*sapphoq healing tbi
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
On the Edges of Space and Time
The outskirts. The borderlands. The hedge. Jumping over the broomstick. The threshold. Betwixt and between. Crossroads. Turning point. Tipping point. Diverging roads. Blasting off. Journeying. Caves. Initiations. All of these places of power.
Yes there is power, a sudden wildness coursing through her veins. The traveler packs her solitary knapsack, slinks it over her back, and is off again. Unlike tripping through the throes of past addiction or neurology in sudden reverse, she chooses this time of leaving. The open road and the train tracks lay before her. The subtle recognition of the unfamiliar. She leaves once again to collect pieces of her soul from places she had never been before.
The bags are not packed. The tickets yet unbought. And yet she can taste it. She Knows that she will be leaving once again. Not where or how yet. The traveling nourishes her spirit.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
The outskirts. The borderlands. The hedge. Jumping over the broomstick. The threshold. Betwixt and between. Crossroads. Turning point. Tipping point. Diverging roads. Blasting off. Journeying. Caves. Initiations. All of these places of power.
Yes there is power, a sudden wildness coursing through her veins. The traveler packs her solitary knapsack, slinks it over her back, and is off again. Unlike tripping through the throes of past addiction or neurology in sudden reverse, she chooses this time of leaving. The open road and the train tracks lay before her. The subtle recognition of the unfamiliar. She leaves once again to collect pieces of her soul from places she had never been before.
The bags are not packed. The tickets yet unbought. And yet she can taste it. She Knows that she will be leaving once again. Not where or how yet. The traveling nourishes her spirit.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, travel
¶ 7:29 AM 0 comments links to this post
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Three Out of Four
I was on the table-- or more accurately, in the bed-- waiting to be put out so the gut doc could peer inside my colon with her fancy camera. I had been in that place just last week and the same gut doc had yanked a polyp out of my stomach. The blond athletic nurse leaning over me this time with a huge needle she intended to jab into one of my contrary jumpy veins began to talk.
"I don't get why people can't work," she said.
"They stay home and get big and fat and lazy," she said.
"It takes work for me to be in this shape," she said. "I work out six days a week at [a local expensive gym]," she said.
"And some people get handicapped parking permits and I see them springing out of their cars," she said.
"I don't have a handicapped parking permit," I said.
sapphoq healing tbi
"I don't get why people can't work," she said.
"They stay home and get big and fat and lazy," she said.
"It takes work for me to be in this shape," she said. "I work out six days a week at [a local expensive gym]," she said.
"And some people get handicapped parking permits and I see them springing out of their cars," she said.
"I don't have a handicapped parking permit," I said.
sapphoq healing tbi
Labels: disconnection, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 8:27 AM 1 comments links to this post
Chatter
I am spent and weary with the requirements of a world which I no longer understand.
*sapphoq in need of healing
*sapphoq in need of healing
Labels: fatigue, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 7:39 AM 0 comments links to this post
Saturday, November 14, 2009
On Politics and Swear Words
After reading Steve Michael's three latest rants and Jeremy Crow's Volume 24 over at the Itching for a Coffee blog, I found that I could not resist adding my own thoughts such as they are. In googling the words "a$$ fu3k," I found that there is indeed an internet cafe by that name which in fact does not have to do with political acts. The suggestion that parents can send their college-age kids to D.C. if they "want to be a$$ fu3ks" struck me as hysterical.
I prefer the word asswipe which is more versatile. It has 41 definitions in the Urban Dictionary. Some of those definitions actually reference the political. A Google search also yields a couple of vids, a site that has funny pictures and games on it, a forum insulting owners of a car, and references to a bad contractor in Toronto.
I myself have no inherent love for politicians as a whole nor of crooked ones specifically. Those of us who have gone to college or sought higher edumacation have to exert some effort if we are to aspire to greatness or even to employment. My dad instilled in me a hefty dose of Protestant work ethic. (In my own patchwork of careers I have certainly suffered from a lack of willingness many times to put to use the values he taught me about work but that is simply and utterly not his fault). As I matured I learned the truth of the saying attributed to Albert Einstein: "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." I shortened this axiom to "If I want something different, I have to do something different."
When I found that the journey to excellence, achievement, and promotions in my chosen field involved perseverance and hard work, I had to engage in battling my native laziness and inertia if I wanted to get anywhere. After my motor vehicle accident about six years ago and traumatic brain injury which profoundly altered the course of my life, once again I had to really apply myself in order to learn how to compensate for my neurological difficulties. Whining about how my bosses had better connections didn't help me get promotions. Remaining embittered about my current state of affairs hindered me from being able to make any lasting changes to my life and circumstance. And so, my dad's hard-driving work ethic continues to inform me about what it takes for me to achieve my goals even today when the cognitive fatigue prevents me from being able to work. I can sit and whine about how "everyone else" has it better, has it going on, was able to access the services that I cannot access. Or I can continue to strive to be the best spike I can be and never mind who has it better, has it going on, was able to get more help, or never got disabled in the first place.
The concerns that both of my co-team members over at Itching have expressed in regard to the R-word being hurled at anyone who dares criticizes the President I believe are justified. That anyone should have to qualify any criticism of the person or policies or actions of Obama with, "Hey I am not a racist. I have friends who are black. I don't hate blacks..." informs me that this pressure-- this willingness of some segments of society to judge others as being racist because of political views-- is very much a real presence. And yeah, that some of the world's worst are embracing Obama and congratulating him is downright scary.
I have a traumatic brain injury. I curse fluently. I always have cursed fluently. The thing is, that since my injury, I am more likely to curse openly and publicly at times and places where others would rather I did not. With some difficulty, I am able to hold back on the cursing somewhat so that my message is not lost in the flood of colorful language. I may not agree that cursing or appearance should "matter" to those who are listening to me, reading my stuff, trying to help me with my vocational or medical problems. The reality is that it does matter to the more genteel folks around me. And so I endeavor to inhibit my dis-inhibitions for the sake of getting my voice heard.
In this day and age of renewed interest in "protecting the children" it is almost risky to curse in a blog. As some of us learned on Yahoo 360 (may that stinking corpse rot forever), censorship is not something that is applied equally in all circumstances. Criticizing the corporation became inherently more dangerous than putting a picture of a penis on one's profile was. Crow got kicked from 360. Unfortunately my writing was not talented enough to enjoy that distinction. Perhaps someday. Meanwhile, there is Blogspot. The folks at Google don't seem to be as hung up about these things. Yet, I ask myself how many curse words and which ones will get the blog Itching for a Coffee put on restricted status. I don't want that blog to be forced into "by invitation only" because quite frankly we don't have enough readers to remain a viable outreach if that were to happen. So then do I censor my buddy Steven by asking him to "tone it down" or at the very least "not to say the c-word and to limit the cursing" to some arbitrary number per paragraph? Do I dash a panicked e-mail off to Crow asking him for his input? Or do I just allow the chips to fall where they may? Or something else entirely?
Up through my twenties, I did not engage in a whole lot of intercourse because quite frankly I figured that if I got pregnant before marriage my father would "kill" me. I will point out here that I was mostly self-supporting in my twenties and living away from home. Yes, computers and the internet are all over the place. True no one can watch their under-aged kids "all the time." These two realities do not divorce from parents their responsibility to monitor the activities of their children. Parents, tend to your children. It is a dangerous world. Folks curse on blogs. Predators lay waiting in chat rooms. Kids can be exposed to ideas and values different from your own. My dad never told me "Don't get pregnant before you are married or else." Because his values were conveyed to me, my actions reflected those values even when he wasn't watching. Surely you parents of today are able to deliver clear messages about what is acceptable behavior in your offspring to your offspring. And just maybe, if you do so, your kids as adults won't choose to be asswipes living in D.C. or elsewhere whining about how they got left out of the lucky lottery-- or worse-- running for public office.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
I prefer the word asswipe which is more versatile. It has 41 definitions in the Urban Dictionary. Some of those definitions actually reference the political. A Google search also yields a couple of vids, a site that has funny pictures and games on it, a forum insulting owners of a car, and references to a bad contractor in Toronto.
I myself have no inherent love for politicians as a whole nor of crooked ones specifically. Those of us who have gone to college or sought higher edumacation have to exert some effort if we are to aspire to greatness or even to employment. My dad instilled in me a hefty dose of Protestant work ethic. (In my own patchwork of careers I have certainly suffered from a lack of willingness many times to put to use the values he taught me about work but that is simply and utterly not his fault). As I matured I learned the truth of the saying attributed to Albert Einstein: "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." I shortened this axiom to "If I want something different, I have to do something different."
When I found that the journey to excellence, achievement, and promotions in my chosen field involved perseverance and hard work, I had to engage in battling my native laziness and inertia if I wanted to get anywhere. After my motor vehicle accident about six years ago and traumatic brain injury which profoundly altered the course of my life, once again I had to really apply myself in order to learn how to compensate for my neurological difficulties. Whining about how my bosses had better connections didn't help me get promotions. Remaining embittered about my current state of affairs hindered me from being able to make any lasting changes to my life and circumstance. And so, my dad's hard-driving work ethic continues to inform me about what it takes for me to achieve my goals even today when the cognitive fatigue prevents me from being able to work. I can sit and whine about how "everyone else" has it better, has it going on, was able to access the services that I cannot access. Or I can continue to strive to be the best spike I can be and never mind who has it better, has it going on, was able to get more help, or never got disabled in the first place.
The concerns that both of my co-team members over at Itching have expressed in regard to the R-word being hurled at anyone who dares criticizes the President I believe are justified. That anyone should have to qualify any criticism of the person or policies or actions of Obama with, "Hey I am not a racist. I have friends who are black. I don't hate blacks..." informs me that this pressure-- this willingness of some segments of society to judge others as being racist because of political views-- is very much a real presence. And yeah, that some of the world's worst are embracing Obama and congratulating him is downright scary.
I have a traumatic brain injury. I curse fluently. I always have cursed fluently. The thing is, that since my injury, I am more likely to curse openly and publicly at times and places where others would rather I did not. With some difficulty, I am able to hold back on the cursing somewhat so that my message is not lost in the flood of colorful language. I may not agree that cursing or appearance should "matter" to those who are listening to me, reading my stuff, trying to help me with my vocational or medical problems. The reality is that it does matter to the more genteel folks around me. And so I endeavor to inhibit my dis-inhibitions for the sake of getting my voice heard.
In this day and age of renewed interest in "protecting the children" it is almost risky to curse in a blog. As some of us learned on Yahoo 360 (may that stinking corpse rot forever), censorship is not something that is applied equally in all circumstances. Criticizing the corporation became inherently more dangerous than putting a picture of a penis on one's profile was. Crow got kicked from 360. Unfortunately my writing was not talented enough to enjoy that distinction. Perhaps someday. Meanwhile, there is Blogspot. The folks at Google don't seem to be as hung up about these things. Yet, I ask myself how many curse words and which ones will get the blog Itching for a Coffee put on restricted status. I don't want that blog to be forced into "by invitation only" because quite frankly we don't have enough readers to remain a viable outreach if that were to happen. So then do I censor my buddy Steven by asking him to "tone it down" or at the very least "not to say the c-word and to limit the cursing" to some arbitrary number per paragraph? Do I dash a panicked e-mail off to Crow asking him for his input? Or do I just allow the chips to fall where they may? Or something else entirely?
Up through my twenties, I did not engage in a whole lot of intercourse because quite frankly I figured that if I got pregnant before marriage my father would "kill" me. I will point out here that I was mostly self-supporting in my twenties and living away from home. Yes, computers and the internet are all over the place. True no one can watch their under-aged kids "all the time." These two realities do not divorce from parents their responsibility to monitor the activities of their children. Parents, tend to your children. It is a dangerous world. Folks curse on blogs. Predators lay waiting in chat rooms. Kids can be exposed to ideas and values different from your own. My dad never told me "Don't get pregnant before you are married or else." Because his values were conveyed to me, my actions reflected those values even when he wasn't watching. Surely you parents of today are able to deliver clear messages about what is acceptable behavior in your offspring to your offspring. And just maybe, if you do so, your kids as adults won't choose to be asswipes living in D.C. or elsewhere whining about how they got left out of the lucky lottery-- or worse-- running for public office.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: censorship, Obama, politics, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 8:17 PM 0 comments links to this post
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
ReCreation for folks with t.b.i.
A big shout-out to Sun Valley Adaptive Sports http://www.svasp.org/ of Idaho for providing children, teens, and adults with various disabilities opportunities to learn and participate in activities like rock-climbing, fly-fishing, acting, hiking, rafting, and bowling.
S.V.A.S. also serves people returning from the war with traumatic brain injuries. Participants who may be veterans or on active duty (primarily living in Idaho) are offered week-long camps. The camps are free, and for wounded warriors also free to their spouses. The Associated Press article
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5jLqA0GapHCQTjMuLRWk_-l1qZGJAD9BDKJD00 titled "Veterans Find Healing on the Water," by Jesse L. Bonner talks a bit about a recent fly fishing camp as well as about one vet who has been gifted with paid singing lessons upon his return home. The article left me wistfully wishing for such an organization here.
On my own wish list of things to do before I die are: para-sailing, hang-gliding, jumping out of an airplane with a parachute, and sleeping on the side of a cliff in one of those cool looking cocoon sleeping bags. I want to do each of those things at least once. (I have nixed bungee jumping on the grounds that I don't find the idea of dangling upside down appealing).
After my injury, I found that some friends were unable to hang with my personality changes, self-centeredness that often accompanies t.b.i., and intensity. Some friends backed away for awhile, some left permanently. A few stuck around through the worst of my recovery. I felt isolated because I was no longer able to work and thus lacked the socialization inherent in the workplace. I was in physical pain and mentally depressed. I was excluded from rehab and day program participation due to personal circumstance-- the insurance companies were fighting over who would pay the bills. I was also tired as h3ll most of the time. I socialized in the needle-sticking neurodoc's waiting room with others who were also in physical pain, at the pool where I was able to get some physical therapy (thanks to Ike Boka, a dedicated anesthesiologist in private practice), and in the rooms of recovery (from active addiction). Via the internet, I met others who also have traumatic brain injuries and I re-learned how to write in understandable sentences. There were the many nights in the brain injury chat room http://www.braininjurychat.org/ spent with others trying to remember the names of the seven dwarfs. And there was the dog. I wasn't able to walk her at first and hired folks to do so. When I did resume our daily walks, she too became part of reconnecting with others.
The internet became central to my rehab (along with vision therapy-- a shout-out to Dr. Fox and Judy). The folks in the brain injury chat room informed that I would have to be in charge of my own cognitive rehab. I found sites that offered games and other things to help my injured brain. I found people on the internet. As I progressed, I began to acquire some blogs for writing in. Through blogging, I met my good friend Jeremy Crow who got me involved in creating backgrounds for e-stationary. I also discovered places where I learned how to write goals. I slowly began to dream again. And I realized a dream of traveling cross country alone.
Today I am still walking the dog. And yes, I still like swimming in cold water in the woods, birding, and traveling about. (My tastes in reading have changed. Pre-trauma I read mostly fiction. Post-trauma I read mostly computer-related books). Aside from the t.b.i. support groups in Albany run by Peter Kahrmann and continued participation in rooms of recovery, I am also engaged in various writing pursuits. And I found the virtual world of Second Life where I practice 3D building in an effort to combat my visual perception problems. I crochet cotton washcloths and occasionally create an original pattern in needlepoint. I don't object to spending time alone. I am comfortable with my own company. I also like spending kick-back time with others who have dogs, are interested in crocheting or needlepoint or drinking coffee, or who also enjoy traveling.
I do feel the lack of a work-related role in my life. Some days I miss being able to work. I am slowly accepting my loss of a career-- acceptance is not the same thing as approval-- and tackling the organization and care of our home. I plan to stay happily married. I hope to be able to publish the novel I am writing someday (and actually get paid for it); to travel throughout the world via trains, planes, and cruise ships; to meet Jimmy Buffett.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
S.V.A.S. also serves people returning from the war with traumatic brain injuries. Participants who may be veterans or on active duty (primarily living in Idaho) are offered week-long camps. The camps are free, and for wounded warriors also free to their spouses. The Associated Press article
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5jLqA0GapHCQTjMuLRWk_-l1qZGJAD9BDKJD00 titled "Veterans Find Healing on the Water," by Jesse L. Bonner talks a bit about a recent fly fishing camp as well as about one vet who has been gifted with paid singing lessons upon his return home. The article left me wistfully wishing for such an organization here.
On my own wish list of things to do before I die are: para-sailing, hang-gliding, jumping out of an airplane with a parachute, and sleeping on the side of a cliff in one of those cool looking cocoon sleeping bags. I want to do each of those things at least once. (I have nixed bungee jumping on the grounds that I don't find the idea of dangling upside down appealing).
After my injury, I found that some friends were unable to hang with my personality changes, self-centeredness that often accompanies t.b.i., and intensity. Some friends backed away for awhile, some left permanently. A few stuck around through the worst of my recovery. I felt isolated because I was no longer able to work and thus lacked the socialization inherent in the workplace. I was in physical pain and mentally depressed. I was excluded from rehab and day program participation due to personal circumstance-- the insurance companies were fighting over who would pay the bills. I was also tired as h3ll most of the time. I socialized in the needle-sticking neurodoc's waiting room with others who were also in physical pain, at the pool where I was able to get some physical therapy (thanks to Ike Boka, a dedicated anesthesiologist in private practice), and in the rooms of recovery (from active addiction). Via the internet, I met others who also have traumatic brain injuries and I re-learned how to write in understandable sentences. There were the many nights in the brain injury chat room http://www.braininjurychat.org/ spent with others trying to remember the names of the seven dwarfs. And there was the dog. I wasn't able to walk her at first and hired folks to do so. When I did resume our daily walks, she too became part of reconnecting with others.
The internet became central to my rehab (along with vision therapy-- a shout-out to Dr. Fox and Judy). The folks in the brain injury chat room informed that I would have to be in charge of my own cognitive rehab. I found sites that offered games and other things to help my injured brain. I found people on the internet. As I progressed, I began to acquire some blogs for writing in. Through blogging, I met my good friend Jeremy Crow who got me involved in creating backgrounds for e-stationary. I also discovered places where I learned how to write goals. I slowly began to dream again. And I realized a dream of traveling cross country alone.
Today I am still walking the dog. And yes, I still like swimming in cold water in the woods, birding, and traveling about. (My tastes in reading have changed. Pre-trauma I read mostly fiction. Post-trauma I read mostly computer-related books). Aside from the t.b.i. support groups in Albany run by Peter Kahrmann and continued participation in rooms of recovery, I am also engaged in various writing pursuits. And I found the virtual world of Second Life where I practice 3D building in an effort to combat my visual perception problems. I crochet cotton washcloths and occasionally create an original pattern in needlepoint. I don't object to spending time alone. I am comfortable with my own company. I also like spending kick-back time with others who have dogs, are interested in crocheting or needlepoint or drinking coffee, or who also enjoy traveling.
I do feel the lack of a work-related role in my life. Some days I miss being able to work. I am slowly accepting my loss of a career-- acceptance is not the same thing as approval-- and tackling the organization and care of our home. I plan to stay happily married. I hope to be able to publish the novel I am writing someday (and actually get paid for it); to travel throughout the world via trains, planes, and cruise ships; to meet Jimmy Buffett.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: dreams, recreation, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 4:23 PM 0 comments links to this post
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
On Forgiveness
*This blog entry is dedicated to Holly wherever you may be.*
Forgiveness is not something I extend to others without being asked for it. Nor is it something that I "do" for the sake of my own well-being.
Until I was able to accept the premise of the basic humanity of all human beings on this earth, I was unable to forgive either my self or those people who came seeking my forgiveness. Nor was I able to ask forgiveness of those I had wronged by my actions.
Within my own way of being, forgiveness is conditional upon several things. The biggest thing is that the behavior that causes the injury has to stop. When I go to a human being seeking forgiveness and then repeat the action that I am seeking forgiveness for, I am making a mockery. Inherent to the admission of my wrong-doing is a promise that I will stop doing the wrong thing. Likewise, when someone seeks me out and asks for my forgiveness, my forgiveness is predicated upon the condition that they will quit doing the thing that they are asking forgiveness for.
I also don't do blanket forgiveness. I endorse the direct approach. When I cause injury to another human being, I don't expect to be forgiven without asking. Nor do I forgive others unless I am asked. I am not obligated to forgive anyone who is not seeking my forgiveness. Some people do not want it. In the same vein, I am responsible to seek out those from whom I want forgiveness. My rapist has never sought me out to ask for my forgiveness for his actions. Nor have I sought him out to ask for his forgiveness because I remained actively pissed off at him for a number of years. I don't know where he is today. My sincere hope is that he is rotting in a prison cell somewhere, cut off from his access to women.
The man who rammed my car into a house causing my traumatic brain injury did ask for my forgiveness in court before his sentencing to a year in county. As long as he remains a non-driver, I am willing to forgive the part of him that did not know any better. Once he starts a car and drives off, my forgiveness is instantly terminated. I am not in touch with this man so I have no way of knowing whether or not he made good on his promise to surrender his driver's license. I only hope he has for the sake of drivers everywhere.
My mother has never acknowledged her physical and emotional abuse of me as a child and teen. She may not ever. I am not obligated to forgive her. She continues to play her mind games. In the interest of my own health and well-being, I limit my time and involvement with her. I don't dwell on the past history that my mother and I have between us. (Therapy helped me heal from that). I do protect my self from further harm. On the other hand, my step-father did make his amends. He was in a hospital bed in I.C.U. and he thought he was going to die. He said he was sorry that things were difficult between us when I was younger. I forgave him. He didn't die then, but the forgiveness stuck. Our relationship for the remaining years of his life changed for the better.
And finally, I consider some things to be "too big" to forgive. Those things which fall under that category are extraordinary events such as rape, systemic abuse, and arson. I am not Superwoman. I am no saint. I am an average human being.
To wrap this up, there is one human being that I am no longer in touch with whose forgiveness I seek. Holly from Jersey City, if you happen upon this blog, I am sincerely sorry for getting the other summer day camp kids started on calling you "four-fingered Holly." That was mean. I knew better at the time but I did it anyways. I didn't have the guts to apologize when you bolted off the van that day and I didn't have the guts to stop doing it. I don't know where you are now or what you are doing. I have no way of finding you. Instead I write these words. It is to you that this blog entry is dedicated.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Forgiveness is not something I extend to others without being asked for it. Nor is it something that I "do" for the sake of my own well-being.
Until I was able to accept the premise of the basic humanity of all human beings on this earth, I was unable to forgive either my self or those people who came seeking my forgiveness. Nor was I able to ask forgiveness of those I had wronged by my actions.
Within my own way of being, forgiveness is conditional upon several things. The biggest thing is that the behavior that causes the injury has to stop. When I go to a human being seeking forgiveness and then repeat the action that I am seeking forgiveness for, I am making a mockery. Inherent to the admission of my wrong-doing is a promise that I will stop doing the wrong thing. Likewise, when someone seeks me out and asks for my forgiveness, my forgiveness is predicated upon the condition that they will quit doing the thing that they are asking forgiveness for.
I also don't do blanket forgiveness. I endorse the direct approach. When I cause injury to another human being, I don't expect to be forgiven without asking. Nor do I forgive others unless I am asked. I am not obligated to forgive anyone who is not seeking my forgiveness. Some people do not want it. In the same vein, I am responsible to seek out those from whom I want forgiveness. My rapist has never sought me out to ask for my forgiveness for his actions. Nor have I sought him out to ask for his forgiveness because I remained actively pissed off at him for a number of years. I don't know where he is today. My sincere hope is that he is rotting in a prison cell somewhere, cut off from his access to women.
The man who rammed my car into a house causing my traumatic brain injury did ask for my forgiveness in court before his sentencing to a year in county. As long as he remains a non-driver, I am willing to forgive the part of him that did not know any better. Once he starts a car and drives off, my forgiveness is instantly terminated. I am not in touch with this man so I have no way of knowing whether or not he made good on his promise to surrender his driver's license. I only hope he has for the sake of drivers everywhere.
My mother has never acknowledged her physical and emotional abuse of me as a child and teen. She may not ever. I am not obligated to forgive her. She continues to play her mind games. In the interest of my own health and well-being, I limit my time and involvement with her. I don't dwell on the past history that my mother and I have between us. (Therapy helped me heal from that). I do protect my self from further harm. On the other hand, my step-father did make his amends. He was in a hospital bed in I.C.U. and he thought he was going to die. He said he was sorry that things were difficult between us when I was younger. I forgave him. He didn't die then, but the forgiveness stuck. Our relationship for the remaining years of his life changed for the better.
And finally, I consider some things to be "too big" to forgive. Those things which fall under that category are extraordinary events such as rape, systemic abuse, and arson. I am not Superwoman. I am no saint. I am an average human being.
To wrap this up, there is one human being that I am no longer in touch with whose forgiveness I seek. Holly from Jersey City, if you happen upon this blog, I am sincerely sorry for getting the other summer day camp kids started on calling you "four-fingered Holly." That was mean. I knew better at the time but I did it anyways. I didn't have the guts to apologize when you bolted off the van that day and I didn't have the guts to stop doing it. I don't know where you are now or what you are doing. I have no way of finding you. Instead I write these words. It is to you that this blog entry is dedicated.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: forgiveness, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 3:13 PM 0 comments links to this post
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Unsticking
"This is the year that I will get un-stuck," I told myself at the beginning of 2009. And I am indeed getting un-stuck. Today I am celebrating 29 years of freedom from active drug addiction. [Yes, I got clean before my traumatic brain injury. Ironically, the man driving the vehicle which had run my car into the side of a house was high on marijuana].
Getting un-stuck for me has been and continues to be a process. I am healing from the pain of losing my career in human services as a direct result of my brain injury, very slowly letting go of my obsession with the decision of the agency that I was working for at the time not to take me back in any capacity, addressing my negativistic thoughts and judgment of others, and de-cluttering with pizazz.
Organization was never a strong suit for me. In the before days-- back when my brain was still a regular brain-- I was not a great housekeeper. Since my brain injury however, my difficulties with organization, sticking to any sort of cleaning schedule or chart, and being able to pare down my possessions accelerated. With gentle encouragement by my true friends, I have begun to be able to do the things that I need to do in order to keep my home livable. I find myself discarding stuff that I no longer need or want to hold on to and that feels good. Real good. I still have to take frequent breaks due to t.b.i.-induced fatigue. Now, after I rest, I get up again. "I am getting un-stuck," I tell myself. "After I clean this or sort though that, I will go to the local diner for coffee." And it is working.
When my dad moved up here for a few months last year, in spite of his dementia he was able to get me to clean. We cleaned for an hour every weekday morning before going out for breakfast. Keeping up with housework became infused with emotions. Once dad left, I lapsed backwards into apathy and disinterest.
At a recent t.b.i. support group, I decided to try to motivate myself with the same thing that worked when my dad was visiting. Clean some, then coffee (or something social). The charts (I can make beautiful charts) of what days to de-clutter and clean which parts of the house didn't work. Similar I suppose to my inability to read a crochet pattern for five years after my t.b.i. I could write down the directions and the steps, I could read (and did) a ton of books and websites (including the flylady stuff) about how to whip the household into shape, I could create my own crochet patterns. But I could not translate planning into doing nor symbols into crocheted cotton washcloths. I can follow a crochet pattern now but progress is halting. It is still easier for me to freelance. In finding a new rhythm, I am a creator and not a follower.
One thing that is easier now is throwing out stuff. I no longer remember much of why I acquired clothing, books, artwork, knick-knacks. The false chains of sentimentality lay no claim on me. Because I do not remember why I am holding on to this or that, I can ask myself if the item is something that I love or need. And so I toss stuff merrily into the waiting garbage bag or donation box. I am not bound to hold on to something for the rest of my life because some relative gave it to me. I know other clutterers, messies, and pack rats have real problems with being able to get rid of things (and I did too in the past) due to sentimentalism. I appreciate being able to breathe. De-cluttering is a joy for me today rather than a torment. I am de-cluttering one corner of one room at a time. Several rooms are now neat and I am maintaining them.
I have also returned to blogging. Writing is my first love. I have dreams-- serious dreams. As with the housework thing, I am finding my way through the twisted and broken neurons in my brain to a new rhythm. I am looking forward to more of this un-sticking process. It is a process, a journey into healing.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Getting un-stuck for me has been and continues to be a process. I am healing from the pain of losing my career in human services as a direct result of my brain injury, very slowly letting go of my obsession with the decision of the agency that I was working for at the time not to take me back in any capacity, addressing my negativistic thoughts and judgment of others, and de-cluttering with pizazz.
Organization was never a strong suit for me. In the before days-- back when my brain was still a regular brain-- I was not a great housekeeper. Since my brain injury however, my difficulties with organization, sticking to any sort of cleaning schedule or chart, and being able to pare down my possessions accelerated. With gentle encouragement by my true friends, I have begun to be able to do the things that I need to do in order to keep my home livable. I find myself discarding stuff that I no longer need or want to hold on to and that feels good. Real good. I still have to take frequent breaks due to t.b.i.-induced fatigue. Now, after I rest, I get up again. "I am getting un-stuck," I tell myself. "After I clean this or sort though that, I will go to the local diner for coffee." And it is working.
When my dad moved up here for a few months last year, in spite of his dementia he was able to get me to clean. We cleaned for an hour every weekday morning before going out for breakfast. Keeping up with housework became infused with emotions. Once dad left, I lapsed backwards into apathy and disinterest.
At a recent t.b.i. support group, I decided to try to motivate myself with the same thing that worked when my dad was visiting. Clean some, then coffee (or something social). The charts (I can make beautiful charts) of what days to de-clutter and clean which parts of the house didn't work. Similar I suppose to my inability to read a crochet pattern for five years after my t.b.i. I could write down the directions and the steps, I could read (and did) a ton of books and websites (including the flylady stuff) about how to whip the household into shape, I could create my own crochet patterns. But I could not translate planning into doing nor symbols into crocheted cotton washcloths. I can follow a crochet pattern now but progress is halting. It is still easier for me to freelance. In finding a new rhythm, I am a creator and not a follower.
One thing that is easier now is throwing out stuff. I no longer remember much of why I acquired clothing, books, artwork, knick-knacks. The false chains of sentimentality lay no claim on me. Because I do not remember why I am holding on to this or that, I can ask myself if the item is something that I love or need. And so I toss stuff merrily into the waiting garbage bag or donation box. I am not bound to hold on to something for the rest of my life because some relative gave it to me. I know other clutterers, messies, and pack rats have real problems with being able to get rid of things (and I did too in the past) due to sentimentalism. I appreciate being able to breathe. De-cluttering is a joy for me today rather than a torment. I am de-cluttering one corner of one room at a time. Several rooms are now neat and I am maintaining them.
I have also returned to blogging. Writing is my first love. I have dreams-- serious dreams. As with the housework thing, I am finding my way through the twisted and broken neurons in my brain to a new rhythm. I am looking forward to more of this un-sticking process. It is a process, a journey into healing.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: clutter, organization, progress, recovery, stuck, t.b.i., tbi
¶ 11:20 AM 0 comments links to this post
Saturday, July 04, 2009
VESID and teamwork
As I had suspected, the fellow who was a co-worker years ago and is now a big-wig at VESID was not interested in making a phone call to Running Sores. At least he bothered to answer my e-mail. It was civil enough. No problem.
The job handler had forwarded to me part of an e-mail from the VESID counselor noting that since "we" [VESID counselor and job handler] are the ones "working with her" [her would be me] ergo any contacts should be made by them. I wrote back to them a reminder that this is my life, my limitations with which I am intimately familiar with because after all I do live with them daily, and that I hope that this thing does not degenerate into non-cooperation with other agencies and individuals. This caused a response from the VESID counselor in terms of a phone call on Wednesday.
The VESID counselor wanted to know what accomodations I will need if I get a carved out part-time job as a per diem investigator of serious incidents with Running Sores. This conversation became immediately difficult for me as it was obvious to me that the VESID counselor does not have a clear handle on what investigating using O.M.R.D.D. regs entails. It was also difficult because I cannot decide what accomodations I will need for a job that I do not have yet and most likely will not get. The fact that the job is carved out, part-time, and per diem is in itself an accomodation. From there we got on to other things. One of the things that I endeavored to explain is that I am not an advocate and not a team player. I am a maverick, an independent worker, a researcher, an investigator. Different set of subskills from advocacy. My past advocacy skills did not survive my brain injury. My investigative skills did. Her immediate response was, "Oh, I believe in teamwork." I said to her that teamwork is fine in terms of me seeking help, however in terms of my work environment I am more of a maverick. I realized that the VESID counselor was not responding to what I was telling her about myself. So I terminated the conversation.
I do not do well with being micro-managed. I am far too independent for that. I don't need help doing job searches. I am accustomed to doing my own. That is not why I require VESID services. The orginal plan proposed by the neuropsych who did my cognitive testing was that Running Sores would re-assign me and that VESID would provide a job coach. VESID (several years ago) was supposed to call Running Sores to advocate for my return. To the best of my knowledge, in spite of my requests, this never happened. I called twice on my own and did not get anywhere with it. I got blown off. If it is not possible to return to Running Sores, then I deserve to know that.
If VESID is unwilling or unable to advocate for me with my former employer, then individuals should stop promising that and say that to me up front.
I went down to the Advocacy and Life Growth workshops again today (we meet every Saturday) and was very glad I went. Peter Kahrmann is a wonderful human being. The group itself is based upon the premise of providing a safe, respectful, honest, and non-judgmental space for us. I like the people in the group. I am also learning how to be less critical in my dealings with others. I value the folks in the group there. Peter has a blog at http://thekahrmannblog.blogspot.com and information about the Life Growth program is located at http://www.lifegrowth.net/index2.html
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
The job handler had forwarded to me part of an e-mail from the VESID counselor noting that since "we" [VESID counselor and job handler] are the ones "working with her" [her would be me] ergo any contacts should be made by them. I wrote back to them a reminder that this is my life, my limitations with which I am intimately familiar with because after all I do live with them daily, and that I hope that this thing does not degenerate into non-cooperation with other agencies and individuals. This caused a response from the VESID counselor in terms of a phone call on Wednesday.
The VESID counselor wanted to know what accomodations I will need if I get a carved out part-time job as a per diem investigator of serious incidents with Running Sores. This conversation became immediately difficult for me as it was obvious to me that the VESID counselor does not have a clear handle on what investigating using O.M.R.D.D. regs entails. It was also difficult because I cannot decide what accomodations I will need for a job that I do not have yet and most likely will not get. The fact that the job is carved out, part-time, and per diem is in itself an accomodation. From there we got on to other things. One of the things that I endeavored to explain is that I am not an advocate and not a team player. I am a maverick, an independent worker, a researcher, an investigator. Different set of subskills from advocacy. My past advocacy skills did not survive my brain injury. My investigative skills did. Her immediate response was, "Oh, I believe in teamwork." I said to her that teamwork is fine in terms of me seeking help, however in terms of my work environment I am more of a maverick. I realized that the VESID counselor was not responding to what I was telling her about myself. So I terminated the conversation.
I do not do well with being micro-managed. I am far too independent for that. I don't need help doing job searches. I am accustomed to doing my own. That is not why I require VESID services. The orginal plan proposed by the neuropsych who did my cognitive testing was that Running Sores would re-assign me and that VESID would provide a job coach. VESID (several years ago) was supposed to call Running Sores to advocate for my return. To the best of my knowledge, in spite of my requests, this never happened. I called twice on my own and did not get anywhere with it. I got blown off. If it is not possible to return to Running Sores, then I deserve to know that.
If VESID is unwilling or unable to advocate for me with my former employer, then individuals should stop promising that and say that to me up front.
I went down to the Advocacy and Life Growth workshops again today (we meet every Saturday) and was very glad I went. Peter Kahrmann is a wonderful human being. The group itself is based upon the premise of providing a safe, respectful, honest, and non-judgmental space for us. I like the people in the group. I am also learning how to be less critical in my dealings with others. I value the folks in the group there. Peter has a blog at http://thekahrmannblog.blogspot.com and information about the Life Growth program is located at http://www.lifegrowth.net/index2.html
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: t.b.i., tbi, teamwork, traumatic+brain+injury, VESID, VESID sucks
¶ 6:16 PM 0 comments links to this post
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
VESID, Kahrmann Workshops, and Hope
Last Thursday I was supposed to have a meeting with the job developer re: my resume. She called that morning several hours before the meeting was to take place having to cancel. These things happen. We re-scheduled for this past Monday. My husband has a co-worker (also an acquaintance of mine who I have known for a number of years) who helps people who have been out of the workforce for awhile with their resumes. Having seen my resume, he offered his help to me. I accepted. That visit was also slated for this past Monday.
First the job developer's meeting with me. She called for me at 1:23 rather than 1:15, citing a telephone call and forgetting that we had an appointment. [But I'm the Unforgettable One, how could she???]. These things happen. She hadn't rearranged my resume [I had sent her a better one, using a book that husband's co-worker had lent me and one other specifically written to help folks like me who have been out of work for awhile]. Last Thursday she found out that the R.C.I.L. fiscal year ends on June 30 and "all these reports" had to be filed by then. These things happen. Unfortunately, her not being able to re-format my resume deemed this particular meeting a waste of my time. She could have sent me the job leads she had given me. But no matter. I told her that I was also having an appointment later that day with husband's co-worker.
Job developer asked me if I want to meet after July 4th as in next week. I looked at her. I told her, "No." I told her she could send me the job postings via e-mail. (Last week, I set up a box specifically for her and VESID. Sigh. 70+ e-mail addys aren't enough I guess.). I told her I was used to doing my own job searches. Job searching is not where I need help. I told her that VESID was supposed to have followed up with my previous employer Running Sores several years ago but never did. I had called myself twice but did not get anywhere. She agreed to advocate for me. Cool.
I went to my semi (unofficial) appointment with husband's co-worker who is also my long-time acquaintance. He looked at the revised resume and said it scans well, that he wouldn't change a thing. Cool. I lent him my book on resumes. We got into the circumstances behind my leaving the last job-- the car accident during lunch hour, the other driver who was high on marijuana allegedly, the immediate effects of my traumatic brain injury (which included a total inability to do paperwork that someone from personnel kept calling me up about during the period of time when I was sleeping 22 hours a day albeit she didn't know how seriously hurt I was and neither did I), the necessity of hiring a lawyer to protect my rights since the "no-fault" automobile insurance company and the workers comp insurance company both thought the other should pay my medical bills, things I think I may be able to do at my old company on a part-time basis with the assistance of a job coach... Acquaintance suggested several areas of job searching that I had not thought about.
Acquaintance also suggested that the VESID supervisor (who used to be my co-worker years ago) call Running Sores rather than the job developer. Acquaintance said it would be harder to brush off the VESID supervisor, especially under the adverse circumstances of my leaving. I went home and fired off an e-mail. Quite frankly, I do not believe that the VESID supervisor will make any such phone call, not even one to give a heads up that the job developer will be calling. I do not believe he will because: (1). it's not his job, and (2). my unfortunate impression is that the higher up the chain of VESID that one goes, the less actual work gets done. I may be wrong about the second, even if not about the first. It would be nice to believe that I am wrong about the second. It doesn't hurt to ask, even if it results in getting me labeled as "having poor boundaries" or "balls of steel" or whatever the current psychobabble is for directness and bluntness.
At first I thought that polishing my resume was an exercise in futility. Much to my surprise, it wasn't. I've got more than fifty publication credits-- and some of those more than once-- plus an appearance in three anthologies. And a ton of a variety of experience in human services. Surely I should be able to find a part-time job-- maybe 10 hours a week to start-- that I can do even with my current difficulties related to brain damage. My visual processing is messed up, double vision in one eye is no fun, I can't multi-task anymore except for driving, my mild expressive aphasia continues to annoy me even though I have learned to work around it really well, 24-hour vertigo sucks balls, and my back is a wreck. I've got some skills still intact along with the stuff that has been wiped. I've got the computer art that I do, internet skills, research skills, computer troubleshooting skills, and a deep desire to physically take computers apart and rebuild them. I've still got my total attention to detail. Oh, and my memory tested out at the 99th percentile, much to my total and utter amazement.
I have renewed my attendance at Peter Kahrmann's Life Growth/traumatic brain injury support group workshops on Saturdays. The first hour is devoted to working around obstacles that prevent us from being who we wish to be. The second is devoted to talking about brain function and how the damage shows up in our lives. I am now also going to the advocacy instructional workshop before the Life Growth ones. Although I am not counting on any ability to do advocacy work, that workshop has been a refresher in some of the regs I used to know like the back of my hand. And my being there with Peter and other folks gives me hope for my future. It may not be what I was aiming for perhaps. Still, I believe now that I can dream new dreams.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
First the job developer's meeting with me. She called for me at 1:23 rather than 1:15, citing a telephone call and forgetting that we had an appointment. [But I'm the Unforgettable One, how could she???]. These things happen. She hadn't rearranged my resume [I had sent her a better one, using a book that husband's co-worker had lent me and one other specifically written to help folks like me who have been out of work for awhile]. Last Thursday she found out that the R.C.I.L. fiscal year ends on June 30 and "all these reports" had to be filed by then. These things happen. Unfortunately, her not being able to re-format my resume deemed this particular meeting a waste of my time. She could have sent me the job leads she had given me. But no matter. I told her that I was also having an appointment later that day with husband's co-worker.
Job developer asked me if I want to meet after July 4th as in next week. I looked at her. I told her, "No." I told her she could send me the job postings via e-mail. (Last week, I set up a box specifically for her and VESID. Sigh. 70+ e-mail addys aren't enough I guess.). I told her I was used to doing my own job searches. Job searching is not where I need help. I told her that VESID was supposed to have followed up with my previous employer Running Sores several years ago but never did. I had called myself twice but did not get anywhere. She agreed to advocate for me. Cool.
I went to my semi (unofficial) appointment with husband's co-worker who is also my long-time acquaintance. He looked at the revised resume and said it scans well, that he wouldn't change a thing. Cool. I lent him my book on resumes. We got into the circumstances behind my leaving the last job-- the car accident during lunch hour, the other driver who was high on marijuana allegedly, the immediate effects of my traumatic brain injury (which included a total inability to do paperwork that someone from personnel kept calling me up about during the period of time when I was sleeping 22 hours a day albeit she didn't know how seriously hurt I was and neither did I), the necessity of hiring a lawyer to protect my rights since the "no-fault" automobile insurance company and the workers comp insurance company both thought the other should pay my medical bills, things I think I may be able to do at my old company on a part-time basis with the assistance of a job coach... Acquaintance suggested several areas of job searching that I had not thought about.
Acquaintance also suggested that the VESID supervisor (who used to be my co-worker years ago) call Running Sores rather than the job developer. Acquaintance said it would be harder to brush off the VESID supervisor, especially under the adverse circumstances of my leaving. I went home and fired off an e-mail. Quite frankly, I do not believe that the VESID supervisor will make any such phone call, not even one to give a heads up that the job developer will be calling. I do not believe he will because: (1). it's not his job, and (2). my unfortunate impression is that the higher up the chain of VESID that one goes, the less actual work gets done. I may be wrong about the second, even if not about the first. It would be nice to believe that I am wrong about the second. It doesn't hurt to ask, even if it results in getting me labeled as "having poor boundaries" or "balls of steel" or whatever the current psychobabble is for directness and bluntness.
At first I thought that polishing my resume was an exercise in futility. Much to my surprise, it wasn't. I've got more than fifty publication credits-- and some of those more than once-- plus an appearance in three anthologies. And a ton of a variety of experience in human services. Surely I should be able to find a part-time job-- maybe 10 hours a week to start-- that I can do even with my current difficulties related to brain damage. My visual processing is messed up, double vision in one eye is no fun, I can't multi-task anymore except for driving, my mild expressive aphasia continues to annoy me even though I have learned to work around it really well, 24-hour vertigo sucks balls, and my back is a wreck. I've got some skills still intact along with the stuff that has been wiped. I've got the computer art that I do, internet skills, research skills, computer troubleshooting skills, and a deep desire to physically take computers apart and rebuild them. I've still got my total attention to detail. Oh, and my memory tested out at the 99th percentile, much to my total and utter amazement.
I have renewed my attendance at Peter Kahrmann's Life Growth/traumatic brain injury support group workshops on Saturdays. The first hour is devoted to working around obstacles that prevent us from being who we wish to be. The second is devoted to talking about brain function and how the damage shows up in our lives. I am now also going to the advocacy instructional workshop before the Life Growth ones. Although I am not counting on any ability to do advocacy work, that workshop has been a refresher in some of the regs I used to know like the back of my hand. And my being there with Peter and other folks gives me hope for my future. It may not be what I was aiming for perhaps. Still, I believe now that I can dream new dreams.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: Peter Kahrmann, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, VESID, VESID sucks
¶ 10:25 PM 0 comments links to this post
Friday, May 15, 2009
The B1tch is Back
Yeah, I've been gone for far too long. I've been seduced by Second Life (Fuel Burner referred you, if you ever do decide to sign up). I've spent a ton of time learning how to build in 3D. Considering that I've got double vision in one eye from the brain injury as well as perception problems, being able to build something that actually holds together is a feat within itself. Oh yeah, and one of my relatives got married.
Attendance at that wedding was mandatory. Just before leaving for the very expensive hotel (almost 200 bucks for one night), I had my hair cut. Gave my first braid to the Locks of Love. In case you haven't heard about Locks of Love, basically it is an organization that collects lengths of hair to turn into wigs for kids who have lost their hair due to medical baldness. I decided to grow out my hair once in memory of Marie-- my friend Philly David's sister. She had cancer and she died. She was a Quaker. At the meeting hall, there was a little boy there she admired because he was growing his hair out for Locks of Love. He was confident enough not to care about the other kids teasing him for it. So I grew my hair out in honor of Marie.
I felt really good about it when I saw the braid of hair in the bag destined for a kid who really needs it. I've decided to do it again.
More info can be found at: http://www.locksoflove.org/
Bout a month or so ago, I had a "meeting" with the VESID counselor (my fourth in four years) and the job developer. They decided that I want to be an advocate. Getting into any sort of investigative work does not fit in with their limited ability to see beyond my brain injury. During the meeting, I was asked if I would consider full-time advocacy work if I were to make "twenty-five dollars an hour." I recognized this number as being pulled out of a hat (i.e. not based on reality) immediately. I told both of my professional "helpers" that my health and well-being has to come first. Quite frankly, the fatigue is the real killer for me. Lack of imagination is theirs.
Thanks to the friend who came with me who also has a brain injury, I was able to remain calm. That is to say, I was able to refrain from telling these two to feck off. I am the first to admit that I am somewhat obsessed with the "VESID problem."
I was supposed to send off my resume to the job developer. I haven't. I am currrently suffering from lack of belief that this agency which had put "my case" on hold for a year without informing me of that fact (?cuz I refused to get a "return to work" order from my doctor after a routine vertigo attack?) is able to help me. I waited a year for them. They can wait for me. The truth is less glamorous. It took me awhile to remember that my resume is in the computer files.
The job handler to her credit did call me once, leaving a message. Usually she calls from a blocked number and refuses to leave a message, but she counts it as an attempted contact anyways. When I called her back, she asked if I "still want to do advocacy work." Well, no actually, I thought, that is what yous want me to settle for. No matter, I couldn't talk right then anyways. She asked if I want to meet with her. I said, after I send out the resume I will call you. That is how I left it.
Now that I know where the resume is, I can quit tearing the house apart looking for it. I can print the resume out and send it off. I understand there is something there about allowing the professional helpers to help me. I have not been very co-operative. I acknowledge this fully and completely. Yet I also understand that I have to find my own way. As I am able to let go of the problems I've had with VESID, perhaps hope will then be able to return. Yeah, I do feel hopeless.
I feel hopeless because I want to write and I want to write badly. I've had lots of stuff published. Yet there is no current book in my brain. Just a chapter and a vague idea about where to go with it. And a real sense of loss. As in, "I was finally 'making it' career-wise and everything blew apart in a matter of seconds."
So I will send the job developer a resume. I will even meet with her and make nice. I will even listen to the things she suggests, even if they are not things I can do. The last suggestion involved being a home health aide at the agency that is run out of her agency. The biggest problem with that is my back. I can't lift more than ten pounds, period. One of my friends got pushed into doing that, along with being a nursing assistant substitute on call-- and her back is worse than mine. And quite frankly, there are other problems with that line of work. Like I can't do housework for more than ten minutes at a time. I've forgotten how to cook. And I am beyond disorganization. There is that inability to multi-task too that I've been stuck with. The neuropsych told me that my "ability to multi-task has shit the bed and it's not coming back." The shrink explained that I am highly distractible. Uh wow.
The thing is, I am not an advocate. I am an investigator. I've got total attention to detail (in spite of my disorganization and inability to multi-task). I know how to investigate. It's in my blood. I know how to ask questions. And I know how to write up my findings. I know this about myself. If the job market will not bear with an investigator who functions a bit oddly socially and can only work part-time, then I have to come up with some other way to use my investigative skills.
sapphoq healing tbi
Attendance at that wedding was mandatory. Just before leaving for the very expensive hotel (almost 200 bucks for one night), I had my hair cut. Gave my first braid to the Locks of Love. In case you haven't heard about Locks of Love, basically it is an organization that collects lengths of hair to turn into wigs for kids who have lost their hair due to medical baldness. I decided to grow out my hair once in memory of Marie-- my friend Philly David's sister. She had cancer and she died. She was a Quaker. At the meeting hall, there was a little boy there she admired because he was growing his hair out for Locks of Love. He was confident enough not to care about the other kids teasing him for it. So I grew my hair out in honor of Marie.
I felt really good about it when I saw the braid of hair in the bag destined for a kid who really needs it. I've decided to do it again.
More info can be found at: http://www.locksoflove.org/
Bout a month or so ago, I had a "meeting" with the VESID counselor (my fourth in four years) and the job developer. They decided that I want to be an advocate. Getting into any sort of investigative work does not fit in with their limited ability to see beyond my brain injury. During the meeting, I was asked if I would consider full-time advocacy work if I were to make "twenty-five dollars an hour." I recognized this number as being pulled out of a hat (i.e. not based on reality) immediately. I told both of my professional "helpers" that my health and well-being has to come first. Quite frankly, the fatigue is the real killer for me. Lack of imagination is theirs.
Thanks to the friend who came with me who also has a brain injury, I was able to remain calm. That is to say, I was able to refrain from telling these two to feck off. I am the first to admit that I am somewhat obsessed with the "VESID problem."
I was supposed to send off my resume to the job developer. I haven't. I am currrently suffering from lack of belief that this agency which had put "my case" on hold for a year without informing me of that fact (?cuz I refused to get a "return to work" order from my doctor after a routine vertigo attack?) is able to help me. I waited a year for them. They can wait for me. The truth is less glamorous. It took me awhile to remember that my resume is in the computer files.
The job handler to her credit did call me once, leaving a message. Usually she calls from a blocked number and refuses to leave a message, but she counts it as an attempted contact anyways. When I called her back, she asked if I "still want to do advocacy work." Well, no actually, I thought, that is what yous want me to settle for. No matter, I couldn't talk right then anyways. She asked if I want to meet with her. I said, after I send out the resume I will call you. That is how I left it.
Now that I know where the resume is, I can quit tearing the house apart looking for it. I can print the resume out and send it off. I understand there is something there about allowing the professional helpers to help me. I have not been very co-operative. I acknowledge this fully and completely. Yet I also understand that I have to find my own way. As I am able to let go of the problems I've had with VESID, perhaps hope will then be able to return. Yeah, I do feel hopeless.
I feel hopeless because I want to write and I want to write badly. I've had lots of stuff published. Yet there is no current book in my brain. Just a chapter and a vague idea about where to go with it. And a real sense of loss. As in, "I was finally 'making it' career-wise and everything blew apart in a matter of seconds."
So I will send the job developer a resume. I will even meet with her and make nice. I will even listen to the things she suggests, even if they are not things I can do. The last suggestion involved being a home health aide at the agency that is run out of her agency. The biggest problem with that is my back. I can't lift more than ten pounds, period. One of my friends got pushed into doing that, along with being a nursing assistant substitute on call-- and her back is worse than mine. And quite frankly, there are other problems with that line of work. Like I can't do housework for more than ten minutes at a time. I've forgotten how to cook. And I am beyond disorganization. There is that inability to multi-task too that I've been stuck with. The neuropsych told me that my "ability to multi-task has shit the bed and it's not coming back." The shrink explained that I am highly distractible. Uh wow.
The thing is, I am not an advocate. I am an investigator. I've got total attention to detail (in spite of my disorganization and inability to multi-task). I know how to investigate. It's in my blood. I know how to ask questions. And I know how to write up my findings. I know this about myself. If the job market will not bear with an investigator who functions a bit oddly socially and can only work part-time, then I have to come up with some other way to use my investigative skills.
sapphoq healing tbi
Labels: t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, VESID, VESID sucks
¶ 5:06 PM 0 comments links to this post
Friday, January 02, 2009
MEET THE NEW YEAR 1/2/09
same as the old year? I hope not.
This is the year that I will get unstuck.
2008 already seems far away, a distant memory. Like a receding shoreline pounded by the waves or a receding hairline.
2008 was the year that the brilliant VESID personnel demanded a return-to-work order after a routine vertigo "attack." Again, I ask, WHAT WORK? Since I don't wish to beat that particular dead horse anymore, I shall leave that one dangling.
2008 was also the year that my dad moved three times. He moved from his home with his almost ex-wife #3 to a pullman apartment to our home in the middle of nowhere and then back to his home with his almost ex-wife #3.
I learned a lot of things when my dad was living here for a couple months. Some of those
things I didn't wish to learn and some I did.
My dad succeeded where no one else had since my accident-- I learned how to maintain a
simple house-cleaning schedule. Now I wish I could have had him visit after my accident.
Earlier after my accident rather. At any rate, the house is slowly rising from the plague of
the dust bunnies.
The other things I learned are more of a private nature and thus I will not record them here.
2008 was the year that I discovered Second Life (tm to Linden Labs). Second Life is total eye candy to someone like me who loves visual effects and animations. Over there I've been learning a bit of simple scripting and some 3D building. That is the part that makes Second Life different from blogging.
My goals for 2009:
to remain abstinent as defined in the program of Narcotics Anonymous.
to complete my book and submit it.
to remain married and faithful.
to increase our financial stability as a couple and mine as me.
to continue to monitor my health proactively.
to blog on any of the blogger blogs twice a week and on the journal blogs once a week.
to address the things that I allow to keep me stuck.
I hope for everyone a well new year. And if not a well one, then at least a weller one.
sapphoq healing tbi
This is the year that I will get unstuck.
2008 already seems far away, a distant memory. Like a receding shoreline pounded by the waves or a receding hairline.
2008 was the year that the brilliant VESID personnel demanded a return-to-work order after a routine vertigo "attack." Again, I ask, WHAT WORK? Since I don't wish to beat that particular dead horse anymore, I shall leave that one dangling.
2008 was also the year that my dad moved three times. He moved from his home with his almost ex-wife #3 to a pullman apartment to our home in the middle of nowhere and then back to his home with his almost ex-wife #3.
I learned a lot of things when my dad was living here for a couple months. Some of those
things I didn't wish to learn and some I did.
My dad succeeded where no one else had since my accident-- I learned how to maintain a
simple house-cleaning schedule. Now I wish I could have had him visit after my accident.
Earlier after my accident rather. At any rate, the house is slowly rising from the plague of
the dust bunnies.
The other things I learned are more of a private nature and thus I will not record them here.
2008 was the year that I discovered Second Life (tm to Linden Labs). Second Life is total eye candy to someone like me who loves visual effects and animations. Over there I've been learning a bit of simple scripting and some 3D building. That is the part that makes Second Life different from blogging.
My goals for 2009:
to remain abstinent as defined in the program of Narcotics Anonymous.
to complete my book and submit it.
to remain married and faithful.
to increase our financial stability as a couple and mine as me.
to continue to monitor my health proactively.
to blog on any of the blogger blogs twice a week and on the journal blogs once a week.
to address the things that I allow to keep me stuck.
I hope for everyone a well new year. And if not a well one, then at least a weller one.
sapphoq healing tbi
Labels: goals, Peter Kahrmann, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, vertigo, VESID, VESID sucks
¶ 11:07 AM 0 comments links to this post
Monday, October 27, 2008
Driving, Executive Functions, and Stuff
Yeah, I've been gone for awhile.
(http://life.sapphoq.com)
Now I am back.
I've been to Peter Kahrmann's workshop/peer support group in Albany where I found out that the part of my brain that caused my multi-tasking to "shit the bed" as the neuropsych at Sunnyview had so eloquently expressed it is my frontal lobe. Frontal lobe damage is the reason why I cannot carry laundry from the back porch to the bedroom and converse at the same time.
I took Dad to a driving evaluation at Sunnyview today. I learned a few things while there. I learned that many of Dad's vision problems (his visual acuity which is commonly expressed by numbers like 20/20 or 20/30 or 20/40 is acceptable) from his dementia are the same vision problems
that some of us with brain injuries struggle with. For those who like meaningless stats, 80% of folks with t.b.i.s have vision problems and 20% of us have auditory problems. 99% of us have memory problems. I don't have the memory or the auditory problems. I do have the vision problems.
During the driving eval at Sunnyview, the evaluator tested for visual acuity, visual scanning, visual discrimination, color discrimination, peripheral vision, impulsivity, and reaction time.
The difference between traumatic brain injury and dementia is that we can expect some improvement in some areas over time. Dementia does not improve. Dementia progresses and worsens over time. Brain damage is brain damage though, in spite of different prognoses. Consequently, some of the things we learn from places like B.I.A.-U.S.A. like "every brain injury is different" is also expressed in Alzheimers' circles as "every dementia looks different."
spike
(http://life.sapphoq.com)
Now I am back.
I've been to Peter Kahrmann's workshop/peer support group in Albany where I found out that the part of my brain that caused my multi-tasking to "shit the bed" as the neuropsych at Sunnyview had so eloquently expressed it is my frontal lobe. Frontal lobe damage is the reason why I cannot carry laundry from the back porch to the bedroom and converse at the same time.
I took Dad to a driving evaluation at Sunnyview today. I learned a few things while there. I learned that many of Dad's vision problems (his visual acuity which is commonly expressed by numbers like 20/20 or 20/30 or 20/40 is acceptable) from his dementia are the same vision problems
that some of us with brain injuries struggle with. For those who like meaningless stats, 80% of folks with t.b.i.s have vision problems and 20% of us have auditory problems. 99% of us have memory problems. I don't have the memory or the auditory problems. I do have the vision problems.
During the driving eval at Sunnyview, the evaluator tested for visual acuity, visual scanning, visual discrimination, color discrimination, peripheral vision, impulsivity, and reaction time.
The difference between traumatic brain injury and dementia is that we can expect some improvement in some areas over time. Dementia does not improve. Dementia progresses and worsens over time. Brain damage is brain damage though, in spite of different prognoses. Consequently, some of the things we learn from places like B.I.A.-U.S.A. like "every brain injury is different" is also expressed in Alzheimers' circles as "every dementia looks different."
spike
Labels: driving, executive function, frontal lobe, Peter Kahrmann, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 7:04 PM 0 comments links to this post
Saturday, August 23, 2008
The Rigging of Failure 8/23/08
a big shout-out to the unknown damsel
The stoopid saga of VESID sucks carries on. The job handler/job developer/employment consultant whatever has transferred to a different job herself. The VESID-sucks counselor (my third) is apparently absent from work due to personal/medical whatever. Consequently, I have once again attained the status of limbo without the use of drugs.
As damsel has pointed out in a couple of comments over at Blogaholics, VESID-sucks has as a modus operandi the rigging of failure. Specifically and anecdotally only (based on googling various and sundry terms such as "VESID sucks" and "VESID horror stories" and "VESID complaints") one problem is the mindset to shove us into a job any job without much regard to anything. The other problem is the tendency of VESID helpers to declare many of us as being somehow falling short in the intelligence department and the blatant advice to lower our goals. Of course, if picking up pins with a tweezer and putting them in a container is a measure of anything at all-- the stoopid it burns-- then lots of people should automatically settle for a two year community college degree or a secretarial course or a job in retail or at a supermarket packing groceries. Sigh.
Anecdotally only, a good friend of mine was advised by his O.V.R. testers in another state that college would be an "impossible" goal for him to reach as well. Friend is brilliant. Friend went on to achieve 4.0 in college courses. See, the rub is that if any of our employment situations, college enrollment in courses or a pursuit of study, etcetera is not in line with what VESID sucks (or O.V.R. sucks) assumes is "realistic" based on our putting pins into a container using tweezers, they don't have to support it. In other words, I can be denied job coaching if the lousy little part-time job I have demands that I do something that VESID doesn't think I should do or am capable of doing. And folks who wish to obtain bachelor degrees or more can be denied needed funding by VESID or O.V.R. because the rigors of academia are a far stretch from what their stoopid testing shows that those folks should be able to do.
Could it be funding? The organization that is supposed to provide me with job development and job coaching services is getting paid more than three thousand dollars for one year of their non-services. (Just as soon as I provide a doctor's note indicating that a temporary exacerbation of vertigo into a two-week "attack" is now resolved for the time being and I can "return to work" which I don't have, my non-services can resume. Just as soon as someone figures out that I am on their caseload that is.)
VESID stands to benefit financially by talking people down into two years of college or a secretarial course versus bachelor's level studies and more. And VESID benefits financially by setting their counselors' objectives to get the disabled customers working (at anything) as soon as frickin' possible. To hell with our aspirations. To hell with what we want. To hell with MEANINGFUL employment. No love, VESID sucks, no love.
The three thousand bucks VESID has wasted on my non-employment this past year could have been used to send damsel to her very much wanted and sought after bachelor's degree. Ah, damsel wasn't even eligible for financial aid from VESID sucks and they made her take those stupid tests anyways. Those of us who are not totally broke don't get to have our tuitions paid. Books and twelve cents a mile was the last I heard. At the price of gas these days, twelve cents a mile is a bad joke. Considering that the professional VESID helpers are getting around three times that amount for their mileage, it is an insult.
Another two friends recently found themselves as "trainees" or whatever the fancy word is at a local sheltered workshop. Apparently, those of us who are judged severely disabled do get encouraged to spend at least twenty hours a week at one of those places. It's part of the process of getting the disabled into jobs. The two friends were told that this was now their best chance at gaining supportive employment down the road. Other avenues-- community college courses or a job developer calling them up on Fridays and nagging them-- failed to produce a job of any sort for my two friends. Who exactly refers the VESID failures to sheltered workshops? I still have not found the answer to that question. Neither the VESID sucks counselors nor the job developer have admitted to initiating referral. I asked. I searched the website for clues. No clear information was given. But I digress.
It is LEGAL to pay a disabled "trainee" less than the minimum wage at such places. Way less. The assumption is (based on "timed studies" often conducted with staff volunteers) that a disabled worker cannot possibly be fast enough or good enough to make the minimum wage. The disabled worker in a sheltered workshop is subject usually to piecework, pro-rated of course. If the disabled "trainee" is lucky enough to qualify for training off-site (welding or warehouse loading or potato peeling or newspaper insert stuffing or cleaning), the disabled "trainee" still will not receive minimum wage. Under the law, the workshop is not required to pay it. In effect, the "trainee" is furnishing part of the salary of the on-site rehab counselor (separate from the VESID counselor), part of the salary of the workshop supervisor, part of the salary of the off-site trainer, part of the salaries of all of the staff people who come in contact with the trainee. And of course, part of the profit of the sheltered workshop comes from the trainee's pittance because the workshop is able to low-ball other businesses when it comes to bidding.
Meanwhile, the absence of vertigo attacks is the least of my concerns. I continue to have serious problems which concern me far more than the fact that my world drifts to the left 24/7. As usual, anything worth having is worth working for. And I shall have to force my damaged brain to think of other options to reach my goals and other people who can point out some ways to proceed. There is a word for those people who are willing to help yet aren't professional helpers-- natural supports. All of this leads me to tentatively conclude that VESID sucks must therefore be the unnatural supports.
Oh yeah and VESID sucks: fruck you.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
p.s. damsel, if you ever want to get in touch with me, my insanejournal blog (user name sapphoq) allows anonymous comments which are screened. Or, you can e-mail sapphoq. sapphoq has an e-mail account at google.
a big shout-out to the unknown damsel
The stoopid saga of VESID sucks carries on. The job handler/job developer/employment consultant whatever has transferred to a different job herself. The VESID-sucks counselor (my third) is apparently absent from work due to personal/medical whatever. Consequently, I have once again attained the status of limbo without the use of drugs.
As damsel has pointed out in a couple of comments over at Blogaholics, VESID-sucks has as a modus operandi the rigging of failure. Specifically and anecdotally only (based on googling various and sundry terms such as "VESID sucks" and "VESID horror stories" and "VESID complaints") one problem is the mindset to shove us into a job any job without much regard to anything. The other problem is the tendency of VESID helpers to declare many of us as being somehow falling short in the intelligence department and the blatant advice to lower our goals. Of course, if picking up pins with a tweezer and putting them in a container is a measure of anything at all-- the stoopid it burns-- then lots of people should automatically settle for a two year community college degree or a secretarial course or a job in retail or at a supermarket packing groceries. Sigh.
Anecdotally only, a good friend of mine was advised by his O.V.R. testers in another state that college would be an "impossible" goal for him to reach as well. Friend is brilliant. Friend went on to achieve 4.0 in college courses. See, the rub is that if any of our employment situations, college enrollment in courses or a pursuit of study, etcetera is not in line with what VESID sucks (or O.V.R. sucks) assumes is "realistic" based on our putting pins into a container using tweezers, they don't have to support it. In other words, I can be denied job coaching if the lousy little part-time job I have demands that I do something that VESID doesn't think I should do or am capable of doing. And folks who wish to obtain bachelor degrees or more can be denied needed funding by VESID or O.V.R. because the rigors of academia are a far stretch from what their stoopid testing shows that those folks should be able to do.
Could it be funding? The organization that is supposed to provide me with job development and job coaching services is getting paid more than three thousand dollars for one year of their non-services. (Just as soon as I provide a doctor's note indicating that a temporary exacerbation of vertigo into a two-week "attack" is now resolved for the time being and I can "return to work" which I don't have, my non-services can resume. Just as soon as someone figures out that I am on their caseload that is.)
VESID stands to benefit financially by talking people down into two years of college or a secretarial course versus bachelor's level studies and more. And VESID benefits financially by setting their counselors' objectives to get the disabled customers working (at anything) as soon as frickin' possible. To hell with our aspirations. To hell with what we want. To hell with MEANINGFUL employment. No love, VESID sucks, no love.
The three thousand bucks VESID has wasted on my non-employment this past year could have been used to send damsel to her very much wanted and sought after bachelor's degree. Ah, damsel wasn't even eligible for financial aid from VESID sucks and they made her take those stupid tests anyways. Those of us who are not totally broke don't get to have our tuitions paid. Books and twelve cents a mile was the last I heard. At the price of gas these days, twelve cents a mile is a bad joke. Considering that the professional VESID helpers are getting around three times that amount for their mileage, it is an insult.
Another two friends recently found themselves as "trainees" or whatever the fancy word is at a local sheltered workshop. Apparently, those of us who are judged severely disabled do get encouraged to spend at least twenty hours a week at one of those places. It's part of the process of getting the disabled into jobs. The two friends were told that this was now their best chance at gaining supportive employment down the road. Other avenues-- community college courses or a job developer calling them up on Fridays and nagging them-- failed to produce a job of any sort for my two friends. Who exactly refers the VESID failures to sheltered workshops? I still have not found the answer to that question. Neither the VESID sucks counselors nor the job developer have admitted to initiating referral. I asked. I searched the website for clues. No clear information was given. But I digress.
It is LEGAL to pay a disabled "trainee" less than the minimum wage at such places. Way less. The assumption is (based on "timed studies" often conducted with staff volunteers) that a disabled worker cannot possibly be fast enough or good enough to make the minimum wage. The disabled worker in a sheltered workshop is subject usually to piecework, pro-rated of course. If the disabled "trainee" is lucky enough to qualify for training off-site (welding or warehouse loading or potato peeling or newspaper insert stuffing or cleaning), the disabled "trainee" still will not receive minimum wage. Under the law, the workshop is not required to pay it. In effect, the "trainee" is furnishing part of the salary of the on-site rehab counselor (separate from the VESID counselor), part of the salary of the workshop supervisor, part of the salary of the off-site trainer, part of the salaries of all of the staff people who come in contact with the trainee. And of course, part of the profit of the sheltered workshop comes from the trainee's pittance because the workshop is able to low-ball other businesses when it comes to bidding.
Meanwhile, the absence of vertigo attacks is the least of my concerns. I continue to have serious problems which concern me far more than the fact that my world drifts to the left 24/7. As usual, anything worth having is worth working for. And I shall have to force my damaged brain to think of other options to reach my goals and other people who can point out some ways to proceed. There is a word for those people who are willing to help yet aren't professional helpers-- natural supports. All of this leads me to tentatively conclude that VESID sucks must therefore be the unnatural supports.
Oh yeah and VESID sucks: fruck you.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
p.s. damsel, if you ever want to get in touch with me, my insanejournal blog (user name sapphoq) allows anonymous comments which are screened. Or, you can e-mail sapphoq. sapphoq has an e-mail account at google.
Labels: employment, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, VESID sucks
¶ 10:51 PM 0 comments links to this post
VESID sucks comment
Somehow I missed it. Over at the Blogaholics Anonymous Gr0up Blog, one of my rants against the organization VESID-sucks garnered a comment which can be seen here
If you wish to read the comment by damsel, you will have to scroll down to almost the end of the page.
In case the link does not work, it is at:
http://the-blogaholics-anonymous.blogspot.com/2008/05/
face-to-ass-with-past.html?showComment=1218955740000#c7960326866138253548
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
If you wish to read the comment by damsel, you will have to scroll down to almost the end of the page.
In case the link does not work, it is at:
http://the-blogaholics-anonymous.blogspot.com/2008/05/
face-to-ass-with-past.html?showComment=1218955740000#c7960326866138253548
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: employment, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, VESID sucks
¶ 10:47 PM 0 comments links to this post
Monday, July 07, 2008
Kristen Furseth-Mullaney's triumph
http://www.freep.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080706/SPORTS17/807060590/1065
A big shout-out to Kristen Furseth-Mullaney who is vying for a spot at the Olympics as a racewalker for the United States. She hails from Okemos, Michigan. Furseth-Mullaney suffered a traumatic brain injury in 2006 when she was hit by a car while biking in the Caribbean. After having to relearn how to walk, she began her athletic comeback in the water and gradually was able to swim laps. She wanted to run but the docs nixed that idea. They did allow her to try race-walking and so she did. The mother of two has left frontal lobe damage but that did not stop her from setting goals and achieving them. The most recent m.r.i. shows the possibility of a brain tumor and she is also now diagnosed with adrenal insufficiency. My baseball cap off to a woman who did not let traumatic brain injury stop her from pursuing a dream.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
A big shout-out to Kristen Furseth-Mullaney who is vying for a spot at the Olympics as a racewalker for the United States. She hails from Okemos, Michigan. Furseth-Mullaney suffered a traumatic brain injury in 2006 when she was hit by a car while biking in the Caribbean. After having to relearn how to walk, she began her athletic comeback in the water and gradually was able to swim laps. She wanted to run but the docs nixed that idea. They did allow her to try race-walking and so she did. The mother of two has left frontal lobe damage but that did not stop her from setting goals and achieving them. The most recent m.r.i. shows the possibility of a brain tumor and she is also now diagnosed with adrenal insufficiency. My baseball cap off to a woman who did not let traumatic brain injury stop her from pursuing a dream.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: a.b.i., acquired brain injury, brain-tumored, goals, t.b.i., tbi
¶ 10:01 PM 0 comments links to this post
Friday, June 13, 2008
A Shout-Out to Matt Evans of Kalamazoo
At the age of eight, Matt Evans was hiking in Colorado and he fell off a cliff. He fractured a skull. His brain injury left him with slowed cognitive processing. On top of that, he had a stroke which left him with some paralysis in an arm, difficulty walking and speaking, and the need for several surgeries on both his right arm and leg. In spite of his difficulties, Matt Evans continued to play golf-- albeit one-handedly-- and it is reported that he indulges in a game of pick-up basketball here and there. He graduated with a 3.5 cum and he hopes to pursue further studies and a career in elementary education.
Matt Evans, I salute you for persevering in spite of your disability and I wish you the best in life.
sapphoq healing traumatic brain injury
http://blog.mlive.com/grpress/2008/06/kalamazoo_central_grad_overcom.html
Matt Evans, I salute you for persevering in spite of your disability and I wish you the best in life.
sapphoq healing traumatic brain injury
http://blog.mlive.com/grpress/2008/06/kalamazoo_central_grad_overcom.html
Labels: achievement, Matt Evans, stroke, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 9:11 PM 0 comments links to this post
Sunday, June 08, 2008
I Am What I Am-- no, not Popeye the Sailor Man
This weekend left me hot as hell and thinking about getting a summer shack up in the Aleutian Islands. The dog would love it up there of that I am sure. However, we are where we are and where we happened to be this weekend was humid as all get out. It was the kind of weather that rose off the sidewalks in a deep haze. One time way back when I was working in a nursing home, I had left some old lady's shoes on the radiator. Big mistake. The soles were melting by time someone else rescued them. It wasn't hot enough here to fry an egg perhaps, but it was probably hot enough to melt the rubber soles off of shoes left on some black tarry street. The kids down the block had gotten one of them pint-sized electric cars and they were cruising over their front lawn. I laughed to see their yellow lab slowly lopping after it, reaching out once every so often to bite the tires.
Yesterday I went to a speaker jam. Those that know me well know that I have been in recovery for a very long time-- in fact more than half my life. Yes I still attend meetings of several twelve step groups on a regular basis. I have been accused of all kinds of crimes related to being anti-12 step groups on the internet because I am a sometimes critic of ways and means and probably because I am a Witch/Atheist/currently a Discordian. (If you don't know what Discordianism is, please google it if you care). Or maybe because I am sometimes a jerk. Whatever. In the blogging world as in real life, that is the risk that one takes when expressing oneself: That sooner or later somebody is going to take exception to one's opinions. Oh well. The price of freedom of speech is one that I am willing to pay.
At any rate, I didn't get to the speaker jam at the beginning but that was alright. I am not a morning person, that is fer sure. So I missed the first two speakers out of ten; and the last one. I was there for seven speakers of varying abilities and stories. One thing became immediately clear to me-- from the women speakers as well as from the men speakers-- and that one thing is that a vast majority of those who spoke yesterday have sex on their minds. I learned quite a bit yesterday. Sex problems don't magically disappear when one gets into recovery. I just wasn't expecting them to be so prevalent in what I heard yesterday. A secondary theme was gambling problems in recovery. I was especially appreciative of that since the last couple of months I have wanted to get high and to gamble. The odd thing about wanting to gamble for me is that gambling was never my thing. It didn't do much for me, I only remember getting one gambling "rush" and that was in a small group of folks from Running Sores who were at the race track. I'd been forced to go to that racetrack under the guise of a manager appreciation party when people were still able to force me to be social in a large group but that is a whole other tale. And not a terribly interesting one at that.
About midway through the afternoon, I noticed that someone (who still works at Running Sores) had entered the room and was sitting not far away from me. She was doing a fairly good imitation of being blind to my presence. That was a pretense that I was content to let be. I really didn't care one way or the other. Or at least I had decided not to care for the moment. A bit later as I got up to leave (before speaker number ten and the clean time countdown), the Running Sores woman had moved and I walked right past her to go outside and to my car. Again, she turned away from me. Several thoughts vied for my attention. One of them was along the lines of, "What the hell. Am I a leper? Is brain damage catching?" Some of the other ones were more sane, or at least more of a rationalizing nature. "I didn't want to talk to you either." "Whatever." And there was the ultra-adult thought which ran, "Hey it's been about four and a half years now. Isn't it time to get over this mental masturbation about Running Sores and how 'cruelly' I was treated? Get on with life already."
The thing is, healing doesn't necessarily happen upon demand. Or there would be bunches of people demanding healing, maybe even curing, and getting it. Emotional healing is not much different from the physical in that regard in my opinion. From past experience after a devastating house fire, I know I have to call each thing/person by name and say what they meant to me before I will be able to let go in a real way. So there is more work to do on that score. It's okay though because I have a way to address it and a support network to help me get through it.
I am most fortunate because my support network is not limited to people in recovery. Like the inane commercial for a credit card with frills says, "I got people." This whole life thing, being a citizen of the universe and all of that, is not a simple matter of us versus them. It is not you and me against the world or people in recovery fighting with the aliens (those without a 12 step program, whether they need to be in some form of recovery or not). Nor is it any faction of the gay/lesbian/bisexual/transsexual/transgendered/intersexed/queer communities against the straights, atheists fighting the Christians or other religious groups, disabled against everyone else. Nor even those of us with atypical neurology slugging it out with the neurotypicals.
I sometimes have to remind myself of these things rather forcefully. I have to remind myself that business is business, period. That although I believe that ninety eight percent of those working in the human services field deserve to be eaten by Baba Yaga, really life cannot be reduced to black and white. Consequently, the woman from Running Sores who was at the same speaker jam that I was at yesterday had the same right to be there that I had. And I had the same right to be there that she had.
The last time I saw her was early on after my accident at the local mall. She had gotten my old job but spared no sympathy for her old boss. Hey, I lived anyway. I could obsess over the lack of support from the folks at Running Sores or I could dwell on the support that I was getting elsewhere. Traumatic brain injury has made obsessions the easier softer way and so in truth, for several years I did ruminate excessively over the idea that I did not get a get well card from the folks at Running Sores. [A friend finally sent me a Get Well card, hoping that would help. It did]. What I got from Running Sores was a form from the safety committee which asked, "How could this accident have been prevented?" I wrote down "Shoot all of the pot smokers who drive." [The man who had hit my car was high]. The lawyer was keeping close tabs on my altered states at that time so he was able to convince me to send all forms to him. Whenever I was asked about some form or other, I learned to say, "The lawyer has it. I can't understand it." That much was true. Filling out any kind of form during the first two years post-accident took about an hour and a half and resulted in colossal headaches. And my "answers" were not coherent. The lawyer put all the forms in the round file and had some assistant or other fill them out only when forced to. That is how lawyers do things.
In truth, although my nemesis was ignoring me at the speaker jam, I really didn't have much to say to her either. What could I have said? Hello, how is work? Lame. Good to see you. It wasn't. You are looking well. Like I care. By the way, yes indeed it is a traumatic brain injury just like I had told you at the mall and I am on disability and I hate VESID sucks. She isn't required to care about any of that in even the most superficial way. Just as I am not required to care about her life either.
Traumatic brain injury is a polite word for brain damage. I am brain-damaged. My life got derailed through no fault of my own (for once) four and a half years ago. And yet. The world didn't stop because my world shattered. Since the accident, I've had to deal with lots of stuff. I am not dead. I am very much alive, still breathing. Breathing is a definite plus. I can let the shoes stay on the radiator, their soles melting down into the heat. Or I can take the shoes off of the radiator, open the window to let the stench of burning rubber out, and get on with living the best way I know how.
The metaphor with the shoes bothers me. Like many metaphors that I hear in the rooms of recovery, there is no allowance for more than two ways. Either we are going forwards or we are going backwards. We are progressing in our recovery or we are headed for a fall. We are on g-d's side or we aren't. We are part of the problem or we are part of the solution. I have problems with the whole good-evil dichotomy. For quite awhile now, I've suspected it is just a neat over-simplistic way of saying good g-d-fearing folks to the right and the rest of the infidels to the left. Those of you who know the significance of the numbers 23 and 5 will understand.
The other thing that bothers me is the blending. The whole "all religions are different ways of going up the same mountain." Or "all religions are just different ways of knowing the same g-d." Or, even worse, "all religions kind of meld together." Uh, no they don't. All of the religions of the world cannot even agree on the basics. Christians say Jesus is the Son of g-d. Muslims declare that Allah didn't have a son of any sort. Jews say the Messiah didn't come yet. The Hindus and the Muslims have been fighting each other in India for years and years. Several Muslim factions are also at war. The Koran has produced believers who take on the admonishment to "Kill the infidels" quite literally. Other believers found their ways around that. The Bible has been used to justify slavery, separation of the races, oppression of women and the disabled and those of us who are not straight. And there are believers who find their way around those verses as well. The Buddhists are actually atheistic in their own right with a twist. I think I will read some more of that Richard Dawkins book along with some of the others ones laying around here. (More book reviews coming up by next week at http://sapphoqreviews.blogspot.com). All religions and cultures and peoples are not equally good nor do they all hold equal value to the survival of the humans and other stuff. Call me politically incorrect. I consider that to be a compliment.
I think about the stuff we have lost and the stuff we are losing to political correctness. Like the pot smokers who drive, lets go shoot all of the comedians. Follow that up with the hanging of bloggers and mediacs, gassing of politicians and educators. Oh, but not just the liberals who in my mind are responsible for things like the renaming of the Sambo's restaurants. Let's rid the world of the conservatives too who don't agree with the libs. Let the dems and the pubs drown together as they debate things like a New York State Law that officially makes it illegal to sell a cow which has tuberculosis. If we get rid of everyone who doesn't agree with everyone else, there would be no one left. I have gone off on another flight of fancy. Drat this brain damage.
Drat the Brain Injury Association of the United States of America which had green rubberized bracelets made up. I don't know how or why someone decided that green is the color of brain injury. Myself, I would have opted for a gray/black combination. I would not wear the bracelet when it first came out nor will I now. The bracelet says, "Mind Matters." Screw that. Scientists cannot agree on whether the mind exists at all. Oh it may and it may or may not be part of or the same as the brain or separate from the brain. Or the mind might me a figment of the imagination. No one asked me my opinion when it was time to decide what color to use or what slogan to put on the stupid rubber bracelet. My slogan, "BRAINS matter." My brain matters. The same political correctness that causes "traumatic brain injury" to be preferable to the words "brain damage," is that the reason behind picking the non-specific "mind" over the very specific "brain?"
English does not have a verb to distinguish a temporary state of being from the essence of being. In Spanish, a language whose beauty captivates me, there are two verbs that translate into the English "to be." There is ser-- a state of being which is not intrinsic to the organism. And there is estar which describes the essence of being. Thus, when I straightforwardly say at to a group of people in recovery that I was a failure at teaching I have no way of indicating that I am not claiming that failure permeates and defines me. Along comes the rationalizations. Someone's g-d didn't want them to be a famous fill-in-the-prestigious-career-of-choice. Someone else informs a small group of folks within my earshot that her definition of failure is different than mine. I can't help but wonder if this unwillingness to admit that because some of us failed at some undertakings that means that we were failures at those undertakings is a leftover from the rah-rah cheerleader self-esteem school of thought. Objectivism certainly has its' foes these days from schoolrooms to boardrooms. I owe a debt to objectivism. Objectivism actually helped me to separate my rationalizations from reality. I learned that yes indeed we are not born equal in terms of ability. I learned through objectivism to take responsibility for my actions, to examine how I contributed to my failures. I cannot push my failure at teaching in the classroom off on some higher power or even on some lower power. It was my own internal inability to ask for help that caused my downfall. So yes I failed at teaching. I was a failure as a teacher in the classroom. Those of you who protest that have never seen me with a group of children as I struggled with the expectation that I keep some sort of order and impose some discipline. I was a failure at teaching-- ser. I am not the totality of failure-- estar.
Even when my brain damage a.k.a. traumatic brain injury has made communication difficult, I know that for example the failure of VESID sucks to adequately serve me is also partially my failure as well. The folks at Running Sores were conducting business as usual after my accident, probably in accordance with legal advice. Brain injuries are expensive. Their insurance company didn't want to get stuck with my medical bills just as my automobile insurance company didn't want to get stuck with my medical bills. Business is business. I don't have to personalize any of it. I didn't understand that back in the early days after my accident when I was sleeping for twenty hours a day. I can understand it now. I am not who I used to be. Even my taste in reading material has changed. I am not who I was going to be-- would have been today if the accident hadn't happened. I am certainly not better off. Spare me.
I am who I am. And regardless of the attitudes and actions of people and agencies around me, I know that I am going to keep striving.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Yesterday I went to a speaker jam. Those that know me well know that I have been in recovery for a very long time-- in fact more than half my life. Yes I still attend meetings of several twelve step groups on a regular basis. I have been accused of all kinds of crimes related to being anti-12 step groups on the internet because I am a sometimes critic of ways and means and probably because I am a Witch/Atheist/currently a Discordian. (If you don't know what Discordianism is, please google it if you care). Or maybe because I am sometimes a jerk. Whatever. In the blogging world as in real life, that is the risk that one takes when expressing oneself: That sooner or later somebody is going to take exception to one's opinions. Oh well. The price of freedom of speech is one that I am willing to pay.
At any rate, I didn't get to the speaker jam at the beginning but that was alright. I am not a morning person, that is fer sure. So I missed the first two speakers out of ten; and the last one. I was there for seven speakers of varying abilities and stories. One thing became immediately clear to me-- from the women speakers as well as from the men speakers-- and that one thing is that a vast majority of those who spoke yesterday have sex on their minds. I learned quite a bit yesterday. Sex problems don't magically disappear when one gets into recovery. I just wasn't expecting them to be so prevalent in what I heard yesterday. A secondary theme was gambling problems in recovery. I was especially appreciative of that since the last couple of months I have wanted to get high and to gamble. The odd thing about wanting to gamble for me is that gambling was never my thing. It didn't do much for me, I only remember getting one gambling "rush" and that was in a small group of folks from Running Sores who were at the race track. I'd been forced to go to that racetrack under the guise of a manager appreciation party when people were still able to force me to be social in a large group but that is a whole other tale. And not a terribly interesting one at that.
About midway through the afternoon, I noticed that someone (who still works at Running Sores) had entered the room and was sitting not far away from me. She was doing a fairly good imitation of being blind to my presence. That was a pretense that I was content to let be. I really didn't care one way or the other. Or at least I had decided not to care for the moment. A bit later as I got up to leave (before speaker number ten and the clean time countdown), the Running Sores woman had moved and I walked right past her to go outside and to my car. Again, she turned away from me. Several thoughts vied for my attention. One of them was along the lines of, "What the hell. Am I a leper? Is brain damage catching?" Some of the other ones were more sane, or at least more of a rationalizing nature. "I didn't want to talk to you either." "Whatever." And there was the ultra-adult thought which ran, "Hey it's been about four and a half years now. Isn't it time to get over this mental masturbation about Running Sores and how 'cruelly' I was treated? Get on with life already."
The thing is, healing doesn't necessarily happen upon demand. Or there would be bunches of people demanding healing, maybe even curing, and getting it. Emotional healing is not much different from the physical in that regard in my opinion. From past experience after a devastating house fire, I know I have to call each thing/person by name and say what they meant to me before I will be able to let go in a real way. So there is more work to do on that score. It's okay though because I have a way to address it and a support network to help me get through it.
I am most fortunate because my support network is not limited to people in recovery. Like the inane commercial for a credit card with frills says, "I got people." This whole life thing, being a citizen of the universe and all of that, is not a simple matter of us versus them. It is not you and me against the world or people in recovery fighting with the aliens (those without a 12 step program, whether they need to be in some form of recovery or not). Nor is it any faction of the gay/lesbian/bisexual/transsexual/transgendered/intersexed/queer communities against the straights, atheists fighting the Christians or other religious groups, disabled against everyone else. Nor even those of us with atypical neurology slugging it out with the neurotypicals.
I sometimes have to remind myself of these things rather forcefully. I have to remind myself that business is business, period. That although I believe that ninety eight percent of those working in the human services field deserve to be eaten by Baba Yaga, really life cannot be reduced to black and white. Consequently, the woman from Running Sores who was at the same speaker jam that I was at yesterday had the same right to be there that I had. And I had the same right to be there that she had.
The last time I saw her was early on after my accident at the local mall. She had gotten my old job but spared no sympathy for her old boss. Hey, I lived anyway. I could obsess over the lack of support from the folks at Running Sores or I could dwell on the support that I was getting elsewhere. Traumatic brain injury has made obsessions the easier softer way and so in truth, for several years I did ruminate excessively over the idea that I did not get a get well card from the folks at Running Sores. [A friend finally sent me a Get Well card, hoping that would help. It did]. What I got from Running Sores was a form from the safety committee which asked, "How could this accident have been prevented?" I wrote down "Shoot all of the pot smokers who drive." [The man who had hit my car was high]. The lawyer was keeping close tabs on my altered states at that time so he was able to convince me to send all forms to him. Whenever I was asked about some form or other, I learned to say, "The lawyer has it. I can't understand it." That much was true. Filling out any kind of form during the first two years post-accident took about an hour and a half and resulted in colossal headaches. And my "answers" were not coherent. The lawyer put all the forms in the round file and had some assistant or other fill them out only when forced to. That is how lawyers do things.
In truth, although my nemesis was ignoring me at the speaker jam, I really didn't have much to say to her either. What could I have said? Hello, how is work? Lame. Good to see you. It wasn't. You are looking well. Like I care. By the way, yes indeed it is a traumatic brain injury just like I had told you at the mall and I am on disability and I hate VESID sucks. She isn't required to care about any of that in even the most superficial way. Just as I am not required to care about her life either.
Traumatic brain injury is a polite word for brain damage. I am brain-damaged. My life got derailed through no fault of my own (for once) four and a half years ago. And yet. The world didn't stop because my world shattered. Since the accident, I've had to deal with lots of stuff. I am not dead. I am very much alive, still breathing. Breathing is a definite plus. I can let the shoes stay on the radiator, their soles melting down into the heat. Or I can take the shoes off of the radiator, open the window to let the stench of burning rubber out, and get on with living the best way I know how.
The metaphor with the shoes bothers me. Like many metaphors that I hear in the rooms of recovery, there is no allowance for more than two ways. Either we are going forwards or we are going backwards. We are progressing in our recovery or we are headed for a fall. We are on g-d's side or we aren't. We are part of the problem or we are part of the solution. I have problems with the whole good-evil dichotomy. For quite awhile now, I've suspected it is just a neat over-simplistic way of saying good g-d-fearing folks to the right and the rest of the infidels to the left. Those of you who know the significance of the numbers 23 and 5 will understand.
The other thing that bothers me is the blending. The whole "all religions are different ways of going up the same mountain." Or "all religions are just different ways of knowing the same g-d." Or, even worse, "all religions kind of meld together." Uh, no they don't. All of the religions of the world cannot even agree on the basics. Christians say Jesus is the Son of g-d. Muslims declare that Allah didn't have a son of any sort. Jews say the Messiah didn't come yet. The Hindus and the Muslims have been fighting each other in India for years and years. Several Muslim factions are also at war. The Koran has produced believers who take on the admonishment to "Kill the infidels" quite literally. Other believers found their ways around that. The Bible has been used to justify slavery, separation of the races, oppression of women and the disabled and those of us who are not straight. And there are believers who find their way around those verses as well. The Buddhists are actually atheistic in their own right with a twist. I think I will read some more of that Richard Dawkins book along with some of the others ones laying around here. (More book reviews coming up by next week at http://sapphoqreviews.blogspot.com). All religions and cultures and peoples are not equally good nor do they all hold equal value to the survival of the humans and other stuff. Call me politically incorrect. I consider that to be a compliment.
I think about the stuff we have lost and the stuff we are losing to political correctness. Like the pot smokers who drive, lets go shoot all of the comedians. Follow that up with the hanging of bloggers and mediacs, gassing of politicians and educators. Oh, but not just the liberals who in my mind are responsible for things like the renaming of the Sambo's restaurants. Let's rid the world of the conservatives too who don't agree with the libs. Let the dems and the pubs drown together as they debate things like a New York State Law that officially makes it illegal to sell a cow which has tuberculosis. If we get rid of everyone who doesn't agree with everyone else, there would be no one left. I have gone off on another flight of fancy. Drat this brain damage.
Drat the Brain Injury Association of the United States of America which had green rubberized bracelets made up. I don't know how or why someone decided that green is the color of brain injury. Myself, I would have opted for a gray/black combination. I would not wear the bracelet when it first came out nor will I now. The bracelet says, "Mind Matters." Screw that. Scientists cannot agree on whether the mind exists at all. Oh it may and it may or may not be part of or the same as the brain or separate from the brain. Or the mind might me a figment of the imagination. No one asked me my opinion when it was time to decide what color to use or what slogan to put on the stupid rubber bracelet. My slogan, "BRAINS matter." My brain matters. The same political correctness that causes "traumatic brain injury" to be preferable to the words "brain damage," is that the reason behind picking the non-specific "mind" over the very specific "brain?"
English does not have a verb to distinguish a temporary state of being from the essence of being. In Spanish, a language whose beauty captivates me, there are two verbs that translate into the English "to be." There is ser-- a state of being which is not intrinsic to the organism. And there is estar which describes the essence of being. Thus, when I straightforwardly say at to a group of people in recovery that I was a failure at teaching I have no way of indicating that I am not claiming that failure permeates and defines me. Along comes the rationalizations. Someone's g-d didn't want them to be a famous fill-in-the-prestigious-career-of-choice. Someone else informs a small group of folks within my earshot that her definition of failure is different than mine. I can't help but wonder if this unwillingness to admit that because some of us failed at some undertakings that means that we were failures at those undertakings is a leftover from the rah-rah cheerleader self-esteem school of thought. Objectivism certainly has its' foes these days from schoolrooms to boardrooms. I owe a debt to objectivism. Objectivism actually helped me to separate my rationalizations from reality. I learned that yes indeed we are not born equal in terms of ability. I learned through objectivism to take responsibility for my actions, to examine how I contributed to my failures. I cannot push my failure at teaching in the classroom off on some higher power or even on some lower power. It was my own internal inability to ask for help that caused my downfall. So yes I failed at teaching. I was a failure as a teacher in the classroom. Those of you who protest that have never seen me with a group of children as I struggled with the expectation that I keep some sort of order and impose some discipline. I was a failure at teaching-- ser. I am not the totality of failure-- estar.
Even when my brain damage a.k.a. traumatic brain injury has made communication difficult, I know that for example the failure of VESID sucks to adequately serve me is also partially my failure as well. The folks at Running Sores were conducting business as usual after my accident, probably in accordance with legal advice. Brain injuries are expensive. Their insurance company didn't want to get stuck with my medical bills just as my automobile insurance company didn't want to get stuck with my medical bills. Business is business. I don't have to personalize any of it. I didn't understand that back in the early days after my accident when I was sleeping for twenty hours a day. I can understand it now. I am not who I used to be. Even my taste in reading material has changed. I am not who I was going to be-- would have been today if the accident hadn't happened. I am certainly not better off. Spare me.
I am who I am. And regardless of the attitudes and actions of people and agencies around me, I know that I am going to keep striving.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: recovery, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, treatment, VESID sucks
¶ 10:30 PM 0 comments links to this post
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Stuff that annoys me, stuff I am happy about
A list in no particular order inspired by a blogger who wrote a list of how to annoy an aspie. Unfortunately, I can't find the link to that particular post at the moment. When/if I do, I will add it.
If you have a brain injury and not all of the stuff on my list annoys you, that is okay.
Write your own wish if you want to.
If you don't have a brain injury and not all of the stuff/most of the stuff on my list annoys you, that is probably okay. Write your own. I don't have the monopoly on being annoyed and some of the stuff mentioned here is not specific to folks with disabilities.
So here goes:
1. "Oh yeah, I have that too." Unless you also have atypical neurology, NO YOU DON'T.
2. Repetitive forms.
3. Too loud, too bright, too scratchy.
4. The world requires multi-tasking for almost everything. My ability to multi-task has shit the bed and ain't coming back.
5. Cognitive art therapists who claim to have degrees from "schools" which are suspected of being diploma mills and reported as such when Googled.
6. Anyone who insists that said cognitive art therapists are loved by gazillions of fans. That whole being loved thing is the emotional stance of infants.
7. Medical doctors who do not listen.
8. Expressive aphasia sucks.
9. "You are a person WITH a traumatic brain injury." No asshole, I have a t.b.i.
10. Referring to t.b.i.-ers or survivors of t.b.i. as t.b.i.s. Uh, hello. We are not our labels. We are not alcoholism, broken legs, or brain injuries. [See number nine.]
11. VESID. VESID sucks. [VESID is called o.v.r. in other states.] And by the way any vocational rehabilitation counselors who may have stumbled across this post, disabled people do NOT spend all of their time home watching television. Even people with developmental disabilities do NOT spend all of their free time home watching television. Your sheltered workshops are a modern form of slave labor and an abomination.
12. Being talked down to by professional "helpers" who don't help.
13. Dealing with the mail order pharmacy.
14. Fatigue.
15. A body that does not bend due to neurology.
16. Inadequate pain management.
17. "The brain rewires itself." Yep, it does. The result is a dirt road where high speed freeways used to exist. And when the neurons don't connect up correctly, say hello to permanent central nervous system tremor.
18. There is a reason why I am not working. Not working does NOT obligate me to be your fetch and step. If I felt well enough to do you all those favors you seem to think I am capable of doing for you, I would be working. So bugger off.
19. Perception problems and visual disturbances getting in the way of a variety of activities.
20. Happy happy joy joy 12 step people who assure me that their g-d wanted this to happen to me as part of some masterful plan. Please take your mental masturbations elsewhere. I have enough of my own.
21. Automatic assumptions that my anger is somehow bad or dysfunction and needs healing. When I want your opinion, I will ask you. And besides, you are not my shrink.
22. Unclear directions.
23. Not enough help to do the things that I can no longer do.
24. A-motivational syndrome-- mine.
25. A social security disability system which denies disability to those of us who have worked all of our adult lives and now can't as well as to people who are on chemo for crying out loud. Along with worker's comp and "no fault" [we ain't paying cuz it ain't our fault] auto insurance companies, health maintenance organizations, and in laws.
***
Stuff I am happy about: being alive, being abstinent, my friends, my family, my dog, my cats, my frogs, the stuff inside of me that enables me to keep striving.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
If you have a brain injury and not all of the stuff on my list annoys you, that is okay.
Write your own wish if you want to.
If you don't have a brain injury and not all of the stuff/most of the stuff on my list annoys you, that is probably okay. Write your own. I don't have the monopoly on being annoyed and some of the stuff mentioned here is not specific to folks with disabilities.
So here goes:
1. "Oh yeah, I have that too." Unless you also have atypical neurology, NO YOU DON'T.
2. Repetitive forms.
3. Too loud, too bright, too scratchy.
4. The world requires multi-tasking for almost everything. My ability to multi-task has shit the bed and ain't coming back.
5. Cognitive art therapists who claim to have degrees from "schools" which are suspected of being diploma mills and reported as such when Googled.
6. Anyone who insists that said cognitive art therapists are loved by gazillions of fans. That whole being loved thing is the emotional stance of infants.
7. Medical doctors who do not listen.
8. Expressive aphasia sucks.
9. "You are a person WITH a traumatic brain injury." No asshole, I have a t.b.i.
10. Referring to t.b.i.-ers or survivors of t.b.i. as t.b.i.s. Uh, hello. We are not our labels. We are not alcoholism, broken legs, or brain injuries. [See number nine.]
11. VESID. VESID sucks. [VESID is called o.v.r. in other states.] And by the way any vocational rehabilitation counselors who may have stumbled across this post, disabled people do NOT spend all of their time home watching television. Even people with developmental disabilities do NOT spend all of their free time home watching television. Your sheltered workshops are a modern form of slave labor and an abomination.
12. Being talked down to by professional "helpers" who don't help.
13. Dealing with the mail order pharmacy.
14. Fatigue.
15. A body that does not bend due to neurology.
16. Inadequate pain management.
17. "The brain rewires itself." Yep, it does. The result is a dirt road where high speed freeways used to exist. And when the neurons don't connect up correctly, say hello to permanent central nervous system tremor.
18. There is a reason why I am not working. Not working does NOT obligate me to be your fetch and step. If I felt well enough to do you all those favors you seem to think I am capable of doing for you, I would be working. So bugger off.
19. Perception problems and visual disturbances getting in the way of a variety of activities.
20. Happy happy joy joy 12 step people who assure me that their g-d wanted this to happen to me as part of some masterful plan. Please take your mental masturbations elsewhere. I have enough of my own.
21. Automatic assumptions that my anger is somehow bad or dysfunction and needs healing. When I want your opinion, I will ask you. And besides, you are not my shrink.
22. Unclear directions.
23. Not enough help to do the things that I can no longer do.
24. A-motivational syndrome-- mine.
25. A social security disability system which denies disability to those of us who have worked all of our adult lives and now can't as well as to people who are on chemo for crying out loud. Along with worker's comp and "no fault" [we ain't paying cuz it ain't our fault] auto insurance companies, health maintenance organizations, and in laws.
***
Stuff I am happy about: being alive, being abstinent, my friends, my family, my dog, my cats, my frogs, the stuff inside of me that enables me to keep striving.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: a.b.i., accessibility, acquired+brain+injury, tbi, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 2:45 AM 0 comments links to this post
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Making Work Work
"Even in the future, nothing works!" -Dark Helmet in the movie Spaceballs
A job interview today. For a job for which before my car accident I was considered to be overqualified for. I interviewed well, she told me. She enjoyed talking to me. It lasted an hour. She said she was leaving for vacation and did not wish to leave me hanging. She would discuss with personnel and tell them to go ahead and have me interview with other people.
Damn this brain injury. Damn these feet, the vision, the inability to multi-task, the bad back.
Her concern-- the position is a third shift and take-downs would surely be involved. Could I do them now? The job is very physical. That was her concern. And it is a legitimate one.
The only thing I could say in response was yes that is a valid concern however (insert words that mean I am one determined mutherfrucker no matter what and that I can learn anything I need to learn) and perhaps I would need some extra practice with the other two staffers that I would be working with...their styles...all of that. What I didn't tell her is that I've always hated doing SKIP-R. I hated doing two-person escorts at my last job the few times I had to. And I didn't tell her about the vertigo even after being asked specifically about all of the t.b.i. crap
and complications and residual effects.
The fairly useless job handler claims she will go in tomorrow to get me those follow-alongs (in the other three departments) that the moronic VESID folks funded me for. "VESID won't support any jobs that are not within your limitations," the job handler tells me. She is young enough to have a MySpace page as her main blog, complete with an exaggerated description of her profession. And stupid enough for her user name to be the same as her legal name.
(Yes I have a MySpace page too, however it is primarily to keep up with heathen
news that a friend publishes there.)
Has she even read the list of limitations from various doctors? One of them says 15 hours a week. I'm guessing that the morons from VESID skipped over that one too. Too inconvenient. It would require a filing of a form to get an exception for the usual requirement of "must be able to work at least 20 hours a week." No overhead reaching. No lifting over 10 pounds. Avoid night driving. No carrying loose things downstairs. There's a bunch of them, along with bunches of diagnoses from various doctors of things all related to my brain injury, or made worse by my brain injury. I specifically pointed out the limitations to her several times. The civil service job she told me about today was for being a corrections officer for crying out loud. I wanted to bang my head against the wall after that revelation. I already have diagnosable brain damage (yes folks, traumatic brain injury is a polite word for brain damage) so I resisted the impulse.
Bits of depression threaten to rain down on me. Time to keep going. Routine helps. E-mail, blogging, and cognitive work tonight. Drug court tomorrow with a friend's daughter and keep putting in those applications. I won't stop with that until a job offer comes through. Walk with the dog. Practice walking on uneven ground with the dog. Housework would be a good thing. Water the plants before death ensues. Do the next clean thing. You drink, you drug, you die. A line from a rehab movie I saw once during my torturous time tutoring adolescents. I prefer adolescents in groups of one. Huge problem. There were 26 of them. But I stuck it out for my obligatory 3 years before beating feet out of there. The money wasn't worth it.
And fuck VESID. It would be nice to have their support (i.e. job coach) on a job however if that becomes "not able to happen by golly because whatever job violates some limitation or other" I'm going to go to work anyways. Even if it means working at the local Walmart as a tire-changer and an oil-changer. Even if it means using a fricking cart to bring the tire to the car.
The local Walmart is so desperate for help that I have an interview to do that on Monday. "Did you apply to be a mechanic by mistake?" the woman asked me on the phone after she found out that I never done either. "No," I told her, "I applied for all of the positions. I am willing to learn whatever you or someone wishes to teach me." Then I heard, "Oh well that is really hard work and blah blah blah I will call you back when there is a service writer position open and blah blah blah." She called me back an hour and a half later. That interview was supposed to be tomorrow but she changed it to Monday. That's okay. I haven't run out of places to apply to.
Because I am going to work this year. Even if it means missing the week in Maine with my husband this summer and the week visiting my friend Philly Dave this summer. I am going to work this year. I am going to work this year no matter what. If nothing in the future works, then I am going to make it work or beat it beyond recognition in my endeavor.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
A job interview today. For a job for which before my car accident I was considered to be overqualified for. I interviewed well, she told me. She enjoyed talking to me. It lasted an hour. She said she was leaving for vacation and did not wish to leave me hanging. She would discuss with personnel and tell them to go ahead and have me interview with other people.
Damn this brain injury. Damn these feet, the vision, the inability to multi-task, the bad back.
Her concern-- the position is a third shift and take-downs would surely be involved. Could I do them now? The job is very physical. That was her concern. And it is a legitimate one.
The only thing I could say in response was yes that is a valid concern however (insert words that mean I am one determined mutherfrucker no matter what and that I can learn anything I need to learn) and perhaps I would need some extra practice with the other two staffers that I would be working with...their styles...all of that. What I didn't tell her is that I've always hated doing SKIP-R. I hated doing two-person escorts at my last job the few times I had to. And I didn't tell her about the vertigo even after being asked specifically about all of the t.b.i. crap
and complications and residual effects.
The fairly useless job handler claims she will go in tomorrow to get me those follow-alongs (in the other three departments) that the moronic VESID folks funded me for. "VESID won't support any jobs that are not within your limitations," the job handler tells me. She is young enough to have a MySpace page as her main blog, complete with an exaggerated description of her profession. And stupid enough for her user name to be the same as her legal name.
(Yes I have a MySpace page too, however it is primarily to keep up with heathen
news that a friend publishes there.)
Has she even read the list of limitations from various doctors? One of them says 15 hours a week. I'm guessing that the morons from VESID skipped over that one too. Too inconvenient. It would require a filing of a form to get an exception for the usual requirement of "must be able to work at least 20 hours a week." No overhead reaching. No lifting over 10 pounds. Avoid night driving. No carrying loose things downstairs. There's a bunch of them, along with bunches of diagnoses from various doctors of things all related to my brain injury, or made worse by my brain injury. I specifically pointed out the limitations to her several times. The civil service job she told me about today was for being a corrections officer for crying out loud. I wanted to bang my head against the wall after that revelation. I already have diagnosable brain damage (yes folks, traumatic brain injury is a polite word for brain damage) so I resisted the impulse.
Bits of depression threaten to rain down on me. Time to keep going. Routine helps. E-mail, blogging, and cognitive work tonight. Drug court tomorrow with a friend's daughter and keep putting in those applications. I won't stop with that until a job offer comes through. Walk with the dog. Practice walking on uneven ground with the dog. Housework would be a good thing. Water the plants before death ensues. Do the next clean thing. You drink, you drug, you die. A line from a rehab movie I saw once during my torturous time tutoring adolescents. I prefer adolescents in groups of one. Huge problem. There were 26 of them. But I stuck it out for my obligatory 3 years before beating feet out of there. The money wasn't worth it.
And fuck VESID. It would be nice to have their support (i.e. job coach) on a job however if that becomes "not able to happen by golly because whatever job violates some limitation or other" I'm going to go to work anyways. Even if it means working at the local Walmart as a tire-changer and an oil-changer. Even if it means using a fricking cart to bring the tire to the car.
The local Walmart is so desperate for help that I have an interview to do that on Monday. "Did you apply to be a mechanic by mistake?" the woman asked me on the phone after she found out that I never done either. "No," I told her, "I applied for all of the positions. I am willing to learn whatever you or someone wishes to teach me." Then I heard, "Oh well that is really hard work and blah blah blah I will call you back when there is a service writer position open and blah blah blah." She called me back an hour and a half later. That interview was supposed to be tomorrow but she changed it to Monday. That's okay. I haven't run out of places to apply to.
Because I am going to work this year. Even if it means missing the week in Maine with my husband this summer and the week visiting my friend Philly Dave this summer. I am going to work this year. I am going to work this year no matter what. If nothing in the future works, then I am going to make it work or beat it beyond recognition in my endeavor.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: employment, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, VESID
¶ 10:15 PM 0 comments links to this post
Monday, January 21, 2008
Total Aggravation
I got accepted into a 55b/c program which basically means that I may be able to get a (real) State job with accommodations. The shrink (who is well acquainted with more than drugging people to death and is actually keeping track of what is happening with my traumatic brain injury (from a car accident); and who is familiar with the program) tells me this is my best bet for getting employment after being out of work for four years due to my car accident. I don't just want any old job where the chances are high that the salary will be not enough for me to live on and that I will get fired. I can't multi-task at all anymore. I wasn't really good at it but now any ability I had to multi-task is totally dead. I want a job coach to assist me during the first couple of months or so at the State job which I haven't gotten yet. This has been my plan since I first heard about this 55b/c program.
(VESID is OVR in other places but in New York State it is called VESID).
I told the VESID "counselor" (third in less than three years) this. Apparently, the paperwork, my suppos-ed Individualized Employment Plan-- which took a couple years in the making because I had refused to go to their favored agency connected with the sheltered workshop for job coaching services-- requires a specific job goal. Fine. A couple of months ago, I rattled off several job choices so that way just maybe I could finally get to the agency of my choice to arrange for job coaching.
I finally got to meet with the job handler who then would assist me in helping me find a job. Again, I repeated myself by telling her that I want to get a job with the State via the 55b/c program. (She has never heard of said program). Again, the suppos-ed Individualized Employment Plan requires a specific job to fill in the blank. "Working for the State" is not adequate. The job handler changes the job goal from "animal care technician" to a state job title. This requires the VESID "counselor" to rewrite the I.E.P. but I don't care about that.
During the meeting with the job handler, I learn that VESID approved my request for job trials. A job trial means I would get to follow someone on a job for a couple of hours to see if I could possibly stand doing a job like that one. I am approved for 15 hours. 5 for the job handler to set up a few. 10 for me to actually shadow people on several jobs. I tell the job handler very clearly that I had asked for this and that I want this. This was in December. Okay.
Now it is January. The job handler assumes the role of a nag. She calls me with a lead for a full-time job in the newspaper-- one that would require extensive multi-tasking but no matter. Note full-time. (My plan has been to start part-time to see if my fatigue level will allow me to work up to full-time. I can do this at the State with accommodations under the 55b/c program. (My aunt is the one who is actually helping me regain some stamina because the professionals do not understand how freaking tired I am from the brain injury. I am glad that my aunt is working with me on this because no one else is). I am a bit aggravated but that's okay. I decide to go to the Job Service place which is part of unemployment because they will re-vamp my resume for free. The job handler is nagging me to go there to look for work.
Now it is several days and a weekend later. I am leaving for my appointment with the shrink. I get a letter in the mail from the job handler. It is an advert for a "job fair" listing several full-time positions with an agency and a note advising me to attend said job fair if I am interested in any of these jobs. (The jobs happen to be in direct care with people living in group homes and I cannot lift due to my spinal injuries {car accident}. All of these things are documented in my records which both VESID and the job handler have. But no matter. The job fair ended shortly before the postman came with the letter.
This is January. There is no longer any talk of job trials. There is no acknowledgment by the job handler that I am endeavoring to get a State job at which time a job coach might be useful. I go see the shrink after the mail comes. I determine that I am going to call the 55b/c program people to find out if there is anything I can do to help them get me a State job. The shrink says they are just supposed to find me one and I don't really have to do anything except wait. An acquaintance who had gotten accepted for 55b/c last year in fact was offered a job some time later without having to do anything. Still, I think that sending them a new fancy resume and talking to them on the phone might be a good idea.
VESID's whole focus is to get me working ASAP and it doesn't matter about what is best for me. And VESID in the region where I live is the worst one in this state.
I would tell VESID and the job handler to bugger off except that if I quit VESID, the delayed review of my disability would then take place. I can't afford to lose disability right now unless I am working and able to maintain the full-time thing. My mate is totally obsessed with money and thinks I should have magically gone back to who I was before my car accident several years ago so there is that. My good friend keeps pushing me to get jobs at various places where I know I just can't do it. (For example-- a bilingual staff at a telephone hotline for tax help. Problem. I can write Spanish better than I can read it and read it far better than I can speak it. My voice is too soft to be effective on the phone, I can't multi-task, and people who speak Spanish tell me they cannot understand me and I am butchering their language). My primary care doctor thinks I should have gone back to work full-time two weeks after my car accident and the last two times I saw him, I got a bit angry when he asked me, "So, where are you working now?"
I have determined my course of action and I am taking steps toward my goal. I even have a plan B in case the 55b/c program can't come up with a state job for me in the three years allotted for this before I would have to apply again.
I feel like the people around me (except for my aunt and the shrink) are all nagging me to hurry up, go to work full-time and forget about what I want to do. Additionally, the people around me (except for my aunt and the shrink) are acting as if I am nuts and they are the sane ones. My fatigue is real. I am not a faker or a poser. The last several years have been really really taxing to say the least. I now have sleep apnea (I love my c-pap machine and before that, I felt like I was sleepwalking through life) and supposedly I now have "hypertensive heart disease, undifferentiated, without hypertension" (a gift from the pc doc and I may have to go on a cholesterol-lowering drug if the diet hasn't done enough. I've had untreated high cholesterol for seven years now because my good cholesterol is really really high. After awhile, the good cholesterol can stop being as effective and then a script has to be given). I have the fibro-related aches and pains which I treat with exercise. The brain fatigue which I treat with extra sleep. The cognitive difficulties which I keep doing the computer exercises for. And a bunch of people who are nagging me who I keep trying to ignore. Because trying to explain to them my Plan A and Plan B hasn't worked.
If there is anything that I am not perceiving here, please tell me.
Thanks,
spike
I got accepted into a 55b/c program which basically means that I may be able to get a (real) State job with accommodations. The shrink (who is well acquainted with more than drugging people to death and is actually keeping track of what is happening with my traumatic brain injury (from a car accident); and who is familiar with the program) tells me this is my best bet for getting employment after being out of work for four years due to my car accident. I don't just want any old job where the chances are high that the salary will be not enough for me to live on and that I will get fired. I can't multi-task at all anymore. I wasn't really good at it but now any ability I had to multi-task is totally dead. I want a job coach to assist me during the first couple of months or so at the State job which I haven't gotten yet. This has been my plan since I first heard about this 55b/c program.
(VESID is OVR in other places but in New York State it is called VESID).
I told the VESID "counselor" (third in less than three years) this. Apparently, the paperwork, my suppos-ed Individualized Employment Plan-- which took a couple years in the making because I had refused to go to their favored agency connected with the sheltered workshop for job coaching services-- requires a specific job goal. Fine. A couple of months ago, I rattled off several job choices so that way just maybe I could finally get to the agency of my choice to arrange for job coaching.
I finally got to meet with the job handler who then would assist me in helping me find a job. Again, I repeated myself by telling her that I want to get a job with the State via the 55b/c program. (She has never heard of said program). Again, the suppos-ed Individualized Employment Plan requires a specific job to fill in the blank. "Working for the State" is not adequate. The job handler changes the job goal from "animal care technician" to a state job title. This requires the VESID "counselor" to rewrite the I.E.P. but I don't care about that.
During the meeting with the job handler, I learn that VESID approved my request for job trials. A job trial means I would get to follow someone on a job for a couple of hours to see if I could possibly stand doing a job like that one. I am approved for 15 hours. 5 for the job handler to set up a few. 10 for me to actually shadow people on several jobs. I tell the job handler very clearly that I had asked for this and that I want this. This was in December. Okay.
Now it is January. The job handler assumes the role of a nag. She calls me with a lead for a full-time job in the newspaper-- one that would require extensive multi-tasking but no matter. Note full-time. (My plan has been to start part-time to see if my fatigue level will allow me to work up to full-time. I can do this at the State with accommodations under the 55b/c program. (My aunt is the one who is actually helping me regain some stamina because the professionals do not understand how freaking tired I am from the brain injury. I am glad that my aunt is working with me on this because no one else is). I am a bit aggravated but that's okay. I decide to go to the Job Service place which is part of unemployment because they will re-vamp my resume for free. The job handler is nagging me to go there to look for work.
Now it is several days and a weekend later. I am leaving for my appointment with the shrink. I get a letter in the mail from the job handler. It is an advert for a "job fair" listing several full-time positions with an agency and a note advising me to attend said job fair if I am interested in any of these jobs. (The jobs happen to be in direct care with people living in group homes and I
This is January. There is no longer any talk of job trials. There is no acknowledgment by the job handler that I am endeavoring to get a State job at which time a job coach might be useful. I go see the shrink after the mail comes. I determine that I am going to call the 55b/c program people to find out if there is anything I can do to help them get me a State job. The shrink says they are just supposed to find me one and I don't really have to do anything except wait. An acquaintance who had gotten accepted for 55b/c last year in fact was offered a job some time later without having to do anything. Still, I think that sending them a new fancy resume and talking to them on the phone might be a good idea.
VESID's whole focus is to get me working ASAP and it doesn't matter about what is best for me. And VESID in the region where I live is the worst one in this state.
I would tell VESID and the job handler to bugger off except that if I quit VESID, the delayed review of my disability would then take place. I can't afford to lose disability right now unless I am working and able to maintain the full-time thing. My mate is totally obsessed with money and thinks I should have magically gone back to who I was before my car accident several years ago so there is that. My good friend keeps pushing me to get jobs at various places where I know I just can't do it. (For example-- a bilingual staff at a telephone hotline for tax help. Problem. I can write Spanish better than I can read it and read it far better than I can speak it. My voice is too soft to be effective on the phone, I can't multi-task, and people who speak Spanish tell me they cannot understand me and I am butchering their language). My primary care doctor thinks I should have gone back to work full-time two weeks after my car accident and the last two times I saw him, I got a bit angry when he asked me, "So, where are you working now?"
I have determined my course of action and I am taking steps toward my goal. I even have a plan B in case the 55b/c program can't come up with a state job for me in the three years allotted for this before I would have to apply again.
I feel like the people around me (except for my aunt and the shrink) are all nagging me to hurry up, go to work full-time and forget about what I want to do. Additionally, the people around me (except for my aunt and the shrink) are acting as if I am nuts and they are the sane ones. My fatigue is real. I am not a faker or a poser. The last several years have been really really taxing to say the least. I now have sleep apnea (I love my c-pap machine and before that, I felt like I was sleepwalking through life) and supposedly I now have "hypertensive heart disease, undifferentiated, without hypertension" (a gift from the pc doc and I may have to go on a cholesterol-lowering drug if the diet hasn't done enough. I've had untreated high cholesterol for seven years now because my good cholesterol is really really high. After awhile, the good cholesterol can stop being as effective and then a script has to be given). I have the fibro-related aches and pains which I treat with exercise. The brain fatigue which I treat with extra sleep. The cognitive difficulties which I keep doing the computer exercises for. And a bunch of people who are nagging me who I keep trying to ignore. Because trying to explain to them my Plan A and Plan B hasn't worked.
If there is anything that I am not perceiving here, please tell me.
Thanks,
spike
Labels: employment, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, VESID
¶ 2:30 AM 0 comments links to this post
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Drunken Principal Principles 1/12/07
An Indiana school principal, Scott Syverson, was stopped on December 22, 2007 by an officer. Dr. Syverson was drunk. The police officer was told to use his discretion, so he elected to have the principal driven home rather than arresting him. A prosecutor later fixed that by filing charges. The principal is currently on administrative leave until sometime in February when the school board will meet.
Of note particularly is this letter written by Lorrie Bjornstad about what could have happened:
http://www.indystar.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080112/OPINION01/801120386/-1/LOCAL17
but didn't. Well, it did happen to her daughter. Although Principal Scott Syverson was not the cause of her daughter's traumatic brain injury, he could have been. The driver who did was also intoxicated and also drove that way after a party celebrating the beginning of Christmas/Winter vacation.
(The school board member who had hosted the party that Dr. Syverson attended has said that he did not appear to be impaired upon leaving her home-- self-serving interest? perhaps. The official trouble was that he and two other buddies had gone on to a pub and stayed there for two more hours. Regardless of where he was when his blood alcohol level rose above what is allowed by the State of Indiana, the point remains. Dude was drunk. Dude could have gifted Lorrie Bjorstad's daughter with her t.b.i.)
Dr. Scott Syverson should suffer the consequences of his actions legally; and professionally depending upon the policies of the school board. Additionally, he should be required to get treatment before resuming any duties at any school in the state in any capacity. There should be no extra punishment or no lesser punishment than that afforded to anyone else caught driving drunk.
Having the "disease" of alcoholism or any other addiction-- sorry disease concept fans. I am an old diehard who maintains that it is a condition-- should not be used to excuse bad behavior, period. I fully support Drug Court because there are specific stringent requirements which must be met there and participants have a real chance of turning their lives around. I hope that the principal winds up in a drug court program after serving some jail time and I hope that his being a prominent public figure in his town will not interfere with any consequences of his actions.
Active addiction sucks. Having to live with a traumatic brain injury also sucks.
It's "nice" I suppose that some students are circulating a petition in support of their principal. My sympathies are not with the principal. My sympathies lie with every victim of every driver who has gotten behind the wheel of any transport vehicle while drunk or high or both. Some of us live. Some of us die. Some of us live and our lives and brains are forever changed.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Of note particularly is this letter written by Lorrie Bjornstad about what could have happened:
http://www.indystar.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080112/OPINION01/801120386/-1/LOCAL17
but didn't. Well, it did happen to her daughter. Although Principal Scott Syverson was not the cause of her daughter's traumatic brain injury, he could have been. The driver who did was also intoxicated and also drove that way after a party celebrating the beginning of Christmas/Winter vacation.
(The school board member who had hosted the party that Dr. Syverson attended has said that he did not appear to be impaired upon leaving her home-- self-serving interest? perhaps. The official trouble was that he and two other buddies had gone on to a pub and stayed there for two more hours. Regardless of where he was when his blood alcohol level rose above what is allowed by the State of Indiana, the point remains. Dude was drunk. Dude could have gifted Lorrie Bjorstad's daughter with her t.b.i.)
Dr. Scott Syverson should suffer the consequences of his actions legally; and professionally depending upon the policies of the school board. Additionally, he should be required to get treatment before resuming any duties at any school in the state in any capacity. There should be no extra punishment or no lesser punishment than that afforded to anyone else caught driving drunk.
Having the "disease" of alcoholism or any other addiction-- sorry disease concept fans. I am an old diehard who maintains that it is a condition-- should not be used to excuse bad behavior, period. I fully support Drug Court because there are specific stringent requirements which must be met there and participants have a real chance of turning their lives around. I hope that the principal winds up in a drug court program after serving some jail time and I hope that his being a prominent public figure in his town will not interfere with any consequences of his actions.
Active addiction sucks. Having to live with a traumatic brain injury also sucks.
It's "nice" I suppose that some students are circulating a petition in support of their principal. My sympathies are not with the principal. My sympathies lie with every victim of every driver who has gotten behind the wheel of any transport vehicle while drunk or high or both. Some of us live. Some of us die. Some of us live and our lives and brains are forever changed.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: addiction, alcoholism, consequences, drunk, high, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, treatment
¶ 11:48 PM 0 comments links to this post
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Brain Injuries and P.T.S.D. 12/25/07
Several articles have cropped up declaring that brain injuries "cure" Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In reading through them, I found that what they meant to say is that brain injuries demonstrated in either of two specific areas of the brains of research subjects lessen the incidence of P.T.S.D. The two areas are the amygdala and the vmPFC or the ventromedial prefrontal cortex. The research results reported are actually fairly impressive. Folks with insults to the amygdala had zero incidence of P.T.S.D. And only 18% of folks with insults to the vmPFC developed P.T.S.D.
No one is planning to go out and deliberately inflict brain injuries upon those with P.T.S.D. The idea of surgery to insert clips to dull activity in one or both areas is rather uninviting. Use of magnetic stuff is more palatable but also more suspect as junk science.
Nothing reported over on Medscape yet so it is too early for me to get excited.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/12/23/AR2007122300601.html
http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2007/12/071224124639.htm
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Brain_injury_may_be_a_cure_for_PTSD/
articleshow/2647593.cms
http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2007/dec/24/medicalresearch.neuroscience
No one is planning to go out and deliberately inflict brain injuries upon those with P.T.S.D. The idea of surgery to insert clips to dull activity in one or both areas is rather uninviting. Use of magnetic stuff is more palatable but also more suspect as junk science.
Nothing reported over on Medscape yet so it is too early for me to get excited.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/12/23/AR2007122300601.html
http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2007/12/071224124639.htm
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Brain_injury_may_be_a_cure_for_PTSD/
articleshow/2647593.cms
http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2007/dec/24/medicalresearch.neuroscience
Labels: a.b.i., acquired brain injury, p.t.s.d., t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, treatment
¶ 12:22 AM 0 comments links to this post
Friday, November 30, 2007
Circle Work with Insects
I have been thinking about stealing spiritual practices from other cultures, particularly [in the Untied States] the indigenous tribes of the Americas. There are new agers, white lighters, wiccans, and some folks who don't know what else to do with their money who are all souped up on shamanism, medicine circles, and other practices which they believe to be the real thing. And because there is an average of a sucker born every minute, there are lots of grown up suckers willing to part with their hard-earned cash to go on vision quests. And there is a market for those glossy slick-backed "Medicine Cards" with the nice drawings of Bear and Shells and stuff on them.
Awhile back, I posted to an e-group which I no longer belong to asking about how come no one ever claims the cockroach as their special animal. Everyone wants wolves, lions, tigers, bears, eagles, buffaloes, deer, frog. But absolutely no one wants to have any sort of spiritual relationship with a cockroach. The cockroach is the most successful evolutionary experiment, able to adapt under a myriad of conditions, and quite the traveler too. The spiritually bent should be fasting and begging for Cockroach to be their power insect or totem animal. But alas, not.
Now and again, there are folks who assign mythical beasties to the four cardinal directions or elements in a working circle. Dragons and unicorns abound, right along with the more traditional undines and salamanders. Phoenix and sirens, gargoyles and mermaids yet nary a real insect is noted.
For those who are so inclined, I present the Circle of Insects!
earth: deer tick, cockroach, wood bee, head louse, termite, house fly, ground killer wasp
air: flea, white-faced hornet, pubic crab, fruit fly, horse fly, jumping spider, hover fly
fire: firefly, honey bee, wasp, sweat bee, fire ant, red ant, scorpion
water: skate, diving beetle, mosquito, springtail, noctuid moth, leech, stone fly
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
I have been thinking about stealing spiritual practices from other cultures, particularly [in the Untied States] the indigenous tribes of the Americas. There are new agers, white lighters, wiccans, and some folks who don't know what else to do with their money who are all souped up on shamanism, medicine circles, and other practices which they believe to be the real thing. And because there is an average of a sucker born every minute, there are lots of grown up suckers willing to part with their hard-earned cash to go on vision quests. And there is a market for those glossy slick-backed "Medicine Cards" with the nice drawings of Bear and Shells and stuff on them.
Awhile back, I posted to an e-group which I no longer belong to asking about how come no one ever claims the cockroach as their special animal. Everyone wants wolves, lions, tigers, bears, eagles, buffaloes, deer, frog. But absolutely no one wants to have any sort of spiritual relationship with a cockroach. The cockroach is the most successful evolutionary experiment, able to adapt under a myriad of conditions, and quite the traveler too. The spiritually bent should be fasting and begging for Cockroach to be their power insect or totem animal. But alas, not.
Now and again, there are folks who assign mythical beasties to the four cardinal directions or elements in a working circle. Dragons and unicorns abound, right along with the more traditional undines and salamanders. Phoenix and sirens, gargoyles and mermaids yet nary a real insect is noted.
For those who are so inclined, I present the Circle of Insects!
earth: deer tick, cockroach, wood bee, head louse, termite, house fly, ground killer wasp
air: flea, white-faced hornet, pubic crab, fruit fly, horse fly, jumping spider, hover fly
fire: firefly, honey bee, wasp, sweat bee, fire ant, red ant, scorpion
water: skate, diving beetle, mosquito, springtail, noctuid moth, leech, stone fly
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: cognition, pagan, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 12:28 AM 2 comments links to this post
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Job Ideas for spike q. poet
*Disclaimer: not necessarily approved of by the local unimaginative VESID/O.V.R. office*
1. Grow hissing cockroaches, crickets, and earthworms-- may distress lover.
2. Photograph frogs.
3. Breed frogs-- too technical. Apparently frogs in captivity can't figure out how to do it without
human intervention.
4. Rescue unwanted or hurt amphibians-- lover thinks fifteen frogs are enough.
5. Raise llamas--- may really distress lover.
6. Trail guide and llama trekking-- requires llamas.
7. Breed snakes-- lover will move out.
8. Receptionist at very quiet office with no telephone lines.
9. Starving artist-writer.
10. Inspirational speaker.
11. Career coaching.
12. Have year round yard sales.
13. Sell things on the web-- requires things that people will want to buy.
14. Drive a truck-- spinal problems will rebel.
15. Teacher's aide-- hate kids in groups of more than one.
16. Landlord-- been there, done that, ain't doing that to myself again.
17. Event planner-- poor organizational skills.
18. Be a clown or stand-up comic.
19. Start a new religion-- bad karma.
20. Grow flowers in a greenhouse-- requires greenhouse.
21. Professional poker player.
22. Raise corn, hay, and other stuff-- requires farm.
23. Own a human services agency-- would rather manually shovel cow shit.
24. Restaurant hostess at a very slow restaurant.
25. Cook at a small diner-- people will die.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
1. Grow hissing cockroaches, crickets, and earthworms-- may distress lover.
2. Photograph frogs.
3. Breed frogs-- too technical. Apparently frogs in captivity can't figure out how to do it without
human intervention.
4. Rescue unwanted or hurt amphibians-- lover thinks fifteen frogs are enough.
5. Raise llamas--- may really distress lover.
6. Trail guide and llama trekking-- requires llamas.
7. Breed snakes-- lover will move out.
8. Receptionist at very quiet office with no telephone lines.
9. Starving artist-writer.
10. Inspirational speaker.
11. Career coaching.
12. Have year round yard sales.
13. Sell things on the web-- requires things that people will want to buy.
14. Drive a truck-- spinal problems will rebel.
15. Teacher's aide-- hate kids in groups of more than one.
16. Landlord-- been there, done that, ain't doing that to myself again.
17. Event planner-- poor organizational skills.
18. Be a clown or stand-up comic.
19. Start a new religion-- bad karma.
20. Grow flowers in a greenhouse-- requires greenhouse.
21. Professional poker player.
22. Raise corn, hay, and other stuff-- requires farm.
23. Own a human services agency-- would rather manually shovel cow shit.
24. Restaurant hostess at a very slow restaurant.
25. Cook at a small diner-- people will die.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: employment, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 2:01 AM 0 comments links to this post
Monday, November 12, 2007
Four Years
Last week I passed my four year anniversary since my car accident and my traumatic brain injury. I thought somehow I would be working by now. Although I am closer to working now than I've been. Yeah, I am writing a novel and that is cool. To me though, that doesn't really "count" until the contract has been signed and an advance check is in my sweaty hands. I have one potential job substituting for a dishwasher should they get sick and another possibility to work for a friend who is manager at a restaurant. I don't think I will mind washing dishes once in awhile. Working at the friend's restaurant-- well, I gotta start over again somewhere. I haven't even been able to get an interview to deliver newspapers. So I will take what I can get and remember it is just for now, just until I can find something else.
I still have my vision problems, the mild expressive aphasia, and the occasional vertigo. As far as medical experts say, traumatic brain injury is permanent. We improve over time at some stuff, especially if we keep working at it but the basic brain injury itself is there and will be there. Folks say that "the brain can regenerate isn't that amazing?" sort of thing until I am sick of hearing it. Again, I will tell yas that yes, some neurons can regenerate however they do not always reconnect to the correct halves [causing cognitive slowdowns] or at all to anything [causing a central nervous system tremor which yes I do have].
I will never be who I was. I won't lie for the sake of the comfort of others and claim that who I am is a new improved model because it isn't. I don't believe that "all things happen for a reason" or that "I'm right where some god wants me to be" or that "there are no true coincidences." What I think is that life is sacred-- neither fair nor unfair-- and that it is the finite part of our selves that requires and maybe even demands meaning, thus we create it. I don't particularly feel bound by any compulsion to have reasons and lessons for learning. I think that life is far beyond our petty little explanations. Most other folks I know find comfort in believing that there is some sort of grand plan. That stuff doesn't help me though so I dumped it.
Some things have improved. My hearing-- which was supersonic before my accident and right on the borderline of needing a hearing aid or two afterwards-- has re-established itself into the supersonic category as per the last audiology test this summer. The addition of a c-pap machine after two sleep studies and a diagnosis of sleep apnea has really helped me to have a life [although it takes me much longer than average to get into REM sleep, at least I am dreaming again at night]. I keep working on my aphasia and now most folks don't notice it. I got involved with an incredimail creators' group [thanks Jeremy Crow] and that has been of immense help to me in restoring motivation.
If the accident didn't happen, we would have been better off financially and I would not have had my career viciously kicked out from under me. If suffering builds character and strength, I certainly could have done with a bit less of both of those things. In a perfect world, folks who smoke pot would be picked up by the magic yellow submarine bus and driven anywheres they had to go. [The driver who ran my car into a house was high on marijuana]. In a perfect world, we wouldn't need lawyers to protect us from our places of employment after we get hurt, little kids wouldn't be abused or die of starvation and diseases and all stuff like that. But it is not a perfect world. So I just have to do the best I can [most days] with what I got. As Nathaniel Branden would say, "It is what it is."
By this time next year, I hope that my novel will be written and submitted. I also hope to be working at least part-time at a job that I can tolerate. Still be married and in love with my husband and he with me. Saving money for my next cross-country trip. [I want to go every year or every two years for the rest of my life]. And still enjoying my animals, the woods, and life.
spike
I am writing a novel, as I've said before and thus am behind once again in visiting all of your blogs and commenting. Sorry for that. I will get to visiting all of yas to leave comments over the next few weeks or so.
And anyone who has a dog, if you haven't watched The Dog Whisperer, you ought to give it a whirl. He has most excellent ideas about dog psychology and communication. My current dog who is really angelic has become even more perfect since I started doing some of the things he suggests.
I still have my vision problems, the mild expressive aphasia, and the occasional vertigo. As far as medical experts say, traumatic brain injury is permanent. We improve over time at some stuff, especially if we keep working at it but the basic brain injury itself is there and will be there. Folks say that "the brain can regenerate isn't that amazing?" sort of thing until I am sick of hearing it. Again, I will tell yas that yes, some neurons can regenerate however they do not always reconnect to the correct halves [causing cognitive slowdowns] or at all to anything [causing a central nervous system tremor which yes I do have].
I will never be who I was. I won't lie for the sake of the comfort of others and claim that who I am is a new improved model because it isn't. I don't believe that "all things happen for a reason" or that "I'm right where some god wants me to be" or that "there are no true coincidences." What I think is that life is sacred-- neither fair nor unfair-- and that it is the finite part of our selves that requires and maybe even demands meaning, thus we create it. I don't particularly feel bound by any compulsion to have reasons and lessons for learning. I think that life is far beyond our petty little explanations. Most other folks I know find comfort in believing that there is some sort of grand plan. That stuff doesn't help me though so I dumped it.
Some things have improved. My hearing-- which was supersonic before my accident and right on the borderline of needing a hearing aid or two afterwards-- has re-established itself into the supersonic category as per the last audiology test this summer. The addition of a c-pap machine after two sleep studies and a diagnosis of sleep apnea has really helped me to have a life [although it takes me much longer than average to get into REM sleep, at least I am dreaming again at night]. I keep working on my aphasia and now most folks don't notice it. I got involved with an incredimail creators' group [thanks Jeremy Crow] and that has been of immense help to me in restoring motivation.
If the accident didn't happen, we would have been better off financially and I would not have had my career viciously kicked out from under me. If suffering builds character and strength, I certainly could have done with a bit less of both of those things. In a perfect world, folks who smoke pot would be picked up by the magic yellow submarine bus and driven anywheres they had to go. [The driver who ran my car into a house was high on marijuana]. In a perfect world, we wouldn't need lawyers to protect us from our places of employment after we get hurt, little kids wouldn't be abused or die of starvation and diseases and all stuff like that. But it is not a perfect world. So I just have to do the best I can [most days] with what I got. As Nathaniel Branden would say, "It is what it is."
By this time next year, I hope that my novel will be written and submitted. I also hope to be working at least part-time at a job that I can tolerate. Still be married and in love with my husband and he with me. Saving money for my next cross-country trip. [I want to go every year or every two years for the rest of my life]. And still enjoying my animals, the woods, and life.
spike
I am writing a novel, as I've said before and thus am behind once again in visiting all of your blogs and commenting. Sorry for that. I will get to visiting all of yas to leave comments over the next few weeks or so.
And anyone who has a dog, if you haven't watched The Dog Whisperer, you ought to give it a whirl. He has most excellent ideas about dog psychology and communication. My current dog who is really angelic has become even more perfect since I started doing some of the things he suggests.
Labels: t.b.i., tbi, thinking, traumatic+brain+injury
¶ 12:09 AM 0 comments links to this post
