*sapphoq healing tbi
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
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Job Handler, Employment Consultant, Job Developer-- oh my
Laura Hersey's words echoed in my brain this morning as I was dealing with one tiny segment of the bureaucracy-- "You Get Proud by Practicing"
(to read it, goto:
http://www.cripcommentary.com/poetry.html#PROUD).
I was a bit fatigued and consequently not able to play the good grateful consumer role. That is what happens when I am called too early in the morning. I suck at that particular role anyways. My irritable brain makes that role damned near impossible to pull off on a good day.
VESID is helping to wreck the R.C.I.L.s. I read something like that somewheres and I am believing it. The Independent Living Centers in their truest grassroots form are supposed to be teaching us to do it for ourselves, not providing services to do it for us. Ah, my t.b.i. verbosity again. That is a thought to be developed and explored and researched on some other day. Yup, I'm angry. Today is the day that I am in. And today I am angry enough to take a break from seeking out more lindens to play with on secondlife and write this inane little driveling essay. The word essay comes from the French. This essay is my attempt to sort through things.
I asked this morning. Which one are you? Job handler, Employment Consultant, job developer. I was introduced to her by the first title, the most recent communication was signed off with the second title, VESID literature available on-line refers to the third title. In all of this mess, I wanted one straight answer. Indeed, the third title is the official one. Sigh. That led to my observation of what I remember how job developers worked in two neighboring counties when I was running group homes. Which led to her hot defense that she had called the one hospital and gotten nowhere (so she had told me before) and that she had called two other hospitals (oh really?) because I had "seemed interested in working in that setting." She went on to use her hot two dollar words like job carving. Not in this county. If it doesn't apply, let it fly.
The other straight answer-- sort of-- is "right now your case is on Hold but it cannot be on Hold Forever." I don't recall asking for forever. The words she had zeroed in on during my most recent vertigo attack was "getting worse." She had documented this. Of course, she reported this to the VESID Counselor and of course on the recommendation of a puny job developer I am now required to get a note for a two week attack of vertigo. The last three docs I visited within the last three weeks did not seem overly impressed by this. Logically vertigo is worse during an attack. Duh. I wasn't clear enough in my despair immediately after my attack apparently. I think it would not have mattered if I had been.
Benign Positional Vertigo. I found myself explaining this unasked. I informed the job handler that the vertigo is in my records, that surely someone from VESID should not have been surprised by the attack which is standard operating procedure and akin to having the flu. My position remains the same. If VESID has concern about my vertigo interfering with my employability, then perhaps VESID should pay for a work-up. The idea of having to get a doctor's note for having "the flu" is a requirement manufactured out of the brain of someone who is not familiar with medical terminology. It is a ridiculous requirement. I spike declare it to be so. In my unprofessional unasked for opinion, this idea of having to get a doctor's note is stupid. Next time I have a vertigo attack or any other transient business-as-usual medical thing, they can find out by reading this blog. Because I sure as fuck am not going to tell them. Damn them all. I have an appointment with the E.N.T. doc who follows my sleep apnea in June or July. The E.N.T. doc can write the note. The job developer can write that down in her report for the VESID counselor. Screw it.
I have years of experience in human services. I have some really nifty computer skills. VESID's emphasis from the beginning has been to get me into a job as soon as possible. Hang my application for the 55b/c state program. The shrink who follows my t.b.i. as well as my t.b.i. exacerbated major depression said to wait for that to come through. Somehow my wish to have a job coach lined up specifically for a 55b/c position got lost in the VESID mandates. Fuck it all. Let my own individuality and self-determination hang on the clothesline that is the ghetto where the dreams of the disabled are murdered. I refuse to live in that ghetto.
Listening to Peter Kahrmann (on the B.I.A-N.Y.S. board) talk about the brain injury itself making things difficult and how we are not our brain injuries coalesced into my determination not to live in the ghetto. The job developer didn't tell me in so many words to apply for entry-level positions because nothing in human services was coming through for me. She didn't tell me to settle. She didn't say I had to just take any job for the sake of the VESID mission statement. I internalized that idea from somewhere. Quite frankly, traumatic brain injury is an insurance liability. So here I go all dressed up with my need for ankle braces and possibly a cane, hat, glasses, inability to multi-task, a bit of expressive aphasia, don't lift more than ten pounds, don't reach overhead, vertigo, fatigue, out of work for over four years due to a car accident which was not my fault, and who knows w.t.f. the last place is saying about me-- pen at the ready. Hire me. I can't even get a gig delivering newspapers. And I want out of the disability wasteland that I have been consigned to. Yeah right. Yes, that is correct. Up and out. Watch me.
This isn't working for me. As Nathaniel Branden declares, "Doing more of what doesn't work doesn't work." VESID jerked me around for several years before I even got to see a job handler. VESID jerking me around has been VESID's standard operating procedure. Me jerking VESID around gets me labeled hostile, uncooperative, and difficult. I am hostile. To that I will admit. I suspect that most people faced with the loss of a career would not want to be cooperative while being jerked around, even if some lack the gumption to fight it. Difficult? I am not difficult. My brain injury is difficult. Frontal lobe damage makes self-regulation of emotions difficult when fatigued, Peter Kahrmann explained. Coffee soothes the savaged ravaged irritated lobe beasties, my brain screams at me. Coffee now DAMMIT. Oh shut up. In a few minutes.
The thing is, I don't want a job that will leave me starving in more ways than one. I want my career back. Or a new career. I have a traumatic brain injury, yes. I know I am impaired. I can even identify when my impairment sticks out in everyday life. I cannot pass for someone with typical neurology and I am not willing to. I have to do something. I have to do something else. What I've been doing isn't working. The "help" that I have gotten from VESID so far has been less than useless.
Maybe I need to start over and look at this whole thing again. I am sure that VESID works for traditional people [who are willing to be compliant and work for slave wages in sheltered workshops while their futures are canceled out.] Perhaps I do need to take a few courses [or get a Masters degree or more] to update my human services stuff or get some training for computers. It was then explained to me that I get to do one or the other, job hunting via her or some kind of schooling with the VESID counselor. Not both. It has to be one or the other. The job developer assures me she will report these concerns to the VESID counselor as well. Fine. She will write the VESID counselor an e-mail. Go for it. Do I have an e-mail address so she can send me a copy of said e-mail? Let's see. I could have given her fruckVESID at resistant dash witches dot com. Instead I gave her the short answer. No, I don't have an e-mail addy. Send me a copy in the snail mail. Will I be home today so the VESID counselor can call me? She stopped herself there. I heard the maybe. I will be in and out, I said. I am not sitting home in the disability ghetto watching television to wait on a call from the VESID counselor that may or may not arrive today. Damn these people.
Even if I was capable of being meek and mild, why the fuck should I want to be?
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
(to read it, goto:
http://www.cripcommentary.com/poetry.html#PROUD).
I was a bit fatigued and consequently not able to play the good grateful consumer role. That is what happens when I am called too early in the morning. I suck at that particular role anyways. My irritable brain makes that role damned near impossible to pull off on a good day.
VESID is helping to wreck the R.C.I.L.s. I read something like that somewheres and I am believing it. The Independent Living Centers in their truest grassroots form are supposed to be teaching us to do it for ourselves, not providing services to do it for us. Ah, my t.b.i. verbosity again. That is a thought to be developed and explored and researched on some other day. Yup, I'm angry. Today is the day that I am in. And today I am angry enough to take a break from seeking out more lindens to play with on secondlife and write this inane little driveling essay. The word essay comes from the French. This essay is my attempt to sort through things.
I asked this morning. Which one are you? Job handler, Employment Consultant, job developer. I was introduced to her by the first title, the most recent communication was signed off with the second title, VESID literature available on-line refers to the third title. In all of this mess, I wanted one straight answer. Indeed, the third title is the official one. Sigh. That led to my observation of what I remember how job developers worked in two neighboring counties when I was running group homes. Which led to her hot defense that she had called the one hospital and gotten nowhere (so she had told me before) and that she had called two other hospitals (oh really?) because I had "seemed interested in working in that setting." She went on to use her hot two dollar words like job carving. Not in this county. If it doesn't apply, let it fly.
The other straight answer-- sort of-- is "right now your case is on Hold but it cannot be on Hold Forever." I don't recall asking for forever. The words she had zeroed in on during my most recent vertigo attack was "getting worse." She had documented this. Of course, she reported this to the VESID Counselor and of course on the recommendation of a puny job developer I am now required to get a note for a two week attack of vertigo. The last three docs I visited within the last three weeks did not seem overly impressed by this. Logically vertigo is worse during an attack. Duh. I wasn't clear enough in my despair immediately after my attack apparently. I think it would not have mattered if I had been.
Benign Positional Vertigo. I found myself explaining this unasked. I informed the job handler that the vertigo is in my records, that surely someone from VESID should not have been surprised by the attack which is standard operating procedure and akin to having the flu. My position remains the same. If VESID has concern about my vertigo interfering with my employability, then perhaps VESID should pay for a work-up. The idea of having to get a doctor's note for having "the flu" is a requirement manufactured out of the brain of someone who is not familiar with medical terminology. It is a ridiculous requirement. I spike declare it to be so. In my unprofessional unasked for opinion, this idea of having to get a doctor's note is stupid. Next time I have a vertigo attack or any other transient business-as-usual medical thing, they can find out by reading this blog. Because I sure as fuck am not going to tell them. Damn them all. I have an appointment with the E.N.T. doc who follows my sleep apnea in June or July. The E.N.T. doc can write the note. The job developer can write that down in her report for the VESID counselor. Screw it.
I have years of experience in human services. I have some really nifty computer skills. VESID's emphasis from the beginning has been to get me into a job as soon as possible. Hang my application for the 55b/c state program. The shrink who follows my t.b.i. as well as my t.b.i. exacerbated major depression said to wait for that to come through. Somehow my wish to have a job coach lined up specifically for a 55b/c position got lost in the VESID mandates. Fuck it all. Let my own individuality and self-determination hang on the clothesline that is the ghetto where the dreams of the disabled are murdered. I refuse to live in that ghetto.
Listening to Peter Kahrmann (on the B.I.A-N.Y.S. board) talk about the brain injury itself making things difficult and how we are not our brain injuries coalesced into my determination not to live in the ghetto. The job developer didn't tell me in so many words to apply for entry-level positions because nothing in human services was coming through for me. She didn't tell me to settle. She didn't say I had to just take any job for the sake of the VESID mission statement. I internalized that idea from somewhere. Quite frankly, traumatic brain injury is an insurance liability. So here I go all dressed up with my need for ankle braces and possibly a cane, hat, glasses, inability to multi-task, a bit of expressive aphasia, don't lift more than ten pounds, don't reach overhead, vertigo, fatigue, out of work for over four years due to a car accident which was not my fault, and who knows w.t.f. the last place is saying about me-- pen at the ready. Hire me. I can't even get a gig delivering newspapers. And I want out of the disability wasteland that I have been consigned to. Yeah right. Yes, that is correct. Up and out. Watch me.
This isn't working for me. As Nathaniel Branden declares, "Doing more of what doesn't work doesn't work." VESID jerked me around for several years before I even got to see a job handler. VESID jerking me around has been VESID's standard operating procedure. Me jerking VESID around gets me labeled hostile, uncooperative, and difficult. I am hostile. To that I will admit. I suspect that most people faced with the loss of a career would not want to be cooperative while being jerked around, even if some lack the gumption to fight it. Difficult? I am not difficult. My brain injury is difficult. Frontal lobe damage makes self-regulation of emotions difficult when fatigued, Peter Kahrmann explained. Coffee soothes the savaged ravaged irritated lobe beasties, my brain screams at me. Coffee now DAMMIT. Oh shut up. In a few minutes.
The thing is, I don't want a job that will leave me starving in more ways than one. I want my career back. Or a new career. I have a traumatic brain injury, yes. I know I am impaired. I can even identify when my impairment sticks out in everyday life. I cannot pass for someone with typical neurology and I am not willing to. I have to do something. I have to do something else. What I've been doing isn't working. The "help" that I have gotten from VESID so far has been less than useless.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: employment, frontal lobe, Peter Carmen, t.b.i., traumatic+brain+injury, treatment, vertigo, VESID, vocational rehabilitation
¶ 10:44 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
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The United State Army has released a teaching program which will aid soldiers and their families in recognizing the symptoms of both mTBI and post-traumatic stress disorder. 1.2 million soldiers in groups of 40 to a class will be put through the mandatory training. Both the Pentagon and the American Psychological Association claim that army mental health services are lacking in funding and staff. Teaching resources are available for download at the army site to soldiers and to Family Readiness Group Leaders, but not to [any other] civilians.
I am glad to see the Army [at last?] taking a pro-active approach to both head injury and p.t.s.d.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
I am glad to see the Army [at last?] taking a pro-active approach to both head injury and p.t.s.d.
sapphoq healing t.b.i.
Labels: mTBI, t.b.i., tbi, traumatic+brain+injury, treatment
¶ 6:02 PM 0 comments links to this post
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
SIGN, SIGN, EVERYWHERE'S A SIGN 3/14/07
When I first came down with my traumatic brain injury, I became very self-focused out of necessity. Nothing was automatic anymore. I had to think constantly about what I was doing-- everyday things that we take for granted required excessive thinking. And so I navigated my way through a world that had suddenly transformed itself into an alien landscape. The familiar became strange. I didn't recognize my own self.
My taste in music changed. Later, when I was able to tolerate reading, I found that I no longer enjoyed the same kinds of books. New interests took over. I found that I could not assemble the old pieces of my old life. I had to reconstruct myself. And no one could do that for me.
It came to me that I had to force myself to think, even when not thinking would have been easier. I had to force myself to think about my future and what I wanted. I had to force myself to think about how to advocate for what I needed medically. In re-learning the patterns of living, I turned to the internet. I stumbled into a t.b.i. chatroom. In that chatroom, we spent many serious hours attempting to name the seven dwarves. I learned how to read t.b.i-typese. [None of us could spell worth a damn.] And with my new internet buddies, I learned how to laugh again.
The folks in the chatroom told me that I would have to be in charge of my own rehabilitation. I was getting vision therapy and physical therapy but no cognitive rehabilitation. Following the advice I was given in chat, I sought out various brain games on the internet. I became obsessed with Snood. And at a store, I found a large-screen hand-held Tetris. I also crocheted cotton washcloths and went to the gym as soon as I was able to. When I did get kicked out of cognitive art rehabilitation therapy months later, I continued the things I had been doing already. I discovered blogging and computer art. Now I am slowly learning how to animate. I have to think that through since I am unable to follow the directions as of yet.
Once or twice throughout my life, I have been accused of "thinking too much" as if that were a bad thing. Forcing myself to think has served me well in my own healing journey. Some days I sit and think about thinking. Like the sign says: Thinking really does tickle the brain cells.
sapphoq healing tbi
When I first came down with my traumatic brain injury, I became very self-focused out of necessity. Nothing was automatic anymore. I had to think constantly about what I was doing-- everyday things that we take for granted required excessive thinking. And so I navigated my way through a world that had suddenly transformed itself into an alien landscape. The familiar became strange. I didn't recognize my own self.
My taste in music changed. Later, when I was able to tolerate reading, I found that I no longer enjoyed the same kinds of books. New interests took over. I found that I could not assemble the old pieces of my old life. I had to reconstruct myself. And no one could do that for me.
It came to me that I had to force myself to think, even when not thinking would have been easier. I had to force myself to think about my future and what I wanted. I had to force myself to think about how to advocate for what I needed medically. In re-learning the patterns of living, I turned to the internet. I stumbled into a t.b.i. chatroom. In that chatroom, we spent many serious hours attempting to name the seven dwarves. I learned how to read t.b.i-typese. [None of us could spell worth a damn.] And with my new internet buddies, I learned how to laugh again.
The folks in the chatroom told me that I would have to be in charge of my own rehabilitation. I was getting vision therapy and physical therapy but no cognitive rehabilitation. Following the advice I was given in chat, I sought out various brain games on the internet. I became obsessed with Snood. And at a store, I found a large-screen hand-held Tetris. I also crocheted cotton washcloths and went to the gym as soon as I was able to. When I did get kicked out of cognitive art rehabilitation therapy months later, I continued the things I had been doing already. I discovered blogging and computer art. Now I am slowly learning how to animate. I have to think that through since I am unable to follow the directions as of yet.
Once or twice throughout my life, I have been accused of "thinking too much" as if that were a bad thing. Forcing myself to think has served me well in my own healing journey. Some days I sit and think about thinking. Like the sign says: Thinking really does tickle the brain cells.
sapphoq healing tbiLabels: cognition, t.b.i., tbi, thinking, traumatic+brain+injury, treatment
¶ 1:42 AM 0 comments links to this post
Monday, March 05, 2007
KILLING THE KILLERS AND TREATING OUR VETS 3/5/07
Rocky Mountain News reports that a prisoner with a traumatic brain injury [and P.T.S.D. who also hears voices] along with his cousin allegedly killed a third inmate back in 1999. William Sablan-- the prisoner with the t.b.i.-- was taped pulling out guts [from the sliced abdomen] of dead man Joey Estrella and showing them to a guard who was awaiting entry into the prison cell. William Sablan, who had arrived at the prison three days earlier and not given a psych exam at that time, also drank from a bottle which he said contained Estrella's blood and boasted loudly that he had killed Estrella. His clothing was covered with the blood of the murder victim.
Sablan's cousin Rudy Sablan was the third cellmate. He is also accused of the murder of Estrella. Both men face the death penalty if convicted. Estrella was choked with a headphone cord around his neck allegedly by Rudy Sablan. This was followed by the slitting of his throat with a prison-issued razor allegedly by William Sablan. It is the loss of blood from the throat wound that caused Estrella's death. Neuropsych Reuben Gur testified that William Sablan's brain injury limited his ability to plan the murder and to control his behavior.
Another inmate, Arthur Peck, testified that William Sablan and Joey Estrella were drinking and fighting in the cell on the evening of the murder. He also maintained that he saw Rudy Sablan choking Estrella with the headphone cord.
William Sablan's other criminal activities included burglary, assault, and the takeover of a fed pen. He has confessed to the crime, adding that it wasn't any big deal. The defense team is maintaining that "he couldn't help it."
Oh pluuu---ease. Dude did it. Dude said he did it. Dude had enough of a functioning brain to play a significant part in the planned takeover of a fed pen in Saipan. And now what? We are supposed to feel sorry for him. If dude is "unable" to control his behavior, dude is still a huge risk for doing it again. Furthermore, dude was drinking. Folks with t.b.i. are not supposed to drink even a little bit, whether in the penal system or not. radical sapphoq says: guy needs to fry.
Meanwhile, some real heroes are going without adequate treatment for traumatic brain injuries received in the blasted war over in Iran and all the rest of those places. The Veteran's Admin can boast all it wants to about assigning case managers to soldiers. Soldiers are being kicked out of the hospital early, being given inadequate directions to find caseworkers or out-patient clinics, being threatened with cutoff of treatment because their families didn't want them to be sleeping all the time so private treatment was sought and obtained, or being told they were "always slow" and are faking brain injuries for show.
I'd say our priorities are mixed up. Taxpayers are footing the astronomical bill for William Sablan's defense lawyer. Yet our soldiers are going without. Our soldiers deserve the absolute best state-of-the-art treatment for every single medical ailment they have in clean and beautiful surroundings for the rest of their lives, not just for two years after combat as currently allowed. Apparently Walter Reed Hospital has a mold problem. I'd say that is the very least of what is wrong with the system of health care for our returning vets. Let's hope that the new head of the hospital can get the hospital's act together a bit better.
radical sapphoq
http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/local/article/0,1299,DRMN_15_5388591,00.html
http://www.postbulletin.com/newsmanager/templates/localnews_story.asp?z=10&a=285682
http://www.thekansascitychannel.com/news/11139919/detail.html
http://presszoom.com/story_124920.html
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/05/washington/05cnd-medical.html?hp
http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/local/article/0,1299,DRMN_15_5352887,00.html
http://origin.denverpost.com/lacrosse/ci_5213142
http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/local/article/0,1299,DRMN_15_5348167,00.html
http://www.denverpost.com/news/ci_5164805
http://www.kktv.com/home/headlines/5770311.html
http://www.shortnews.com/shownews.cfm?id=60193
Sablan's cousin Rudy Sablan was the third cellmate. He is also accused of the murder of Estrella. Both men face the death penalty if convicted. Estrella was choked with a headphone cord around his neck allegedly by Rudy Sablan. This was followed by the slitting of his throat with a prison-issued razor allegedly by William Sablan. It is the loss of blood from the throat wound that caused Estrella's death. Neuropsych Reuben Gur testified that William Sablan's brain injury limited his ability to plan the murder and to control his behavior.
Another inmate, Arthur Peck, testified that William Sablan and Joey Estrella were drinking and fighting in the cell on the evening of the murder. He also maintained that he saw Rudy Sablan choking Estrella with the headphone cord.
William Sablan's other criminal activities included burglary, assault, and the takeover of a fed pen. He has confessed to the crime, adding that it wasn't any big deal. The defense team is maintaining that "he couldn't help it."
Oh pluuu---ease. Dude did it. Dude said he did it. Dude had enough of a functioning brain to play a significant part in the planned takeover of a fed pen in Saipan. And now what? We are supposed to feel sorry for him. If dude is "unable" to control his behavior, dude is still a huge risk for doing it again. Furthermore, dude was drinking. Folks with t.b.i. are not supposed to drink even a little bit, whether in the penal system or not. radical sapphoq says: guy needs to fry.
Meanwhile, some real heroes are going without adequate treatment for traumatic brain injuries received in the blasted war over in Iran and all the rest of those places. The Veteran's Admin can boast all it wants to about assigning case managers to soldiers. Soldiers are being kicked out of the hospital early, being given inadequate directions to find caseworkers or out-patient clinics, being threatened with cutoff of treatment because their families didn't want them to be sleeping all the time so private treatment was sought and obtained, or being told they were "always slow" and are faking brain injuries for show.
I'd say our priorities are mixed up. Taxpayers are footing the astronomical bill for William Sablan's defense lawyer. Yet our soldiers are going without. Our soldiers deserve the absolute best state-of-the-art treatment for every single medical ailment they have in clean and beautiful surroundings for the rest of their lives, not just for two years after combat as currently allowed. Apparently Walter Reed Hospital has a mold problem. I'd say that is the very least of what is wrong with the system of health care for our returning vets. Let's hope that the new head of the hospital can get the hospital's act together a bit better.
radical sapphoq
http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/local/article/0,1299,DRMN_15_5388591,00.html
http://www.postbulletin.com/newsmanager/templates/localnews_story.asp?z=10&a=285682
http://www.thekansascitychannel.com/news/11139919/detail.html
http://presszoom.com/story_124920.html
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/05/washington/05cnd-medical.html?hp
http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/local/article/0,1299,DRMN_15_5352887,00.html
http://origin.denverpost.com/lacrosse/ci_5213142
http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/local/article/0,1299,DRMN_15_5348167,00.html
http://www.denverpost.com/news/ci_5164805
http://www.kktv.com/home/headlines/5770311.html
http://www.shortnews.com/shownews.cfm?id=60193
Labels: Estrella, murder, Sablan, t.b.i., traumatic+brain+injury, treatment, V.A., Walter+Reed, war
¶ 5:55 PM 0 comments links to this post
Saturday, February 24, 2007
HEAD INJURY STUDY CALLED INTO QUESTION 2/24/07
The practice of using Mannitol in high doses rather than in conventional doses for patients with brain injuries may not be based on studies after all. The leading doctor of the study, a neurologist by the name of Dr. Julian Cruz of Brazil, died in 2005. His claimed affiliation with the institution where the study was supposed to have occurred is in serious doubt. The institution-- the Federal University of Sao Paulo-- has stated that it doesn't know who he is and in fact never hired him. The remaining authors of the study refused to offer a retraction.
Three trials were supposedly conducted between 2001 and 2004. The results were published in peer-reviewed literature. The results purported that fatalities and long-term disabilities were lowered at six months post-injury in the group of patients which received the higher dose of mannitol.
The Cochrane Collaboration was unable to verify that the study had even occurred or where the patients had been gotten from. The death of Dr. Cruz and his lack of genuine affiliation with the institution listed on the study leaves the Cochrane Collaboration with no recourse. Thus, a serious quandary exists when making critical dosing decisions regarding mannitol when the drug is otherwise indicated in the treatment of t.b.i.
sapphoq healing tbi
http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/552607
and British Medical Journal February 24, 2007;334:392-394.
Three trials were supposedly conducted between 2001 and 2004. The results were published in peer-reviewed literature. The results purported that fatalities and long-term disabilities were lowered at six months post-injury in the group of patients which received the higher dose of mannitol.
The Cochrane Collaboration was unable to verify that the study had even occurred or where the patients had been gotten from. The death of Dr. Cruz and his lack of genuine affiliation with the institution listed on the study leaves the Cochrane Collaboration with no recourse. Thus, a serious quandary exists when making critical dosing decisions regarding mannitol when the drug is otherwise indicated in the treatment of t.b.i.
sapphoq healing tbi
http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/552607
and British Medical Journal February 24, 2007;334:392-394.
Labels: B.M.J., Brazil, British Medical Journal, Cruz, faked+study, mannitol, neurologist, t.b.i., tbi, treatment
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