gradually, as it slowly unfolds. My reality, was brutally, abruptly turned upside down, literally overnight. I had no choice but to let go (in a physical sense) of most of my acquired skills, and abilities, in the matter of minutes, because they were forcefully stolen from me, by my paralysis. Contrarily, many new, painful, realities were thrust upon me, like having to accept help (for everything), having to expose myself, needing bowel program, a catheter, and medications. Paralysis did not afford me any time, to ease into my new life, or grant me a transition period. I went from being one person, with one life, to becoming a new person, with a new life, overnight. To make matters more difficult, I have EVERY memory of my old life, and the shadow of the old "me" looming over me.
In a figurative (and literal) sense, paralysis has forced me to consciously experience my own death, and rebirth. While, it is an interesting theory, to explain this present life (my life post spinal cord injury), and my very real physical pain, and discomfort, as a product of past karma, it is not comforting. Even if I accepted the principle of karma as truth, it still doesn't give me the explanation of what actions I did, to create the karma I'm experiencing, right now. I suppose, Levine (and perhaps Buddah) would say, my past actions, and even my current situation are irrelevant, except for the opportunity my present situation affords me to grow, and learn, and of how I choose to act, from this moment forward.
The book is clearly written with the average person in mind, and not aimed at the severely disabled, or terminally ill people. He touches briefly, on dealing with physical pain, but focuses primarily on the psychological pain, and negative feelings, and attitudes, that hold people back. It has certainly given me some food for thought, and some concrete strategies, and techniques, for beginning to work on my emotional pain, and psychological wellbeing, but leaves me with many questions, about how to deal with the physical limitations, physical pain, and chronic illness that are also part of my present reality. Even if I am able to let go, of everything, including my ego, my body can't escape the physical limitations, and discomfort.
I suppose, the hope, or goal, would be that this pain, and physical suffering is only temporary, and ultimately, by becoming enlightened, I could potentially ensure that this lifetime is the last time I have to experience it. The thought of letting go of all desires, seems like an impossibility, and thus dooming me, to forever repeat my mistakes; never feeling satisfied. In this regard, the Christian, Jewish, and Muslim promise of an eternal heaven, seems much, much more appealing. Although the thought at a second chance, to experience the things I can't/couldn't in this life, sounds tempting, the thought of having to experience the drastic, abrupt change that I have had to endure, in this lifetime, has been intense enough to never, ever want to repeat it.
I'm curious to read another book Levine wrote, entitled "Healing Into Life and Death," which focuses more on situations of chronic, and terminal illness. I'll be sure to write a review, if/when I finish it.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Monday, May 9, 2011
Meeting With Fr. Doug
Well, I just met with Fr. Doug. He was very nice, and younger than I imagined. Most of the priests I knew growing up, were easily old enough to be my grandfather, or great great grandfather. We talked for about an hour and a half. I explained pretty much everything I've been thinking, and going through; lots and lots of tears. I showed him some of my still life paintings, I had laying around the apartment and gave him my card, to check out my website.
He said he could see a definite reason why God wanted me here, to use my gifts, to help others. I brought up the fact, that I feel I have been generous, and giving, but wonder how long I'm meant to keep living for the sake of others. I said, it's unfair, to hold me to the standard of Jesus, when Jesus had a clear knowledge, of his purpose, about his death, and about his resurrection. He said that's true, but that life isn't always fair. I explained that I don't blame God, for my accident, because I feel it is a product of my own freewill. He agreed, and said, although God doesn't create suffering, he can make good things happen, despite of it.
I understand, that I've been blessed with gifts, despite my severe disabilities. My gifts, of writing, and painting have helped me to cope, and teach others, about paralysis. However, the daily bouts of autonomic dysreflexia, and the grueling treatments, and degrading, embarrassing nature, of being totally dependent, makes living this way, seem so overwhelming, and often overshadows, the few positives in my life. I am thankful, to be able to express my feelings, but sometimes feel like my mind itself, is my own worst enemy. Being so trapped, with nothing but my thoughts, is often a punishment, within itself, because I'm constantly remembering what I had, what I can't have, what I miss, and what I want. The disparity between my old life, and my reality, is constantly weighing down on me, and makes it hard to be satisfied with what I've been left with.
He said I seemed to be much harder on myself, than others, and said I needed to find a way to forgive myself, for the accident. He said I had to start loving myself. I have heard those words many times, but am at a loss, at how to begin to do that. He said we're often much nicer to others, than we are to ourselves, and in my case, that's certainly true. He said God, is also more forgiving than I am, which I'm hoping is true. I know I didn't intend to hurt myself, but it was MY poor judgment, and MY action, that ultimately resulted in my injury. In many ways, I feel like a murder. I feel like the person I was, died that day, and I've been grieving for her, ever since. Paralysis has stolen almost every aspect of my old life; a life a loved.
I have lost my freedom to care for myself, my privacy, my dignity, my hopes, my dreams, my career, and the life I had built for myself. In many, many ways I lost myself. I miss the old Christina. I miss living my old life. I have no to blame, for the life paralysis had given me, but myself. How do you forgive someone that has stolen everything you loved, and held dear? How do you forgive someone that has robbed you of your health, and in turn, sentenced you, to a life a suffering? How do you forgive someone, that has robbed you of your potential, and your dreams, for the future, by placing extreme obstacles, and limitations upon you? I'm not sure if I CAN forgive myself.
Talking with Fr. Doug, did help provide me comfort, in that he said I had the right, to refuse extreme measures, like a tracheotomy, colostomy, or vent. Although, deep down, he's just a man, I felt relieved of the heavy burden, of knowing he (as a Catholic priest) recognized, that some situations are TOO much, and that God would understand, not wanting to preserve "life" to ANY and ALL extent necessary. Ever since those first few weeks, in ICU, my worst fear, has been ever having to be hooked up to a vent, again. I have a hard enough time, dealing with being reliant on people, I don't want to ever be reliant on machines again.
Fr. Doug said he thought a lot of my feelings, and dark thoughts are just depression, and suggested I reevaluate my medications. I said, I'd be open to trying. I already have tried a few. I had been taking Effexor, up until last year, and felt like it was no longer working. I asked my doctor, if I could try something different, and I started Pristiq. I've been taking it for at least six months. In the past six months, I've also added Remeron, and Xanax at night (both have been increased in doses a couple of times), to help with my insomnia. That said, I'm as down as ever, and in a very dark place.
I get a little annoyed, when people just write my feelings off as depressed, because I feel the true root of my sadness, stems directly from my paralysis. I'm not saying I'm not depressed, because I clearly am. I'm just saying that, no matter what medication I take, I will ALWAYS have a certain degree of depression. I pointed out, that anti-depressants, are not going to take away the key problems, that are plaguing me: the daily bouts of AD, my physical limitations, bowel program, or my catheter. I suppose, the right medication COULD make dealing with these things more bearable, but on a whole, I honestly can't envision ever being happy, or satisfied with living the way paralysis forces me to live.
After our long talk, Fr. Doug performed the anointing of sick ritual, and we said the "Our Father" together. I hope God was listening, and can offer me some relief, one way, or the other. In the meantime, I'll take Fr. Doug's advice, and talk to my doctor, about possibly trying to change my medications. At this point, I feel I have nothing to lose. I don't want to seem unreasonable, or unwilling to take suggestions. If I didn't want help, I wouldn't bother asking. I just want some peace, and to feel better, for a change. I do wish God would just cure me, or take me. I hate feeling stuck, in constant limbo.
Our conversation, hasn't really changed my mind, about not wanting antibiotics. I feel like, if God truly does want me alive, God certainly has the power to keep me alive, despite that decision. For now, I'm willing to experiment, and see if new meds, can offer any relief. I will also continue to pray, meditate, read, and search, to try and strengthen my faith. I will continue to be open, and honest with my friends, and family, and try to enjoy each day, the best I can. I'm really trying my best. I don't know what more I can do.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
He said he could see a definite reason why God wanted me here, to use my gifts, to help others. I brought up the fact, that I feel I have been generous, and giving, but wonder how long I'm meant to keep living for the sake of others. I said, it's unfair, to hold me to the standard of Jesus, when Jesus had a clear knowledge, of his purpose, about his death, and about his resurrection. He said that's true, but that life isn't always fair. I explained that I don't blame God, for my accident, because I feel it is a product of my own freewill. He agreed, and said, although God doesn't create suffering, he can make good things happen, despite of it.
I understand, that I've been blessed with gifts, despite my severe disabilities. My gifts, of writing, and painting have helped me to cope, and teach others, about paralysis. However, the daily bouts of autonomic dysreflexia, and the grueling treatments, and degrading, embarrassing nature, of being totally dependent, makes living this way, seem so overwhelming, and often overshadows, the few positives in my life. I am thankful, to be able to express my feelings, but sometimes feel like my mind itself, is my own worst enemy. Being so trapped, with nothing but my thoughts, is often a punishment, within itself, because I'm constantly remembering what I had, what I can't have, what I miss, and what I want. The disparity between my old life, and my reality, is constantly weighing down on me, and makes it hard to be satisfied with what I've been left with.
He said I seemed to be much harder on myself, than others, and said I needed to find a way to forgive myself, for the accident. He said I had to start loving myself. I have heard those words many times, but am at a loss, at how to begin to do that. He said we're often much nicer to others, than we are to ourselves, and in my case, that's certainly true. He said God, is also more forgiving than I am, which I'm hoping is true. I know I didn't intend to hurt myself, but it was MY poor judgment, and MY action, that ultimately resulted in my injury. In many ways, I feel like a murder. I feel like the person I was, died that day, and I've been grieving for her, ever since. Paralysis has stolen almost every aspect of my old life; a life a loved.
I have lost my freedom to care for myself, my privacy, my dignity, my hopes, my dreams, my career, and the life I had built for myself. In many, many ways I lost myself. I miss the old Christina. I miss living my old life. I have no to blame, for the life paralysis had given me, but myself. How do you forgive someone that has stolen everything you loved, and held dear? How do you forgive someone that has robbed you of your health, and in turn, sentenced you, to a life a suffering? How do you forgive someone, that has robbed you of your potential, and your dreams, for the future, by placing extreme obstacles, and limitations upon you? I'm not sure if I CAN forgive myself.
Talking with Fr. Doug, did help provide me comfort, in that he said I had the right, to refuse extreme measures, like a tracheotomy, colostomy, or vent. Although, deep down, he's just a man, I felt relieved of the heavy burden, of knowing he (as a Catholic priest) recognized, that some situations are TOO much, and that God would understand, not wanting to preserve "life" to ANY and ALL extent necessary. Ever since those first few weeks, in ICU, my worst fear, has been ever having to be hooked up to a vent, again. I have a hard enough time, dealing with being reliant on people, I don't want to ever be reliant on machines again.
Fr. Doug said he thought a lot of my feelings, and dark thoughts are just depression, and suggested I reevaluate my medications. I said, I'd be open to trying. I already have tried a few. I had been taking Effexor, up until last year, and felt like it was no longer working. I asked my doctor, if I could try something different, and I started Pristiq. I've been taking it for at least six months. In the past six months, I've also added Remeron, and Xanax at night (both have been increased in doses a couple of times), to help with my insomnia. That said, I'm as down as ever, and in a very dark place.
I get a little annoyed, when people just write my feelings off as depressed, because I feel the true root of my sadness, stems directly from my paralysis. I'm not saying I'm not depressed, because I clearly am. I'm just saying that, no matter what medication I take, I will ALWAYS have a certain degree of depression. I pointed out, that anti-depressants, are not going to take away the key problems, that are plaguing me: the daily bouts of AD, my physical limitations, bowel program, or my catheter. I suppose, the right medication COULD make dealing with these things more bearable, but on a whole, I honestly can't envision ever being happy, or satisfied with living the way paralysis forces me to live.
After our long talk, Fr. Doug performed the anointing of sick ritual, and we said the "Our Father" together. I hope God was listening, and can offer me some relief, one way, or the other. In the meantime, I'll take Fr. Doug's advice, and talk to my doctor, about possibly trying to change my medications. At this point, I feel I have nothing to lose. I don't want to seem unreasonable, or unwilling to take suggestions. If I didn't want help, I wouldn't bother asking. I just want some peace, and to feel better, for a change. I do wish God would just cure me, or take me. I hate feeling stuck, in constant limbo.
Our conversation, hasn't really changed my mind, about not wanting antibiotics. I feel like, if God truly does want me alive, God certainly has the power to keep me alive, despite that decision. For now, I'm willing to experiment, and see if new meds, can offer any relief. I will also continue to pray, meditate, read, and search, to try and strengthen my faith. I will continue to be open, and honest with my friends, and family, and try to enjoy each day, the best I can. I'm really trying my best. I don't know what more I can do.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Friday, May 6, 2011
The Suicide Tourist
I just watched a documentary, called "The Suicide Tourist." It's an very moving, powerful, documentary, chronicling the final days, and eventual suicide, Craig Ewert. The documentary takes place in Europe, and gives an extremely intimate view, of Craig's life, and death. It is a highly thought provoking piece, that raises many questions, about quality of life, and the right to die. Craig himself, is very articulate, and poses some strong arguments, for his decision, and his opinions, on living, suffering, and on dying. I think it offers an exceptional example of why people, OUGHT to have the right to "die with dignity" and demonstrates good arguments, for why euthanasia should be legal, here in the USA. On a whole, the documentary is very tastefully done, and an incredibly brave, and generous contribution to society, on the part of Craig, his wife, and his children. If I could, I would like to thank Craig, and his family, for their willingness to share his story. I have a high respect for his loved ones, in that they supported his difficult decision, and stood by his side (particularly his wife), while he carried out his wishes.
Craig and his wife, both American citizens, had moved to Europe, before he got sick. They had two grown children, and decided they wanted to travel, and live abroad. Craig, who had been a professor of computer science, got a teaching job in England, and he and his wife relocated. His wife started started studying for a Phd, in law, and they were enjoying living their new life together. Everything changed, when Craig started feeling weak, and ultimately was given the ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) diagnosis, and told his best case scenario, was two to five years left, to live. Around six months, after being diagnosed with ALS , and his rapid deterioration in health, Craig decided he wanted to end his life.
He started doing research, and was disappointed to discover that physician assisted suicide, was only legal in three states (I know of Oregon & Washington). He became frustrated by the fact, that people expected him to just accept his fate, and feared more than anything, what life would be like, once he could no longer speak, or communicate. He feared becoming a prisoner, in his own body (which I feel I am- even though I can communicate- and know what it's like to be completely paralyzed, without speech, from my time spent hooked up to a ventilator) and doubted his life, or death would be as "peaceful" as third party accounts described. He brought up an excellent point, that just because a person is "still," to the casual observer, it doesn't mean that the person is at peace. Being trapped, with no way to communicate, and stuck with nothing but your thoughts, and hauntingly painful memories, is anything, but peaceful. I know from experience. It is hell, and pure torture.
Wanting to prevent further suffering, and speed up the process, of his inevitable death, Craig continued his search for a legal way to end his life, and discussed his viewpoint, feelings and fears, with his wife and children. Realizing that he was suffering, and death was fast approaching, his family respected his wishes, and supported him, in carrying them out. He ultimately found out about Dignitas, a clinic in Switzerland, which offers assisted suicide services, to Swiss citizens, and foreigners alike. Knowing he had to be able to swallow the lethal dose of sodium pentobarbital himself, and that his window of opportunity was closing (due to his degenerative disease, and the unpredictable nature of the illness), he set up his appointment, and was accepted, to receive their services.
During the filming of his four, final days, Craig talked about his reasoning behind wanting to commit suicide, and his opinions on it being illegal, throughout the UK, and much of the US. He very poignantly expressed the fact that, many people throw the issue of God, into the matter, as a leading factor, for why there isn't more support, for assisted suicide, and how it is ironically unfair, that "playing God" is seemingly only a matter of contention, when it involves ending a life (and suffering), versus saving it. He pointed out the glaringly obvious distinction, where doctors "play God," by saving newborn babies (through extreme medical intervention) and keep people alive, unnaturally long lifespans, through medicine, and machines, but that it's "ok" to "play God," when it preserves life. He pointed out the fact, that his respirator, had been "playing God," keeping him alive, and couldn't understand why it was only acceptable, to intervene in extending life, but unacceptable to end life, even when there is no hope of cure, and definite suffering present. I too, do not understand, the rationale, behind this unjust form of thinking.
The documentary discusses Swiss law, and says (which I've read in many articles) that because of the fact that euthanasia is illegal, in the UK, and most of the US, the Swiss government has seen a huge influx, in "suicide tourism," and that outside countries (namely the US & UK) have been pressuring Switzerland to reject foreign petitions, to die within their country. This scrutiny has made it difficult, for clinics like Dignitas, to accept any, but the most extreme, and most desperate of cases. Luckily for Craig, he met Dignitas' criteria.
I think it's a shame that people like Craig (and myself) are forced into living with incurable, extreme disabilities, essentially against our will. I can completely relate, to his suffering, his viewpoint on being forced into dependence, and his fears of feeling trapped, and hopeless. It is a shame, that anyone should have to fly half way around the world, and petition a foreign country, to die a dignified death. I think it is cruel, that our society (and the UK) would rather watch people suffer, who would otherwise be dead, if it were not for medical intervention, than to allow us, to choose what we can tolerate, and what we deem, is a life worth living. Why is it so wrong, to offer a peaceful death, to someone who has no means of living, on their own, to whom medical science can offer no cure, and who is, in his/her own opinion experiencing suffering? It makes me angry, that people like me and Craig have to leave the country, or slowly starve ourselves to death, or slowly die from infection, rather than be given a HUMANE, easy alternative, because other people (who have no clue what it's like to be in our shoes) think it's "right," or "wrong."
I know the pain, and loss, that Craig was faced with, and why he decided to end his life. I know, very well, the terror of being completely reliant on others, and the heaviness, of feeling like a burden. I too, know the sadness, and disappointment, of having to express feelings of wanting die, to the people I love, and the pain and guilt, that comes along with deciding I want to give up on life. I know the shame, blame, and guilt, that society at large, and religion, bears down on the individual. It is a horrible situation to be in.
I know what it's like to look into the eyes, of the people I love, and tell them that I feel my life is no longer worth living. I'm living through that pain, right now, and know how hard it is to let go, even though every fiber of my being is exhausted, and wanting to give in, my conscious keeps reminding me, of the pain my death will cause, and I wish I knew a way to avoid hurting the people I love, while at the same time ending my own suffering. I know how horribly frustrating it is, to be a prisoner, within your body. I'm trapped, exactly like Craig, and I understand his desire to escape.
I applaud Craig, for his courage, and his family, for their selflessness, and compassion. I don't think it's wrong, to want to die peacefully, when death is inevitable, and medicine offers no hope, of alleviating a person's pain, and all the future holds, is a life full of suffering. I wish I had a peaceful option; a means of escaping this life, that didn't involve added suffering, and putting my loved ones through a long, painful process, of watching me slowly die, day by day. I wish everyone could watch "The Suicide Tourist", and gain some perspective, on the fact that, sometimes the most humane, compassionate thing to do, is to offer a peaceful death, and to let go, versus sentencing someone (that would otherwise be dead anyway) to a lifetime of suffering.
Video- http://video.pbs.org/video/1430431984
Information about ALS-
http://www.alsa.org/about-als/what-is-als.html
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Craig and his wife, both American citizens, had moved to Europe, before he got sick. They had two grown children, and decided they wanted to travel, and live abroad. Craig, who had been a professor of computer science, got a teaching job in England, and he and his wife relocated. His wife started started studying for a Phd, in law, and they were enjoying living their new life together. Everything changed, when Craig started feeling weak, and ultimately was given the ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) diagnosis, and told his best case scenario, was two to five years left, to live. Around six months, after being diagnosed with ALS , and his rapid deterioration in health, Craig decided he wanted to end his life.
He started doing research, and was disappointed to discover that physician assisted suicide, was only legal in three states (I know of Oregon & Washington). He became frustrated by the fact, that people expected him to just accept his fate, and feared more than anything, what life would be like, once he could no longer speak, or communicate. He feared becoming a prisoner, in his own body (which I feel I am- even though I can communicate- and know what it's like to be completely paralyzed, without speech, from my time spent hooked up to a ventilator) and doubted his life, or death would be as "peaceful" as third party accounts described. He brought up an excellent point, that just because a person is "still," to the casual observer, it doesn't mean that the person is at peace. Being trapped, with no way to communicate, and stuck with nothing but your thoughts, and hauntingly painful memories, is anything, but peaceful. I know from experience. It is hell, and pure torture.
Wanting to prevent further suffering, and speed up the process, of his inevitable death, Craig continued his search for a legal way to end his life, and discussed his viewpoint, feelings and fears, with his wife and children. Realizing that he was suffering, and death was fast approaching, his family respected his wishes, and supported him, in carrying them out. He ultimately found out about Dignitas, a clinic in Switzerland, which offers assisted suicide services, to Swiss citizens, and foreigners alike. Knowing he had to be able to swallow the lethal dose of sodium pentobarbital himself, and that his window of opportunity was closing (due to his degenerative disease, and the unpredictable nature of the illness), he set up his appointment, and was accepted, to receive their services.
During the filming of his four, final days, Craig talked about his reasoning behind wanting to commit suicide, and his opinions on it being illegal, throughout the UK, and much of the US. He very poignantly expressed the fact that, many people throw the issue of God, into the matter, as a leading factor, for why there isn't more support, for assisted suicide, and how it is ironically unfair, that "playing God" is seemingly only a matter of contention, when it involves ending a life (and suffering), versus saving it. He pointed out the glaringly obvious distinction, where doctors "play God," by saving newborn babies (through extreme medical intervention) and keep people alive, unnaturally long lifespans, through medicine, and machines, but that it's "ok" to "play God," when it preserves life. He pointed out the fact, that his respirator, had been "playing God," keeping him alive, and couldn't understand why it was only acceptable, to intervene in extending life, but unacceptable to end life, even when there is no hope of cure, and definite suffering present. I too, do not understand, the rationale, behind this unjust form of thinking.
The documentary discusses Swiss law, and says (which I've read in many articles) that because of the fact that euthanasia is illegal, in the UK, and most of the US, the Swiss government has seen a huge influx, in "suicide tourism," and that outside countries (namely the US & UK) have been pressuring Switzerland to reject foreign petitions, to die within their country. This scrutiny has made it difficult, for clinics like Dignitas, to accept any, but the most extreme, and most desperate of cases. Luckily for Craig, he met Dignitas' criteria.
I think it's a shame that people like Craig (and myself) are forced into living with incurable, extreme disabilities, essentially against our will. I can completely relate, to his suffering, his viewpoint on being forced into dependence, and his fears of feeling trapped, and hopeless. It is a shame, that anyone should have to fly half way around the world, and petition a foreign country, to die a dignified death. I think it is cruel, that our society (and the UK) would rather watch people suffer, who would otherwise be dead, if it were not for medical intervention, than to allow us, to choose what we can tolerate, and what we deem, is a life worth living. Why is it so wrong, to offer a peaceful death, to someone who has no means of living, on their own, to whom medical science can offer no cure, and who is, in his/her own opinion experiencing suffering? It makes me angry, that people like me and Craig have to leave the country, or slowly starve ourselves to death, or slowly die from infection, rather than be given a HUMANE, easy alternative, because other people (who have no clue what it's like to be in our shoes) think it's "right," or "wrong."
I know the pain, and loss, that Craig was faced with, and why he decided to end his life. I know, very well, the terror of being completely reliant on others, and the heaviness, of feeling like a burden. I too, know the sadness, and disappointment, of having to express feelings of wanting die, to the people I love, and the pain and guilt, that comes along with deciding I want to give up on life. I know the shame, blame, and guilt, that society at large, and religion, bears down on the individual. It is a horrible situation to be in.
I know what it's like to look into the eyes, of the people I love, and tell them that I feel my life is no longer worth living. I'm living through that pain, right now, and know how hard it is to let go, even though every fiber of my being is exhausted, and wanting to give in, my conscious keeps reminding me, of the pain my death will cause, and I wish I knew a way to avoid hurting the people I love, while at the same time ending my own suffering. I know how horribly frustrating it is, to be a prisoner, within your body. I'm trapped, exactly like Craig, and I understand his desire to escape.
I applaud Craig, for his courage, and his family, for their selflessness, and compassion. I don't think it's wrong, to want to die peacefully, when death is inevitable, and medicine offers no hope, of alleviating a person's pain, and all the future holds, is a life full of suffering. I wish I had a peaceful option; a means of escaping this life, that didn't involve added suffering, and putting my loved ones through a long, painful process, of watching me slowly die, day by day. I wish everyone could watch "The Suicide Tourist", and gain some perspective, on the fact that, sometimes the most humane, compassionate thing to do, is to offer a peaceful death, and to let go, versus sentencing someone (that would otherwise be dead anyway) to a lifetime of suffering.
Video- http://video.pbs.org/video/1430431984
Information about ALS-
http://www.alsa.org/about-als/what-is-als.html
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Why Getting a Colostomy is NOT an Option
It's hard to explain (more than I've already spelled out in my blog about IBS), why a colostomy would be so horrible. I recently posted my last blog (about my decision to no longer take antibiotics, and creating a DNR) on the Care Cure Forums. Many of the men on there responded, in bewilderment over why I'd rather die, than get a colostomy, which could possibly alleviate some of the AD symptoms, which plague me, on a daily basis. For me, the question boils down to "quality" versus "quantity" of life. In my mind, based on my standards, for myself, my personal struggles, preferences, and wants, getting a colostomy would not improve MY definition, of a quality life, it would lower it. Given my current situation, and the way I define quality, for myself, the bar is already set very low, because of my extreme paralysis. Getting a colostomy MIGHT (let's keep in mind there's no guarantee) alleviate some of my physical suffering, but I am CERTAIN it would add to my emotional suffering. The decision NOT to get a colostomy, is a no brainer for me, for many, many reasons. It has been one of the two things I have absolutely refused to consider (that and a tracheotomy), since day one of my injury.
Sometimes, I think men are more laid back, and accepting about bodily functions, fluids, and modesty, in general. What you have to understand, about me, is that I had bathroom issues before my SCI. I have deep rooted feelings of shame & embarrassment, revolving around the need to go to the bathroom (number two). I couldn't use public bathrooms, or go at other people's houses. Having IBS complicated matters, and I would tolerate tremendous amounts of pain, holding it in, because I couldn't bear the thought (embarrassment) over going, and having other people know about it. I know that's illogical, and that it's a natural human function. However, my brain also tells me it's disgusting, unladylike, and I have always felt the compulsion to hide the fact that I do it. I have always been extremely critical of myself, and often hold myself to unrealistically high ideals, to be a perfect person. Having a SCI and being paralyzed has been my own personal hell. It has forced me to reveal every minute flaw, from acne, to bodily fluids, to poop, to my naked body, flab, hair in places I don't want, etc. The list goes on and on. Everything I used to work hard to perfect, through exercise, diet, grooming, makeup, and in the PRIVACY of MY own bathroom, by MYSELF, I'm now FORCED into sharing with others, and are exposed, for all to see.
I have been self conscious about my weight, and my looks, my entire life. I've always felt the need to be perfect; to look like the women in magazines; to be the best in everything I do; best in class; best teacher; best artist; best daughter; best friend and so on, and so forth. Although I know I'm only human, just like everyone else, when I was on my feet, at least I could deal with my humanly imperfections, and flaws, in private. I had the luxury of being able to create, and mold myself into the best possible version of myself, through hard work. I had control, over handling and tackling my flaws, my way, by myself. Paralysis has robbed me of my control, and my privacy. It has been hell.
I was never comfortable in my own skin. I was always working to improve myself. At the time of my accident, I had already scheduled a cosmetic procedure, to enhance my looks; to be a better me. My accident happened three weeks, before surgery, and it never got done. It still bothers me, and I still feel lacking. In fact, my SCI has made me feel uglier, and more flawed than ever. It's robbed me of the ability to exercise, and tone my muscles. It's left me flabby, full of scars. I can no longer take care of myself (hair, makeup, nails, skin, etc) the way I used to. Having to have other people, help me with those things, that SHOULD be private, has been awful. The worst aspects, of paralysis, and not being able to care for myself, by far, has been anything, and everything related to the bathroom, and my body. The more, foul, and disgusting, the more embarrassment, and shame I feel; the more violated I feel.
Having to have other adults, see my nude body (people that I'd otherwise, NEVER reveal myself too- like my mother, adult siblings, countless aides, friends, nurses and doctors) and have to touch, and help me, and WITNESS my urine, blood, spit, poop, boogers, vomit, and pimples, is horrifying to me. I feel like paralysis has stripped me, of my basic human rights, to care for myself, and keep my self respect, and dignity. I HATE every single time I need to expose myself, and my flaws. I SHOULD at the very least, have the control, and privacy, to handle my body, and all of it's flaws and functions, as a self sufficient adult. It's not normal, or right, that paralysis FORCES me to reveal all my insecurities. Every human being is entitled to privacy, however paralysis has made that impossible for me. Living with paralysis, has imposed countless, uncomfortable, emotionally, and physically painful limitations on me, that leave me with no choice, but to accept, being violated, and continually exposed.
The thought of having to undergo another surgery, and have ANOTHER false, oriphus cut into my body, is unacceptable. I know the pain, and embarrassment that my catheter causes me. It is revolting, and I hate it. It is unnatural, and leaves me susceptible to chronic infection, and in and of itself, has been a source of sickness, and physical discomfort. I absolutely refuse, to do the same, with the single most repulsive bodily function (in my opinion) possible. I will not live with a bag of feces strapped to my side. I'd do ANYTHING to NOT have to "go" in the first place. Being perpetually attached to a bag of shit, to me, is the ultimate submission of self respect. If that is where I'm at, in life, that I must stoop to that low, to extend my life, then life itself is not worth living.
I have endured unconscionable compromises, in these last six years, for the sake of living, but at what cost? I am miserable. I hate paralysis. I hate feeling violated. I hate having little, to no control over my privacy, my health, and my body. I have suffered with loss on such a massive scale, that no one should ever have to suffer. My body and mind are rejecting this unnatural life. I will not submit anymore. I have suffered enough. I have (and continue to) accepted help, to be fed, clothed, and bathed, to endure bowel program (getting routinely sodomized- for lack of a better description), take dozens of pills every day and have a catheter. At what point, am I allowed to say, enough, is enough? I see very little quality, in the life paralysis has forced on me. I will not bend any lower. I will not compromise any further.
I'm tired of living a lie. I am not happy. I will never be satisfied with THIS life, because of ALL the compromise, and lack of privacy. I don't think I'm being unreasonable, for wanting BASIC human rights, and abilities. I don't think it's illogical, or wrong, to want a normal life, to want better for myself, and to have limits, to what I'm willing to accept. I think I've been quite flexible, and rational, these past six years. I understand my limitations, and know the reality of my situation. I know that's it's not done out of malice, but out of care, that people want me to accept, the unacceptable. People want me to live, for them. I'm thinking about living for me. Getting a colostomy is not something I can, or want to have handle living with.
Yes, my decision to forgo taking antibiotics will most likely result in my death. All I'm saying is that, I haven't decided to PROACTIVELY hasten my death, by refusing food/water. I can't control getting, or not getting a UTI, or any other infection. I can control, if I want to fight to live. In that regard, I see no value, in prolonging my own suffering. Just as, getting a colostomy, would serve to extend my life, it would also extend my suffering. No matter how I look at it, living with paralysis, given my physiology (having IBS, needing a catheter, being completely paralyzed, dealing with AD), my personality, and my personal standards, it only equates to suffering. As long as I live, being completely paralyzed, I will continue to suffer, because of my hate of being dependent, lack of privacy, and chronic illness. To me, this life is not worth fighting for anymore.
I'm not saying, I have absolutely nothing worth living for. My loved ones, and the love, support, they give me, and the time we spend together IS most certainly valuable. However, on a whole, living with paralysis is very painful (emotionally and physically). For me, personally, their love and support, is not enough, to counterbalance the immense loss I've endured, and doesn't justify me continuing to live THIS way forever. I'm tired. I don't want to keep extending THIS life. I know that sucks, for my loved ones. I know the pain of loss, better than anyone. It doesn't mean I don't love and appreciate my friends and family. I just feel like I love myself enough, to not want to keep perpetually living a life that is torture. No one has to agree with me, they just have to respect my choice. I'm the one living (or dying) in my shoes. What will happen, will happen. I am at peace with that.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sometimes, I think men are more laid back, and accepting about bodily functions, fluids, and modesty, in general. What you have to understand, about me, is that I had bathroom issues before my SCI. I have deep rooted feelings of shame & embarrassment, revolving around the need to go to the bathroom (number two). I couldn't use public bathrooms, or go at other people's houses. Having IBS complicated matters, and I would tolerate tremendous amounts of pain, holding it in, because I couldn't bear the thought (embarrassment) over going, and having other people know about it. I know that's illogical, and that it's a natural human function. However, my brain also tells me it's disgusting, unladylike, and I have always felt the compulsion to hide the fact that I do it. I have always been extremely critical of myself, and often hold myself to unrealistically high ideals, to be a perfect person. Having a SCI and being paralyzed has been my own personal hell. It has forced me to reveal every minute flaw, from acne, to bodily fluids, to poop, to my naked body, flab, hair in places I don't want, etc. The list goes on and on. Everything I used to work hard to perfect, through exercise, diet, grooming, makeup, and in the PRIVACY of MY own bathroom, by MYSELF, I'm now FORCED into sharing with others, and are exposed, for all to see.
I have been self conscious about my weight, and my looks, my entire life. I've always felt the need to be perfect; to look like the women in magazines; to be the best in everything I do; best in class; best teacher; best artist; best daughter; best friend and so on, and so forth. Although I know I'm only human, just like everyone else, when I was on my feet, at least I could deal with my humanly imperfections, and flaws, in private. I had the luxury of being able to create, and mold myself into the best possible version of myself, through hard work. I had control, over handling and tackling my flaws, my way, by myself. Paralysis has robbed me of my control, and my privacy. It has been hell.
I was never comfortable in my own skin. I was always working to improve myself. At the time of my accident, I had already scheduled a cosmetic procedure, to enhance my looks; to be a better me. My accident happened three weeks, before surgery, and it never got done. It still bothers me, and I still feel lacking. In fact, my SCI has made me feel uglier, and more flawed than ever. It's robbed me of the ability to exercise, and tone my muscles. It's left me flabby, full of scars. I can no longer take care of myself (hair, makeup, nails, skin, etc) the way I used to. Having to have other people, help me with those things, that SHOULD be private, has been awful. The worst aspects, of paralysis, and not being able to care for myself, by far, has been anything, and everything related to the bathroom, and my body. The more, foul, and disgusting, the more embarrassment, and shame I feel; the more violated I feel.
Having to have other adults, see my nude body (people that I'd otherwise, NEVER reveal myself too- like my mother, adult siblings, countless aides, friends, nurses and doctors) and have to touch, and help me, and WITNESS my urine, blood, spit, poop, boogers, vomit, and pimples, is horrifying to me. I feel like paralysis has stripped me, of my basic human rights, to care for myself, and keep my self respect, and dignity. I HATE every single time I need to expose myself, and my flaws. I SHOULD at the very least, have the control, and privacy, to handle my body, and all of it's flaws and functions, as a self sufficient adult. It's not normal, or right, that paralysis FORCES me to reveal all my insecurities. Every human being is entitled to privacy, however paralysis has made that impossible for me. Living with paralysis, has imposed countless, uncomfortable, emotionally, and physically painful limitations on me, that leave me with no choice, but to accept, being violated, and continually exposed.
The thought of having to undergo another surgery, and have ANOTHER false, oriphus cut into my body, is unacceptable. I know the pain, and embarrassment that my catheter causes me. It is revolting, and I hate it. It is unnatural, and leaves me susceptible to chronic infection, and in and of itself, has been a source of sickness, and physical discomfort. I absolutely refuse, to do the same, with the single most repulsive bodily function (in my opinion) possible. I will not live with a bag of feces strapped to my side. I'd do ANYTHING to NOT have to "go" in the first place. Being perpetually attached to a bag of shit, to me, is the ultimate submission of self respect. If that is where I'm at, in life, that I must stoop to that low, to extend my life, then life itself is not worth living.
I have endured unconscionable compromises, in these last six years, for the sake of living, but at what cost? I am miserable. I hate paralysis. I hate feeling violated. I hate having little, to no control over my privacy, my health, and my body. I have suffered with loss on such a massive scale, that no one should ever have to suffer. My body and mind are rejecting this unnatural life. I will not submit anymore. I have suffered enough. I have (and continue to) accepted help, to be fed, clothed, and bathed, to endure bowel program (getting routinely sodomized- for lack of a better description), take dozens of pills every day and have a catheter. At what point, am I allowed to say, enough, is enough? I see very little quality, in the life paralysis has forced on me. I will not bend any lower. I will not compromise any further.
I'm tired of living a lie. I am not happy. I will never be satisfied with THIS life, because of ALL the compromise, and lack of privacy. I don't think I'm being unreasonable, for wanting BASIC human rights, and abilities. I don't think it's illogical, or wrong, to want a normal life, to want better for myself, and to have limits, to what I'm willing to accept. I think I've been quite flexible, and rational, these past six years. I understand my limitations, and know the reality of my situation. I know that's it's not done out of malice, but out of care, that people want me to accept, the unacceptable. People want me to live, for them. I'm thinking about living for me. Getting a colostomy is not something I can, or want to have handle living with.
Yes, my decision to forgo taking antibiotics will most likely result in my death. All I'm saying is that, I haven't decided to PROACTIVELY hasten my death, by refusing food/water. I can't control getting, or not getting a UTI, or any other infection. I can control, if I want to fight to live. In that regard, I see no value, in prolonging my own suffering. Just as, getting a colostomy, would serve to extend my life, it would also extend my suffering. No matter how I look at it, living with paralysis, given my physiology (having IBS, needing a catheter, being completely paralyzed, dealing with AD), my personality, and my personal standards, it only equates to suffering. As long as I live, being completely paralyzed, I will continue to suffer, because of my hate of being dependent, lack of privacy, and chronic illness. To me, this life is not worth fighting for anymore.
I'm not saying, I have absolutely nothing worth living for. My loved ones, and the love, support, they give me, and the time we spend together IS most certainly valuable. However, on a whole, living with paralysis is very painful (emotionally and physically). For me, personally, their love and support, is not enough, to counterbalance the immense loss I've endured, and doesn't justify me continuing to live THIS way forever. I'm tired. I don't want to keep extending THIS life. I know that sucks, for my loved ones. I know the pain of loss, better than anyone. It doesn't mean I don't love and appreciate my friends and family. I just feel like I love myself enough, to not want to keep perpetually living a life that is torture. No one has to agree with me, they just have to respect my choice. I'm the one living (or dying) in my shoes. What will happen, will happen. I am at peace with that.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Reasons For Suffering? Cruel & Unusual Punishment.
Although I don't have a strong faith in any specific God, I have been reading the bible (King James version), both New and Old Testaments, and do pray, on a daily basis. I'm not angry at God, and I do not blame God, for what happened to me. I believe, if God exists, God gave us free will. My accident happened as a result of my own poor judgment, and my actions. I have an EXTREMELY hard time believing in the notion, that God "planned" this for me, or that God "wants" me to suffer. If God is all knowing, and all loving, surely God would not want THIS life for me.
While I don't blame God, I do wonder why God seemingly intervenes in some people's lives, and not others. It doesn't seem just, that God would "play favorites" and miraculously heal some people, while allowing others to suffer. I struggle with the notion of why God hasn't chosen to alleviate my suffering, by curing me, or taking me away from this life. Surely, if God exists, he knows how awful my quality of life is, and how terrible it is to feel chronically ill, and have to endure humiliating, degrading treatments.
I know God has blessed me with talents, and that I have been able to do good, and help others. My question is, how long am I expected to suffer, for the sake of others? Jesus suffered for our sins, but at least he understood, and knew his purpose. I feel at a loss, as to why I must live this way. I have no proof, or concrete answers as to why I must suffer, or for how long. Jesus knew his purpose, understood his mission, and had the definite belief that he would be resurrected, and rejoin God. I have no explanation, no end in sight, and do not know for certain what awaits me, after death. I do not have a direct communication with God, in terms of God answering my prayers directly, or giving me explanations. I don't have angels attending to me, nor the power to create miracles. I think it's unrealistic, and unfair, to be expected to live up to Jesus's standard, when he had the comforts of knowing, and understanding the purpose, and reasoning behind his own suffering (assuming that he was in fact, the son of God).
It is especially hard, trying to make sense of how unjust life seems. I was a good person, and yet I must suffer. There are evil people, that rape, steal, and murder, that have healthy bodies, and live full lives. I know that we will all supposedly get judged once we die. People that do evil deeds here on earth, could receive all types of varying punishments, in hell, but heaven is heaven. Just as an example, theoretically, my grandma and I will both be going to heaven. She got to live a full life, have a family of her own, travel, and experience life with relatively good health, very late into her life. My life was cut short, at twenty four, and I've been suffering horribly, ever since. Yet, we will both get the same reward. I'm not saying my grandma doesn't deserve to go to heaven, I just don't understand the reasoning behind my suffering having a meaning, or purpose. It's not like there's levels of heaven. Heaven, is heaven. So why is it, that I MUST suffer? It's not like I'm going to get some extra special reward, or go to a better heaven, than everyone else.
My art, and writing may help others, but my overall lifestyle and chronic illness has left me feeling unfilled, unsatisfied, and very much like a prisoner. I feel as though I'm being forced to live a painful life, full of sickness, loss, and limitations, against my will. I do not want a catheter, bowel program, to take dozens of pills, have no privacy, or personal space, to be clothed, washed, and fed like a baby. I'm only alive because our society has the means, and resources to keep me alive. I'm forced into living a very unnatural, unhappy life.
I have no means to fend for myself. I either accept the catheter, bowel program, medications, and help from others, or I die. Every day, my life is being artificially extended (against my will-for the sake of others). Under ANY other circumstance, the things I have to endure, would be considered torture, but society ignores that truth, under the guise of medical necessity. Just because I have no other choice, doesn't mean I should HAVE to live this way, or be forced to. Yet my caregivers, and loved ones expect me to accept the unacceptable, because they don't want to see me die. They don't want to lose me. They feel I can contribute to society. I know I can, but for me, it doesn't seem worth the price I have to pay. Living this low quality of life, of limited options, and chronic illness is not worth it, for me.
A reader of my blogs, sent me this analogy:
"Thinking about your situation, Christina, I recently had the following thought. Suppose a brutal foreign dictatorship were to take a political prisoner and subject him to the EXACT same routine your paralysis imposes upon you. That is, they bind the prisoner up tightly so he can't move from the shoulders down, can't feed himself, can't even scratch an itch.
He has to be carried or hoisted from place to place. As an added 'enhanced interrogation technique,' this political prisoner also has his bowels manually evacuated every other day, being strapped half-naked to a commode chair, sometimes for a couple of hours at a time, afforded no privacy whatsoever. And, for the convenience of the guards, plus just to pile extra humiliation and discomfort on this man, they surgically install a suprapubic catheter.
They keep this political prisoner in these conditions for HALF A DECADE. Furthermore, like many prisoners of conscience the world over, the tormented man is never told when, if ever, he will regain his freedom. Maybe a year from now ... maybe a month from now ... quite possibly never.
Now, there is no human rights organization on this planet that would not be howling at the moon over what this prisoner was being subjected to. Plainly, he is being subjected to soul-numbing, psychologically devastating torture. NO ONE would assert what this political prisoner was being forced to endure wasn't a horrible violation of the man's most basic human rights, and certainly no one would be telling him to just get used to it, or it isn't so bad, or that once he 'adjusts' to this new way of life at some unspecified time in the future, everything will just be peachy.
Indeed, anyone who DID suggest that the condition of this prisoner's detainment weren't really so bad, or that his situation was one that anyone could cheerfully live with in time, if he put his mind do it, would be called crazy."
When I read this, I couldn't help but scream (to myself), "Thank you!" Thank you for understanding me. Thank you for seeing reason. Thank you for noticing the obvious, that NO ONE else in my life wants to readily express, or admit. I think everything about this analogy rings true, and can't understand why more people don't see my situation, in this way, as I do, or whether or not they are just afraid to admit it, for fear of encouraging me, to give up. I don't expect my loved ones to cheer me on, or want to see me hasten my death. I just want to feel understood, and validated, for feeling the way that I do.
I'm constantly frustrated, at having to explain, or justify my reasons, for not wanting to live this way. I do feel I'm being tortured; not necessarily by God, but just by the nature of how my paralysis has forced me to live. I do feel like I'm being punished, for one mistake (again, not necessarily by God, but punishment none the less). I do feel like a prisoner, trapped in my own body. I do feel like the lifestyle that PARALYSIS forces on me is cruel, and inhumane. It is, what it is, and I have no choice but to accept it, or die. That's reality. It's a reality I want people to understand, because I think it desperately needs a solution, a cure. People like me, deserve a cure, or at the very least the right to decide whether or not we want to live with paralysis (and everything that entails- not out of choice, but necessity).
People often bring up the fact, that I used to be more optimistic, in interviews I've done, and in the TV episode of Soul Survivors. Back in 2009, when I filmed Soul Survivors, I still had hope of a possible cure. Since then, my health has deteriorated, and before now, I wasn't having to deal with daily fevers, cold sweats and mysterious chest pressure. I know (based on everything I read) that realistically, a cure for chronic SCI patients, is at least a decade away. I honestly don't think I can live this way for another decade. Six years has been hell on earth.
I haven't decided if I'll ever choose to actively hasten my death, by refusing to accept food/water, but I have decided I no longer want to go to any extraordinary measures to extend my life (beyond what I'm already doing- and feel in and of it's self is excessive- such as having the catheter, taking dozens of pills, and having a bowel program). I have a willing will, that states I don't want any artificial life support, and am in the process of making a DNR (do not resuscitate order- in case of emergency). If I get a urinary tract infection, or respiratory infection, I'm not going to take antibiotics. I will let the illness run it's course. I'm tired of fighting for a life I hate living. My hope is, that I've suffered enough, and that when that time comes, God and my loved ones will understand my decision.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
While I don't blame God, I do wonder why God seemingly intervenes in some people's lives, and not others. It doesn't seem just, that God would "play favorites" and miraculously heal some people, while allowing others to suffer. I struggle with the notion of why God hasn't chosen to alleviate my suffering, by curing me, or taking me away from this life. Surely, if God exists, he knows how awful my quality of life is, and how terrible it is to feel chronically ill, and have to endure humiliating, degrading treatments.
I know God has blessed me with talents, and that I have been able to do good, and help others. My question is, how long am I expected to suffer, for the sake of others? Jesus suffered for our sins, but at least he understood, and knew his purpose. I feel at a loss, as to why I must live this way. I have no proof, or concrete answers as to why I must suffer, or for how long. Jesus knew his purpose, understood his mission, and had the definite belief that he would be resurrected, and rejoin God. I have no explanation, no end in sight, and do not know for certain what awaits me, after death. I do not have a direct communication with God, in terms of God answering my prayers directly, or giving me explanations. I don't have angels attending to me, nor the power to create miracles. I think it's unrealistic, and unfair, to be expected to live up to Jesus's standard, when he had the comforts of knowing, and understanding the purpose, and reasoning behind his own suffering (assuming that he was in fact, the son of God).
It is especially hard, trying to make sense of how unjust life seems. I was a good person, and yet I must suffer. There are evil people, that rape, steal, and murder, that have healthy bodies, and live full lives. I know that we will all supposedly get judged once we die. People that do evil deeds here on earth, could receive all types of varying punishments, in hell, but heaven is heaven. Just as an example, theoretically, my grandma and I will both be going to heaven. She got to live a full life, have a family of her own, travel, and experience life with relatively good health, very late into her life. My life was cut short, at twenty four, and I've been suffering horribly, ever since. Yet, we will both get the same reward. I'm not saying my grandma doesn't deserve to go to heaven, I just don't understand the reasoning behind my suffering having a meaning, or purpose. It's not like there's levels of heaven. Heaven, is heaven. So why is it, that I MUST suffer? It's not like I'm going to get some extra special reward, or go to a better heaven, than everyone else.
My art, and writing may help others, but my overall lifestyle and chronic illness has left me feeling unfilled, unsatisfied, and very much like a prisoner. I feel as though I'm being forced to live a painful life, full of sickness, loss, and limitations, against my will. I do not want a catheter, bowel program, to take dozens of pills, have no privacy, or personal space, to be clothed, washed, and fed like a baby. I'm only alive because our society has the means, and resources to keep me alive. I'm forced into living a very unnatural, unhappy life.
I have no means to fend for myself. I either accept the catheter, bowel program, medications, and help from others, or I die. Every day, my life is being artificially extended (against my will-for the sake of others). Under ANY other circumstance, the things I have to endure, would be considered torture, but society ignores that truth, under the guise of medical necessity. Just because I have no other choice, doesn't mean I should HAVE to live this way, or be forced to. Yet my caregivers, and loved ones expect me to accept the unacceptable, because they don't want to see me die. They don't want to lose me. They feel I can contribute to society. I know I can, but for me, it doesn't seem worth the price I have to pay. Living this low quality of life, of limited options, and chronic illness is not worth it, for me.
A reader of my blogs, sent me this analogy:
"Thinking about your situation, Christina, I recently had the following thought. Suppose a brutal foreign dictatorship were to take a political prisoner and subject him to the EXACT same routine your paralysis imposes upon you. That is, they bind the prisoner up tightly so he can't move from the shoulders down, can't feed himself, can't even scratch an itch.
He has to be carried or hoisted from place to place. As an added 'enhanced interrogation technique,' this political prisoner also has his bowels manually evacuated every other day, being strapped half-naked to a commode chair, sometimes for a couple of hours at a time, afforded no privacy whatsoever. And, for the convenience of the guards, plus just to pile extra humiliation and discomfort on this man, they surgically install a suprapubic catheter.
They keep this political prisoner in these conditions for HALF A DECADE. Furthermore, like many prisoners of conscience the world over, the tormented man is never told when, if ever, he will regain his freedom. Maybe a year from now ... maybe a month from now ... quite possibly never.
Now, there is no human rights organization on this planet that would not be howling at the moon over what this prisoner was being subjected to. Plainly, he is being subjected to soul-numbing, psychologically devastating torture. NO ONE would assert what this political prisoner was being forced to endure wasn't a horrible violation of the man's most basic human rights, and certainly no one would be telling him to just get used to it, or it isn't so bad, or that once he 'adjusts' to this new way of life at some unspecified time in the future, everything will just be peachy.
Indeed, anyone who DID suggest that the condition of this prisoner's detainment weren't really so bad, or that his situation was one that anyone could cheerfully live with in time, if he put his mind do it, would be called crazy."
When I read this, I couldn't help but scream (to myself), "Thank you!" Thank you for understanding me. Thank you for seeing reason. Thank you for noticing the obvious, that NO ONE else in my life wants to readily express, or admit. I think everything about this analogy rings true, and can't understand why more people don't see my situation, in this way, as I do, or whether or not they are just afraid to admit it, for fear of encouraging me, to give up. I don't expect my loved ones to cheer me on, or want to see me hasten my death. I just want to feel understood, and validated, for feeling the way that I do.
I'm constantly frustrated, at having to explain, or justify my reasons, for not wanting to live this way. I do feel I'm being tortured; not necessarily by God, but just by the nature of how my paralysis has forced me to live. I do feel like I'm being punished, for one mistake (again, not necessarily by God, but punishment none the less). I do feel like a prisoner, trapped in my own body. I do feel like the lifestyle that PARALYSIS forces on me is cruel, and inhumane. It is, what it is, and I have no choice but to accept it, or die. That's reality. It's a reality I want people to understand, because I think it desperately needs a solution, a cure. People like me, deserve a cure, or at the very least the right to decide whether or not we want to live with paralysis (and everything that entails- not out of choice, but necessity).
People often bring up the fact, that I used to be more optimistic, in interviews I've done, and in the TV episode of Soul Survivors. Back in 2009, when I filmed Soul Survivors, I still had hope of a possible cure. Since then, my health has deteriorated, and before now, I wasn't having to deal with daily fevers, cold sweats and mysterious chest pressure. I know (based on everything I read) that realistically, a cure for chronic SCI patients, is at least a decade away. I honestly don't think I can live this way for another decade. Six years has been hell on earth.
I haven't decided if I'll ever choose to actively hasten my death, by refusing to accept food/water, but I have decided I no longer want to go to any extraordinary measures to extend my life (beyond what I'm already doing- and feel in and of it's self is excessive- such as having the catheter, taking dozens of pills, and having a bowel program). I have a willing will, that states I don't want any artificial life support, and am in the process of making a DNR (do not resuscitate order- in case of emergency). If I get a urinary tract infection, or respiratory infection, I'm not going to take antibiotics. I will let the illness run it's course. I'm tired of fighting for a life I hate living. My hope is, that I've suffered enough, and that when that time comes, God and my loved ones will understand my decision.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Friday, April 15, 2011
My Pets
My pets are one of the few things that make me smile. Ordinarily, I'm a cat lover. Growing up, I had two households (my dad & stepmom's house, in NJ and my mom & stepdad's house in PA). I lived primarily with my dad, and stepmom, and visited my mom & stepdad on weekends and during school vacations. At my dad's we had a strict "no mammal" pet policy. My dad maintained a fish aquarium, and my stepmom has two parrots (one Amazon , name Rocky, and a Goffin Cockatoo, named Noel). While the parrots can be amusing, only my stepmom can actually handle Rocky, and Noel is a bit neurotic. Neither of them provided me, with any companionship. At my mom's we always had a ton of cats, outside dogs, and various small critters, over the years (guinea pigs, lizards, parakeets and rabbit). I was especially attached to three cats, whom I grew up with, Nusy, Gizmo and Mitzoo. My mother had Nusy, every since I was a baby. We got Gizmo when I was around four, and Mitzoo when I was about seven. I was most attached to Gizmo, who lived the longest (she died shortly after I began going to college), and I spent the most time with. She was super lovable, affectionate and sweet. Even as an old cat, she had the cutest high pitch mew, that sounded just like a kitten.
I love dogs, but I've always preferred cats. As an adult, most of my boyfriends had dogs, and both my little sisters, and brother each had dogs. I've been around them nearly my whole life, love playing with them, and being around them, just never owned one of my own, until recently. I'm an animal lover, in general, and like all kinds of little critters. I especially love little, fury mammals. I enjoyed playing with my guinea pigs, at my mom's when I was young, and always felt I was missing something, not having a pet of my own, at my dad's. It wasn't until I was almost finished with college, that I managed to convince my dad, to let me break the "no mammal" rule, and bring home a pet. I adopted a chinchilla, who I named Tskushi (after an anime character), from my mentor, Mr. Grace. He had been my high school art teacher, and mentor for my junior filed work, and student teaching. When I found out he had experience breeding chinchillas, and had a few up for adoption, I just HAD to have one. At first I convinced my boyfriend at the time, to let me keep her at his place, but later moved her home, to my parents house. I thought my dad would pitch a fit, but instead he fell in love her, and played with her, and enjoyed her company, just as much as I did. In fact, when I first brought up the idea of moving out, he asked if I wouldn't mind leaving Tskushi behind, because he'd grown so attached to her.
When I moved out and got my first apartment, one of the most exciting aspects to my new found freedom, and independence was getting my own cat. I adopted a pretty, little grey and white cat, from my grandparents. They had inherited her from a friend, who had initially just asked them to watch her temporarily. They already had two other cats, and I felt like they were struggling to care for them, so I offered to take "Tinkerbell" who I later changed her name to Bella. I moved into my first place in April, 2005 (precisely six years ago, today). I only got to enjoy living in my apartment, and with Bella, for two months, before my injury. Even though our time together was short lived, I quickly fell in love with her, and really enjoyed her company. She had a big personality, and demanded a lot of attention, which I kind of liked. She's was super chatty, and would meow my ear off, as soon as I got home from work, every day.
The funny thing was, I didn't realize that she was pregnant when I adopted her (she was only around seven months old, had a small frame, and had been an indoor cat). Both her, and my grandparents' other cat, were not neutered, and had apparently conceived a kitten, just before I took her. Three weeks before my accident, I came home to a big surprise. I had just finished bar tending school (I had lined up a bar tending job for summer employment), and came home late that night. I opened the door to my apartment, and Bella greeted me, as usual, meowing away, about who knows what, when out of her little cubbyhole, crawls out a small, grey thing. At first, I was shocked, and thought maybe she's somehow caught a mouse. I crouched down, to get a better look, and realized it was a kitten! Immediately, I called my boyfriend (who was already on his way over) and started freaking out, and frantically searching my apartment for the rest of the litter. We searched high and low, and found no signs of any other kittens. I thought that was bizarre, and called an emergency vetinary hotline, to get advice. They told me, it could take hours, in between labor, and to stay up with her, and monitor her through the night. By the next morning, we still only had one, small grey kitten, so we took mother, and daughter to the vet to get examined. They took some xrays and determined that Bella had an abnormally small "litter", of one, most likely due to the fact that she and the father cat, were both very young in age. I was pleased, that they were both healthy, and decided to keep the new addition to the family. We named her Rosa (the initial choice was "Axel"-based of the lead singer from Guns'n'Roses-but given the fact we found out she was a girl, we came up with a compromise). Rosa had just opened her eyes, and had begun running around when I got hurt. When my apartment got closed down, my best friend Erin adopted them both. Now Erin, and her husband have Rosa, and my grandparents have Bella. I've had the chance to "cat sit" for them, various times, throughout the past six years.
After my accident, I spent a year and a half living in a nursing home. In January 2007, I got myself out, and into an apartment of my own. For the first year living here, I lived with a roommate. Steve and I had been high school classmates, and had got back in touch, shortly before my accident. He really helped me out, by agreeing to room with me. Although I have no functional mobility, the state only provides me with eight hours of having a home health aide, per day. It was crucial for me to have a roommate, to have the safety, and security, of having someone here at night, in case of emergency. Steve and I got along well, and I enjoyed our time living together. As an added bonus, Steve brought along his cat Maynerd (aka Manny) to keep us company. I really enjoyed having Manny around, especially during the day, when I was alone in the apartment by myself.
After living here for about a year, Steve and his girlfriend (now wife) decided they wanted to get a place of their own. I had a new roommate lined up, but he backed out at the last minute, leaving me in a tight spot. I asked my sister Kati, if she wouldn't mind coming to stay with me for a while. She agreed, and moved in with her dog Precious, who I knew, since before my accident. Precious is a golden retriever, cocker spaniel, corgy mixed breed. She's super affection, lovable, mild mannered and very well behaved. Having her here has been really great. She's super loyal, and loves to keep me company. She often lays near my wheelchair, or beside my bed. Everyone that meets her, just loves her.
Once Manny had left, I felt like I really missed having a cat. I discussed the idea of getting one, with Kati, and my mom, and they both agreed they'd be willing to help me take care of one. We adopted Tommy, around Halloween, 2008. I had searched for a while, online and ended up finding him through his foster family. Since we already had Precious, it was important for me to adopt a "dog friendly" cat. Tommy is just that! In fact, we think he thinks he IS a dog. He plays well with dogs, is EXTREMELY outgoing, curious & smart. He even wears a harness & takes walks with the dogs (I'm serious).
Tommy is a little too smart! He can open all of the doors in my apartment, so we had to change my doorknob from a lever, to a round knob. When I first got him, I had an environmental control unit, that I could control, by tapping a button, on my pillow, with my head & give verbal commands. If I needed help, I'd tap the button, and say "get Steve", which would in turn, sound an alarm in Steve's room (now my sister's room). For some reason, instead of just pouncing on my sister, and waking her up, he'd come barreling into my MY room, meowing for food, at 5 or 6 am. Then, I'd sound the alarm, and he'd go charging off, towards the second bedroom. The routine got old, fast, and I opted for the different knob, which he's since given up trying. He will on occassion bust into the bathroom, on guests, if they forget to lock the door. He's one of a kind (my family has owned many, many cats). He got very attached to my mom (who plays with, walks, & feeds him), and could care less about me. He is catlike in the one aspect, that he requires a 50/50 relationship. I can't offer him much, so he's not interested in me. That's the main reason I got Naama.
Naama is my very first dog. She is a Miniature Pinscher, with a BIG personality! I always thought if I were to get a dog, I'd want a small, short hair breed. Being a cat person, I like the idea of being able to carry my pet, and be able to have my pet on my lap, and in bed with me. She was a spur of the moment purchase. A friend of mine, who I met online (playing Maple Story) had come to visit. We took her to see my art exhibit, and then to a local mall, to my favorite restaurant chain, the Rainforest Cafe. We made the mistake (in a good way) to stop in the pet store on the way out & I fell in love with Naama. I'd always wanted a mini-pin & really wanted the companionship. I named her after my friend, Naama. She's the best thing (being) I ever bought. She's super cute & sassy. She makes me laugh. She's super spoiled, and she knows it! She's definitely got a "diva" complex, and can at times, be a total drama queen! She's the closest thing I have to a child, and I love buying her cute little outfits to wear. She's got quite a wardrobe, and I get a kick out of seeing her prance around, in her clothes. She's been great for Tommy, and they play well together. They can both get pretty hyper, and Precious is too old to be bothered. Tommy and Naama make good playmates and I just love watching the two of them interact. Having pets has definitely been a spirit lifting experience for me. They can make me smile, even on my worst ways. I'm truly thankful for their love and companionship.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
I love dogs, but I've always preferred cats. As an adult, most of my boyfriends had dogs, and both my little sisters, and brother each had dogs. I've been around them nearly my whole life, love playing with them, and being around them, just never owned one of my own, until recently. I'm an animal lover, in general, and like all kinds of little critters. I especially love little, fury mammals. I enjoyed playing with my guinea pigs, at my mom's when I was young, and always felt I was missing something, not having a pet of my own, at my dad's. It wasn't until I was almost finished with college, that I managed to convince my dad, to let me break the "no mammal" rule, and bring home a pet. I adopted a chinchilla, who I named Tskushi (after an anime character), from my mentor, Mr. Grace. He had been my high school art teacher, and mentor for my junior filed work, and student teaching. When I found out he had experience breeding chinchillas, and had a few up for adoption, I just HAD to have one. At first I convinced my boyfriend at the time, to let me keep her at his place, but later moved her home, to my parents house. I thought my dad would pitch a fit, but instead he fell in love her, and played with her, and enjoyed her company, just as much as I did. In fact, when I first brought up the idea of moving out, he asked if I wouldn't mind leaving Tskushi behind, because he'd grown so attached to her.
When I moved out and got my first apartment, one of the most exciting aspects to my new found freedom, and independence was getting my own cat. I adopted a pretty, little grey and white cat, from my grandparents. They had inherited her from a friend, who had initially just asked them to watch her temporarily. They already had two other cats, and I felt like they were struggling to care for them, so I offered to take "Tinkerbell" who I later changed her name to Bella. I moved into my first place in April, 2005 (precisely six years ago, today). I only got to enjoy living in my apartment, and with Bella, for two months, before my injury. Even though our time together was short lived, I quickly fell in love with her, and really enjoyed her company. She had a big personality, and demanded a lot of attention, which I kind of liked. She's was super chatty, and would meow my ear off, as soon as I got home from work, every day.
The funny thing was, I didn't realize that she was pregnant when I adopted her (she was only around seven months old, had a small frame, and had been an indoor cat). Both her, and my grandparents' other cat, were not neutered, and had apparently conceived a kitten, just before I took her. Three weeks before my accident, I came home to a big surprise. I had just finished bar tending school (I had lined up a bar tending job for summer employment), and came home late that night. I opened the door to my apartment, and Bella greeted me, as usual, meowing away, about who knows what, when out of her little cubbyhole, crawls out a small, grey thing. At first, I was shocked, and thought maybe she's somehow caught a mouse. I crouched down, to get a better look, and realized it was a kitten! Immediately, I called my boyfriend (who was already on his way over) and started freaking out, and frantically searching my apartment for the rest of the litter. We searched high and low, and found no signs of any other kittens. I thought that was bizarre, and called an emergency vetinary hotline, to get advice. They told me, it could take hours, in between labor, and to stay up with her, and monitor her through the night. By the next morning, we still only had one, small grey kitten, so we took mother, and daughter to the vet to get examined. They took some xrays and determined that Bella had an abnormally small "litter", of one, most likely due to the fact that she and the father cat, were both very young in age. I was pleased, that they were both healthy, and decided to keep the new addition to the family. We named her Rosa (the initial choice was "Axel"-based of the lead singer from Guns'n'Roses-but given the fact we found out she was a girl, we came up with a compromise). Rosa had just opened her eyes, and had begun running around when I got hurt. When my apartment got closed down, my best friend Erin adopted them both. Now Erin, and her husband have Rosa, and my grandparents have Bella. I've had the chance to "cat sit" for them, various times, throughout the past six years.
After my accident, I spent a year and a half living in a nursing home. In January 2007, I got myself out, and into an apartment of my own. For the first year living here, I lived with a roommate. Steve and I had been high school classmates, and had got back in touch, shortly before my accident. He really helped me out, by agreeing to room with me. Although I have no functional mobility, the state only provides me with eight hours of having a home health aide, per day. It was crucial for me to have a roommate, to have the safety, and security, of having someone here at night, in case of emergency. Steve and I got along well, and I enjoyed our time living together. As an added bonus, Steve brought along his cat Maynerd (aka Manny) to keep us company. I really enjoyed having Manny around, especially during the day, when I was alone in the apartment by myself.
After living here for about a year, Steve and his girlfriend (now wife) decided they wanted to get a place of their own. I had a new roommate lined up, but he backed out at the last minute, leaving me in a tight spot. I asked my sister Kati, if she wouldn't mind coming to stay with me for a while. She agreed, and moved in with her dog Precious, who I knew, since before my accident. Precious is a golden retriever, cocker spaniel, corgy mixed breed. She's super affection, lovable, mild mannered and very well behaved. Having her here has been really great. She's super loyal, and loves to keep me company. She often lays near my wheelchair, or beside my bed. Everyone that meets her, just loves her.
Once Manny had left, I felt like I really missed having a cat. I discussed the idea of getting one, with Kati, and my mom, and they both agreed they'd be willing to help me take care of one. We adopted Tommy, around Halloween, 2008. I had searched for a while, online and ended up finding him through his foster family. Since we already had Precious, it was important for me to adopt a "dog friendly" cat. Tommy is just that! In fact, we think he thinks he IS a dog. He plays well with dogs, is EXTREMELY outgoing, curious & smart. He even wears a harness & takes walks with the dogs (I'm serious).
Tommy is a little too smart! He can open all of the doors in my apartment, so we had to change my doorknob from a lever, to a round knob. When I first got him, I had an environmental control unit, that I could control, by tapping a button, on my pillow, with my head & give verbal commands. If I needed help, I'd tap the button, and say "get Steve", which would in turn, sound an alarm in Steve's room (now my sister's room). For some reason, instead of just pouncing on my sister, and waking her up, he'd come barreling into my MY room, meowing for food, at 5 or 6 am. Then, I'd sound the alarm, and he'd go charging off, towards the second bedroom. The routine got old, fast, and I opted for the different knob, which he's since given up trying. He will on occassion bust into the bathroom, on guests, if they forget to lock the door. He's one of a kind (my family has owned many, many cats). He got very attached to my mom (who plays with, walks, & feeds him), and could care less about me. He is catlike in the one aspect, that he requires a 50/50 relationship. I can't offer him much, so he's not interested in me. That's the main reason I got Naama.
Naama is my very first dog. She is a Miniature Pinscher, with a BIG personality! I always thought if I were to get a dog, I'd want a small, short hair breed. Being a cat person, I like the idea of being able to carry my pet, and be able to have my pet on my lap, and in bed with me. She was a spur of the moment purchase. A friend of mine, who I met online (playing Maple Story) had come to visit. We took her to see my art exhibit, and then to a local mall, to my favorite restaurant chain, the Rainforest Cafe. We made the mistake (in a good way) to stop in the pet store on the way out & I fell in love with Naama. I'd always wanted a mini-pin & really wanted the companionship. I named her after my friend, Naama. She's the best thing (being) I ever bought. She's super cute & sassy. She makes me laugh. She's super spoiled, and she knows it! She's definitely got a "diva" complex, and can at times, be a total drama queen! She's the closest thing I have to a child, and I love buying her cute little outfits to wear. She's got quite a wardrobe, and I get a kick out of seeing her prance around, in her clothes. She's been great for Tommy, and they play well together. They can both get pretty hyper, and Precious is too old to be bothered. Tommy and Naama make good playmates and I just love watching the two of them interact. Having pets has definitely been a spirit lifting experience for me. They can make me smile, even on my worst ways. I'm truly thankful for their love and companionship.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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