Medical Minutiae Monday

Hey. It’s a title. And a focused target for writing.

I could start a Head to Toe description of issues, and I will highlight the most difficult that I have to deal with – physically,mentally and emotionally – on a minute-by-minute basis.

Brain – TBI and stroke (Vascular Lacunar Infarcts). Cognitive and emotional difficulties, most needing further diagnosis or treatment. Speech and cognitive therapy to recommence Spring 2020, but only until I run out through Medicare. I’ll have to wait for 2021 for any more. Severe anxiety and taking a few meds for it.

Eyes – Vision is crap. Contact lenses too old, glasses older, and all in bad shape. Unable to get new prescription due to retinopathy, as I need a surgical procedure to stop the aneurysms and wait 3-6 months for vision to stabilize. I am legally blind when not wearing glasses and have been since I first was prescribed at 11. Corneas too steep and I have astigmatism.

Throat – Have issues swallowing due to the stroke. Have to turn my head to the right to strengthen my throat muscles to swallow normally. Coughing is still an issue. Even clearing my throat.

Thyroid – It’s naturally “big”. Had an ultrasound. I think there is an issue, because if it tests “Normal” and it’s 20% larger than anyone else’s, wouldn’t that “normal” be “low” for me? Need to speak with a specialist.

Stomach – Pernicious Anemia so I don’t absorb B12 through my stomach. Have to inject cyanocobalamin weekly. I developed 2 ulcers, which can happen. At high risk for stomach cancer. What else don’t I absorb? Take paroxetine daily.

Kidneys/Liver/Pancreas – Diabetes, weekly injection of Januvia, take Jardiance and Janumet daily. And atorvastatin and lisinopril.

Back – Well, shoulders, neck and spinal column due to several car accidents where I sustained whiplash. Did almost everything to both shoulders except dislocate them – which would have been better. Permanent nerve and tendon damage. And oh the scar tissue! 32nd anniversary coming up in March.

Hands/Wrists – Carpal Tunnel. ‘Nuff said.

Bladder/Bowels – the guaranteed side effect of a Vascular Lacunar Stroke is incontinence, aka overactive bladder (and underactive pooper). I now have a pill so I know ahead of time, but I don’t always make it to the bathroom. A long walk from the car into the grocery store may require fresh bottoms.

Left Knee – Wonky since 6th grade. “She’s young! The ACL will repair itself!” Says the nitwit at Kaiser. No they don’t and age doesn’t matter. It’s worse now as my left side was impacted by the stroke. I have fallen. Especially when leaning up against the car to pee at 2 am in Walmart’s parking lot.

Ankles – Sprained dozens of times and they have both been fractured twice. Use special inserts – when I have them, which I don’t right now. Will develop ankle fractures from the bones stretching – and that hurts like hell. I have “boots” for when I do this. It’s happened too, since first diagnosed in 2000 and wore a boot with my wedding dress. So chic! And my shoes suck, are old and thoroughly worn,but new shoes would be $120, the free ones at the church have made the supination worse and I need slip on shoes for when I need to change bottoms or just a diaper.

Legs/Feet – I have issues with electrical shocks in both legs and severe muscle cramping in my toes and feet since the stroke. Take Neurontin.

I take more medication than listed for various things, and this list isn’t complete because there is too much, diagnosed, identified or still identifying. And what I didn’t list is the fact the brain goes to chaos mode more often. Worries about money, worries about the car, worries about Will, worries about sleeping in the car, worries about the storage units, worries about the cold, worries about Andy’s food/sweaters/walkies/baths, worries about laundry and doing/storing/accessing it, worries about having enough gas, worries about getting a balanced diet and giving up on that, worries about having something to drink when taking my pills (and it not being laced with Vodka), worries over the noise coming from the rear wheel well, worries about the seat backs and their failure……worry,worry, nothing but worry.

Help alleviate some of it please?

The Sun is Receding

I have a lot of time to think when my brain isn’t in chaos or Will is rattling on about cars or RV’s or what his brother has done to him. The usual noise pollution. Just chillin’ at a Starbucks with a cup of tea. I had $2.35, so I could afford that. I get my Social Security in a few days. Let’s see how long it lasts this month. Hopefully, longer than 10 days.

At least my storage units are up to date this month. Don’t have to worry about that, and I was able to wrap my head around how we could reduce storage, pay less and have more room! It doesn’t hurt that the place I have 2 units now is cheaper than the other 2 places. I just have to work out how to move everything with Will’s bad back and my shelving in Brentwood Unit 1 with the shelving pegs in Brentwood Unit 2 or Livermore Unit 1. Is it any wonder why my brain defaults to chaos? Too much to keep track of while living in a car.

Enough of that. I need to word vomit my brain because it’s nauseous.

I consider myself a Follower of Christ, not a Christain. There is a difference. I don’t seek forgiveness for the sins of the week with Sunday cleansings. Hypocritical Sunday Christians drive me bonkers. Especially those twisted f’ers that think Gay’s have a master plan to destroy the Church.   The only reason they are Gay is to destroy the church. It’s a choice. Anyone who thinks that or that Gay can be prayed away needs deep psychological counseling. Like the Vice President, who calls his wife Mother.

Ever heard of that thing about God making us in His image? Was there an exclusion? You don’t ignore children born with Down Syndrome or Spina Bifida? Claim they chose that life? Being Gay isn’t an illness, neither is it a choice and you can’t pray away who you are. What I know of, what has happened to others, the commentary, the abuse, the torture, the pain they NEVER asked for. They just want to live their life and have NOTHING to do with yours, so why be so nosey and get up in their grille about their “lifestyle”.

News flash – it isn’t a lifestyle, it is their actual LIFE. Quit being such a busy body and find another “cause” you can bitch about. And if the word FAGGOT or DYKE or CUNT is in your vocabulary, read a book and expand your brain asshat. Why be a Baby Trump when we can’t stand the Old Man (so old and fat and gross). Living in Livermore, we run into Trumpers and other racists, discriminators, supremacist lovers often. Old white men set tables out with info in front of the post office. Vote for Trump! Thanks but no thanks. My family suffered at the hands of the 3rd Reich. I don’t want to see the fully realized 4th Reich in my lifetime.

Enough about Christians. Why is there a theme of giving at Christmas? Why is there a theme of helping at a Chruch when proselytizing is what happens too often? The two are connected, as evidenced these past few weeks. First, let me say that we truly appreciate the kindness shown by church members and individuals that saw our need and gave. The cookies were very nice. Toothbrushes and toothpaste are much-needed items. Cup of Soup is welcomed and very useable. Hotel snags like shampoo and conditioner – not so much. We see dozens of these wherever we go for warm food or outreach.

You know what we didn’t see much of this season? Gift cards. To Subway or McDonalds or Starbucks.  Safeway Fuel Cards. They have no cash value. We can’t buy booze or cigarettes with them anyway. And so what if we bought a pack of smokes. A bottle of beer. How dare we use your hard-earned money for such useless comfort items? Because we are homeless. We can’t buy anything warm with EBT, or alcohol or cigarettes. Hell, you can’t but incontinence pads with EBT, or shampoo or soap. Just food – but nothing hot in Califonia. They can in Arizona. Will is supposed to get $40 more per month since he is homeless. Does he? Do I? No.

My face hurt so much this morning due to the cold and sleeping in the car. We’re both sick now. I slept with my coat on and tried to cover my face with the blanket, but breathing through my mouth made it too uncomfortable to continue. Thanks to Donna McKenzie, Will and I were able to get coats last week. We have her to thank for the room at Christmas. Sleeping in the car is so dehumanizing! I hate staying in a motel room and the cost that it takes, but it is so much better than a car. Especially when you’ve got a cooktop and a fridge! It’s like living like royalty!

You can’t get a place to live for 2 adult people in their 50’s for less than $2000 in this area – and that $2000 is more than likely for a ROOM. There are no apartments that are affordable without all our money going.  $2000 in rent would leave us with $200 from Will’s General Assistance and his food stamps for the month. That $2000 better include utilities, because there would be none leftover after the cell bill and car insurance was paid. And forget about driving anywhere. We would have to ration where we drove so we filled up the tank just once a month. No money saved for oil changes or repairs or even windshield wipers.

We have talked to all available resources regarding housing. Disabled people aren’t top of the list. I’m disabled with a brain injury and I am severely struggling to survive living in my car. Will has to have surgery and needs further diagnosis so he has some quality of life. He could get a job, but he can’t with a bad back.  I see why he was an alcoholic. If I had the money and no responsibilities, if I just didn’t care anymore and had accepted that living wasn’t worth it anymore, I would drink myself to death too.

Because of the post-stroke emotional incontinence, I cry every day because I have no other outlet. If you don’t get it, I HATE THIS LIFE AND LIVING LIKE THIS. I’d rather eat Chicken McNuggets than burnt vegetables, cheap hot dogs too small for regular buns, sauerkraut (yes, they served sauerkraut at the food kitchen *shudder*) and a fruit blend with underripe melon which gave me the runs last night – in 40F weather with no close bathroom other than Safeway.

Friday’s and Sunday’s have Safe Parking at the worst location – the old City Council Chambers next to the Police Station and you need the Security Guards to escort you into the Restroom. Hopefully, I won’t fill my drawers while going through that keeping a smile on my face and not showing frustration at the Guards. It’s not their fault. Just the City of Livermore who will not dedicate a space for the homeless – like the Old City Council Chambers – for a Winter Warming Shelter with cots.

Leave the homeless outside roaming the city, sleeping in front of the closed OSH store, or a bus bench, or in the Creek that floods multiple times every winter. Let the Church’s and Donna McKenzie deal with the homeless. It’s their “mission” anyway, God’s children and that nonsense. Let the homeless, that take advantage of the Homeless Refuge, sleep on yoga mats on the floor. And if you’re disabled and can’t get up of the floor – or even be able to lay down on the floor – make the best of it and tough it out. Hopefully, a Watcher will realize you have mobility issues and doesn’t yell at you at 6am to hurry and get up! You need to be out by 7am because the church neighbors don’t want your kind loitering in their neighborhood. And the Warming Reuge has sufficient watchers WHO VOLUNTEER because otherwise they are closed.  At least Donna has sleeping bags and pillows THAT ARE DONATED. Livermore pays for shit. This parking program IS helpful, but those with motor homes can’t participate. There are not many who have cars or want to do through the approval process.

We think San Francisco is bad – welcome to wonderful Livermore in the East Bay! We’ve got a plan to eliminate the homeless issue!

No they don’t. They’ve seen this getting worse for years and choose to tackle a small ratio while complaining how so many come from elsewhere and settle here.  I could have stayed in Contra Costa and I would be dead now. I should have stayed there and not inconvenienced your fine city, or gone to San Francisco.

Hey, Livermore just had their first Pride Event this year. Not in June, of course, but they finally acknowledged that segment of the population.

If I had plenty of downtime with WIFI, I could write more coherently and not so angry. My life is falling apart and there is nothing I can do about it. For God’s sake, someone who can – help us!

A Day in the Life

I could be poetic, but that’s hard to do now. I am grateful to My Maker for keeping me alive and sustaining my hope for a return to a normal life. Someday, somehow.

But if my life were “normal” these are the things I miss. Some may be familiar to you.

Waking up in a Bed

There is something about waking up in a bed, with sheets. Pillows. Blankets. Sleeping flat or snuggled next to your little pup or your partner. Waking up and stretching under the covers, warm and safe.

I remember those days. I’m sleeping in the passenger seat of a ’98 Olds Cutlass and the leather seats are going. And my tailbone hurts 24/7 because I wear adult diapers at 54. The “side effect” of a vascular lacunar stroke.

Eating at a Table with Real Food

Eating almost every  meal in the car – it sucks! Food ends up in your lap, or on your top, or on your pants (that’s Will).  I miss soup. A simple bowl of soup! And real utensils, not a spork. Whoever made that thing should be made to eat everything with it the rest of his life! Have you ever tried to eat sliced beef with A Spork? How about sliced turkey with gravy, stuffing and mashed potatoes with a spork? In a paper clam-shell that’s disintegrating in your hands? And since it’s the only warm food you’ve had today, and it’s not breaking 60F and raining, you asked for two servings. That little clam-shell is heavy! And you are holding it and it’s not sitting on anything, because you’re eating in the car because you can’t take the noise or the questions or the general polite conversation in the eating hall.

A Shower

It has been over a week since I took a shower. It’s been two weeks for Will because he gave up his spot last week so I could take a shower. He is so good to me. And the shower we will use is considered a handicap shower at the Church that offers it for use M-W, 12-5. There are many who take advantage, and there are other regular showers. The Handicap has a seat in the shower and space for privacy, or space to fall and not die if you’re unstable. The mat they put down hurts my feet, but otherwise the floor is slippery.

And I don’t have shower shoes.One more thing to keep track of.

You know when you get ready to take a shower? You turn on the water so it’ll be the right temperature when you get in. The water cascades over you, warming your cold bones and muscles. Perhaps easing that ache in your lower back that just won’t stop. Warming your cold feet and hands. Cleansing your face and body. You soap up your scrunchie, or washcloth, and scrub your neck and arms and legs until they squeak.  And, if so inclined, shave the bits that shouldn’t have hair.

You grab the shampoo and pour it into your hand, applying it to your hair and luxuriating in the suds encasing your head. You massage thoroughly and you may rinse and repeat before doing the conditioner. Letting the warn water pour over you, rinsing your hair and you shake your head and wring the water out and decide to let it warm you a bit longer.

I remember those days. Now I have to wait for my turn, if I get it, and the plumbing isn’t great and you go from a hot shower, to a cold shower, to a lukewarm shower, to cold again to hot. It’s like living in an old house and your husband flushed the toilet (it happened – more than once).

A Kitchen

You ever have a feeling that you’re kinda hungry, but you have no idea what to have and you don’t want to cook a big meal – or you have a hankering for leftovers from last night?

What about just toasting a slice of that Whole Grain bread you bought at Whole Foods the other day. With some cream cheese and honey on top? How decadent.

What about that bit of rib eye you didn’t finish the other night? Slice that up and add some salt – that would hit the spot.

What about that can of  Tomato Soup Progresso you found in the back of the pantry the other day? That would be  delicious with a grilled cheese sandwich. More work than you wanted, but Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese? Yum! Comfort food extraordinaire!

A Closet

You don’t really think about that too much. You take it for granted. Purses hung on over door hooks of nails throughout the closet. Shoe racks under the line of clothes – hung by season and color – from daily wear to evening wear. With tubs with lavender and cedar protecting your kint wear that it has taken decades to acquire or actually make, and not look homemade.

All the socks you’ve knit! There was a reason you were the sock queen! So pretty. So comfortable.

All those sweaters! How you miss the lavender one. It was so cozy and you got so many compliments.

“Where did you get that?”

“I Made it.”

“Ohhh. Nicely done! Wish I could do that!”

A Comfy Spot

You have a spot you like to nest in? The corner of the couch. An old comfy chair.  That spot your posterior has been working on for years? You know that spot. When it’s cold and raining and you have a chill, you wrap yourself in a cardigan, or favorite blanket, curl up and read a book, take put your knitting, get that piece your stitching, or the Sunday Times Cross-word. You know that spot? The one that you fall asleep in when you’re not feeling good?

I remember how my couch felt.It’s in storage, waiting for a new home and my posterior again. My comy nest, with my stitching stand and projects in on rollers and in wicker baskets. My knitting projects in their bags with the instructions and my “sock”  kit, ready to cast-on a new pair. Or my Cancer Cap bag, with yet another cancer cap in progress for the annual donation. The Red Scarf Project for Foster Kids that have aged out of the system. The Comfort Blankets or ARF, for the pups and kitties being adopted to hopefully their forever home. And all the other charity projects.

Watching TV from my corner, or reading a book to the end while Kevin watched TV. Rooting on the Vikings! Watching the Oscar’s or the Tony’s or the Emmy’s. Or the Simpson’s. Or the Superbowl. Or a rented video.

Streaming stuff from the computer. Yeah, I can set that up on HDMI. No Chrome Stick of Amazon Fire. Who wants you TV watching you? Creepy. Network with security and no hackers.

I miss technology. Sadly, it’s sitting in my storage unit with everything else.

Last but not least – the Toilet

You don’t think much about that, other than “where is it”. It’s down that hall, by the elevator, at the Taco place. It’s close by or you know where one is. And, hopefully, no waiting.

This past Thursday, I saw a Gyne-Urologist. I was tense, worked up, anxious. I have had too many doctor’s appointments where I was told it was all in my head.  I need to see a psychiatrist. I’m a hypochondriac.  I shouldn’t step out of my lane and assume I know more than a doctor.

Well, if you won’t diagnose me, what am I supposed to do when there is something actually wrong?

Dr. Frink kept me waiting – 3 1/2 months for the appointment and 1 hour and 15 minutes in the Exam Room, but she was worth it.

“So tell me why you’re here?”

“I had a Vascular Lacunar Stroke….”

“That incontinence is bothersome, isn’t it?”

She knows what one of the aftereffects is! I didn’t have to explain anything! This is the just the second time that has happened.

I’ve had this issue since my first lacunar infarct – or four years – and she has a solution. It won’t be easy or quick, but she has a solution. And I am thankful.

I have hope that I can stop wearing the adult diapers that have left my tailbone so sore due to the car and how I have to sit. I can wear Poise Pads again and normal pants, instead of sweats that make me look like I’ve dumped a load and walking around with it. And with the Overactive Bladder medication, I won’t be “leaking” while walking to the restroom at a local Starbucks of Safeway or Home Depot, as most 7-11’s have personnel that speak broken english and are from countries that women are seen as property, and don’t care if you need the restroom. “Go to the Gas Station across the street,”  as a staff member goes into the restroom made for the public, but requires a key.

And all those times I would walk to the restroom and I would start leaking, and end up crying when I would finally get to the stall, as my pants are wet, my shoes and socks are wet, and know I have to change so I don’t smell like urine. Get into the stall, take off my shoes, strip my pants and diaper, get out the Personal Wipes and clean up, put on another diaper, dry the sweats with the hand dryer or put on another pair of pants/sweats, new socks, wipe out the wet spot from slip on shoes (can’t do sneakers with the laces – too difficult), and make sure my bladder is empty before getting up and leaving.

And hope no one is waiting or banging on the door to hurry up. It happens at Starbucks I shit my drawers waiting for the restroom one time. The dude was on the phone. And laughing. I hear him as I was humiliated. No one should ever experience that circumstance. No one.

A toilet. No matter it’s age, as long as it flushes and is available, it is a welcomed entity in my life. I worry about having access to it constantly. I worry about an employee giving me grief over needing to use it. A basic need and it is embarrassing asking if you can use it and you’re told no. They don’t offer public restrooms. Then I use the disabled card and who will refuse that?

My Day in the Life. I could write more, but I think you can sense the difficulty for me and Will. We’ve lived in homes we owned. Had furniture and necessities that were useful and provided physical and mental comfort. I miss my books. The feel of them. The smell.  I miss knitting, which is so difficult to do in the car with everything else.

I took several hours today to write this because I needed to get it out of my soul It eats at me daily. Like thousands of Sugar Ants crawling around my brain looking for water and a way out.

My therapist Pam had a suggestion to ask my psychiatrist if BrainSpotting may be useful. They map the brain for how your process or react to specific actions. I need that, since I have physical reactions when I feel intimidated or cornered, and I wail and become extremely anxious. Pam also suggested I get a MedicAlert Bracelet since I am unable to talk when these episodes happen, and I don’t need to be 5150’d again because I can’t talk and they think I’m having a bad trip.

The “episodes” really upset Will and he finally understands it isn’t something  have and control over currently. The stoicism is gone. I feel stripped naked and on display. It is the most humiliating occurence that could happen to me, and it happens regularly.  Why I avoid people. I don’t want anyone to see the crazy freak I become and I hate it to the core of my soul.

Why do I share this? Because I can’t *speak* about it. But I can type. Exactly. My voice is still here, but when I type. No sound out of me. It is so slow and clunky and awkward. Nothing like I used to be. Maybe someday.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/life4wng20?teamInvite=zwFy5EWAGSludrnkCZ9nBW6TpHJfA8I5YvaDJ67Bhi8fNwXnHH6M2OYJcXZSgemz

A Little of This….

and a little of that. Today’s mood. Mixed but hopeful.

I made a foolish promise on my Facebook page that I would add something every day.

HA!

I can barely manage feeding myself everyday. And my primary issue is the big and lovable bear who is officially my chauffeur. He came up with it, not me. He’s driving Miss Gracie and it gives him a chuckle. It makes him happy, but I have no control over my car. All or nothing seems to be the name of the game.

I really don’t mind. I went 5 years with being the primary driver. It being someone else’s responsibility eases my anxiety level. Besides, he’s not drinking anymore. For the most part. He needs AA and not just me or the doctors. He needs someone ELSE to talk to. His body, organs, have been punished too much, especially his kidneys and liver and pancreas. His diabetes has rocketed upwards and the food we eat through the Open Heart (Tri-Valley Soup Kitchen) isn’t diabetes friendly, or any place else serving food.

This morning, at Vineyard, they had croissants with egg and cheese, spaghetti and another pasta dish that supposedly had meat. I got no meat, the croissant was tasty and the pasta was gross. My “palate” wants low carb food for my health, but it receives little of that. Plenty of sugars though. So much Goddamn sugar/carbs.

This is a very difficult life to live, after residing in a house, cooking your own nutritious meals, having a bathroom available when nature calls. This type of life is dehumanizing.

I need to speak with my friend Sue and ask her if I can share her story. She is a beautiful woman and has been through so much  heartache and physical pain all while being homeless. It’s tragic and disgusting in this nation where we find endless money to make sure we can kill the World 10 times over, there are more guns than people in the US (and too many individuals die at the hands of Domestic Terrorists – not foreign terrorists Trumplandians), Russia and North Korea ARE security risks for this Country – NOT UKRAINE (stop listening to that Traitor and his sycophants including  Moscow Mitch or Dingbat David). The news out of Washington is frustrating the little I can gather from my phone and podcasts.  Why I miss TV and Will doesn’t. I watch “boring” stuff, otherwise none as educational and topical. But, it’s not the Cardashian’s! To bad, gay-boy! Hehe.

Have to close down. Have an appointment with my therapist Pam.

Desperate Days

I know I haven’t written for a while. Too much has been going on. And it has been more than I can take, but I soldier on. The Force is strong in me. Is it May 4th yet? LOL

This past month has been a rollercoaster. and not one I would pay money to ride. And believe me, I’ve been on gnarly coasters and laughed while screaming the whole time. This is not that kind of ride.

The month started with an endoscopy where the doctor found two ulcers. I found out Tuesday this week they were negative of cancer. Pernicious anemia – you’re a bitch and didn’t give me stomach cancer this time but there are no guarantees. Still have to have a colonoscopy, but that’s a bit more complicates when your house is a ’99 Cutlass.

Another appointment with UCSF detuned the therapy I need and that I don’t have Pseudo-Bulbar Affect, but clarified I do need mental health therapy and medication for extreme anxiety and PTSD. The last 2 years alone would have put me in that spectrum, but being abandoned, harassed, or accused of things I didn’t do certainly didn’t help. Being made homeless 7 days after diagnosis wasn’t great. Being harangued for hours 6 days after initial diagnosis causing me to go to ER, didn’t help either. I get emotional. I’m sorry. My brain broke when I had the stroke and my ironclad tower of ice melted. I’m a human slushy now.f

Myrna thinks I have cognitive dissonance. Amanda thinks I’m critical of her parenting and wanting to destroy her happiness. Chris thinks I’m mean and selfish. I’ve never put myself first, above anyone else, or have been intentionally mean. I didn’t toot my own horn, just lived my life in the Lord’s Grace but didn’t wear it like a badge of honor or a shield against foes. What would Jesus do was more than a bumper sticker for me. It was my silent mantra. Why I never adopted the Faith’s of either husband. Didn’t convert to Islam or Buddhism as either expected. I had my beliefs and I followed them. Besides. I read up.on their’s and knew, appreciated the nuances, more than they did. Knew where they failed in their faith’s too. Especially Buddhism. Wonderful faith, jacked up believer. And he didn’t need me to prove he was a good Buddhist. Poppycock.

I have more love in my life now then I ever did with either husband – and the source of that love is my gay BFF Will. You know what they say girls, the good ones are either married or gay, and he’s been both. He came out after his mom died in 2014. He was married to a lesbian for over 15 years and had a stepson. But, honey, he’s free to be OUT, LOUD and PROUD! I think it’s adorable. But shit, he’s sexy as f*ck.

He gives great hugs. Holds me when I cry. Tucks my hand in the crook of his arm when we’re walking. Gives me kisses just because he thinks I’m adorable. Tells me he loves me for no reason or he may have done something I raise an eyebrow over. Holds me when I fall asleep. Compliments me when there is nothing to be complimentary about. Let’s just say he feeds my tattered ego left decimated by a boyfriend that found DD’s more to his fetish, a husband who complained how I was too warm to sleep next too and I snored disturbing his sleep, and the 1st husband who complained that I just didn’t please him (name the category I sucked in), or the countless other men I attempted to date, did date, wanted to date, but I didn’t have big boobs, I was too smart, I was boring, I didn’t put out on the first date, I wasn’t kinky/not kinky enough/not into that kind, I was a goody two shoes, the list goes on and is even more depressing.

Will is almost perfect, but he’s a “functional” alcoholic, has ADHD (oooooo, butterfly or something shiny! Glitter!), PTSD, spinal stenosis and prostate cancer. You think I’m worried. Nope. I’m petrified.

I can’t loose Will. Not my trophy husband. He’s almost perfect, if you ignore the “coitus” thing. Sorry, I couldn’t think of a more genteel way of putting it. Worse? Oh yeah! I know Will would have some choice words. He’s quick with a quip. He even helps me with speech therapy. He has the gift of gab as I once did..We were in complimentary business’s before the Big Short as my friend Mark calls it.

Hey Mark! Great podcast. http://www.markromanempire.com

Check it out, and he does a great Lt. Frank impersonation and Captain America. Check out his Heroteer link. He’s awesome! Way to go Cap! You’re MY hero.

So Will is in the mix, and since I walk in God’s Grace, I’m Will’s Grace, or Will & Grace 2.0. Plus a furry sidekick named Andy.

My Dads middle name was William. His nickname was Andy. I’ll take it as a sign from him and that he approves. Or Will’s Mom, Dorothy, came across Dad while on a leisurely stroll and they put us together. Dad would’ve enjoyed an intelligent and funny woman, and Dorothy would have enjoyed a gentlemen and Ship’s Captain to have thoughtful conversations with and dance the night away in their finest. They would have made a handsome couple!

At least, that’s what Will and I think. I had a great Dad. He had a great Mom. His Dad and my Mom sucked donkey balls, so the image of Dorothy and Aksel gives us joy. We need a little of that.

Then there’s Matt, our amazing 3rd Musketeer. Former Roadie and Sound Engineer who knows everyone! Matt and I talk about music alot, because Will knows what he likes, but doesn’t remember names, or bands, or song titles, or eras, or genres. Let’s say we school him quite often. But Will and Matt have shared histories from teendom, having grown up in the same town. Oh, the stories! I got nothing having grown up in the “OC” before Orange County became know as two letters. Or the Housewives of. We were famous because of Disneyland and the Crystal Cathedral, not bitchy housewives too wealthy to complain so damn much. Or silly movies starring Jack Black.

It’s ol’ home week when one of them sees or hears something that enters their memory bank, “Hey Matt/Will! Do you know/remember so-and-so? That was awesome/ weak/ tits/gnarly man!” Almost everyday for the last 6 weeks.

Matt has a heart condition, takes half a dozen meds, has edema and is in jeopardy of loosing his feet if he doesn’t elevate them often enough. I worry. It looks nasty and I’ve had swelling in my feet from not elevating them enough.

I have to wrap this up. It’s 3:40 am, we’re sleeping in the car so no one is laying down but Andy, and I need sleep.

A few things I miss:

My bed with a down comforter and pillows

English muffins

Kraft Macaroni & Cheese

Spam and eggs

Warm soup

Crab Louie

Crab

A shot of whiskey and relaxing with TV

Sitting curled up on my couch with a book

Earl Grey hot tea

My toiletries in the same spot am/pm/day

Things I desperately want and need again, but I doubt my homelessness will end soon. No one will help us. We’re not screwed up enough or the wrong age group or both.

More on that later. We do need your help. We’re out of money and out of places to ask.

Please help if you can.

http://www.gofundme.com/life4v

What I Miss Everyday…

What I miss every moment of everyday…

A kitchen to warm water for tea or make a cup of soup or make a hot meal.

A bathroom within a few feet so when I need to use the toilet, I don’t have to do the walk of shame when my pad overflows and the urine soaks my jeans and socks.

A bed to lay flat on. Not a yoga mat and a sleeping bag on the cold, drafty floor where I have to struggle to get up without pee-ing myself. And no one questioning me why I’m up at 2:30 am.

Blankets and pillows to nestle into on a cold and wet day. Being able to sleep until 8 am or 9am, not 7 am when I have to be up and out and expected to have my car out of the parking lot of the church-for-the-week because it upsets the neighbor’s and they consider it “congregating”.

Fruits and vegetables in abundance whenever I want them. Not once every few days and just one not the other.

Fruit juice or V8 with no High Fructose Corn Syrup. And a hot meal everyday. God I miss that.

Not having to explain to everyone I have a brain injury and they won’t get it. I look fine but I’m not. Looks mean nothing to selfish, uneducated, uncaring cretins.

A place to sleep, safe, confrontation free. It shouldn’t be too much to ask for.

I want a normal life like everyone else. I’m sorry I had a stroke that didn’t kill me. I’m sorry I’m a burden on society. I’d correct it if I could.

wwe.gofundme.com/Life4V

I am Disabled and I Have Little Hope

I’m 53.

I had a Lacunar Stroke 11/29/16.

No doctor cared for my medical issues for 19 months. No one. I was even told I didn’t have “symptoms” and I wouldn’t be referred because the doctors didn’t have time for patients who weren’t truly sick.

When I said I couldn’t eat, I was told I needed a Psychiatrist for my eating disorder , even though I choked on my own spit, would reguritate when trying to eat, had no hunger, thrist, or produced saliva sufficiently. My speech therapist recommended a barium test, which he scoffed at and informed me that no speech therapist is trained to practice medicine, and it was an eating disorder.

Uh-huh.

And first time stroke patients don’t have Pseudo-Bulbur Affect. Yeah right. I need a physciatrist because I’m crazy? I’ll believe you. You were a geriatric doctor for years and you should know? I’ll pass on your “knowledge” you dumb fuck.

An actual neurologist said I had a “minor stroke”. I needed to see a physciatrist for my depression. First time in my entire life I walked out on a “doctor” when she told me that.

I was physically restrained by police and bound to a gurney when a Nurse Practitioner accused me of assaulting her. I have PTSD after that quaint encounter and visiting Psychiatric ER and being told I was grandiose and delusional.

I now have medical coverage that treats me like a human – not a number and a file and nothing is wrong. I have Contra Costa Health Plan to “thank” for nearly 2 years of hell. I now have coverage from Alameda Alliance. I had to “move” to Alameda County, but I’m homeless so I just had to find a home to sleep at. I have an old friend who gave me a spare bed and safety. Better than being raped or murdered in my car.

I do research when I don’t know something. I have done more research and came across this:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Binswanger%27s_disease

Binswanger’s Disease. Similair to Alzheimer’s but can be caused by a type of stroke. Vascular Dementia. I see a doctor on November 1st at Neurovascular Services of UCSF. I am hoping that I don’t have Binswanger’s, but I am still dreading the outcome. At least I will know. Finally. But it’s me and I get weird stuff no one diagnoses for years, so it’s probably true.

Onset is usually between 54-65. I was 51 when I had the stroke, but there is evidence I had an infarct, and I know when. It was in the Spring of 2014 when I was caring for my adopted sociopathic narcisstic dementia ridden mother and she had already thrown out my meds and I had to go to Emergency, and they did no tests to find out what was wrong. I just had a BP of 3xx/17x. They released me when my BP was normal and I got no meds or a followup with a doctor. I was a few months from 50 then.

Figures. They refused to put in writing that “Mom” had demntia, even though it was clearly noted in her medical file. I know. I saw it. They mishandled her care until she died in May 2015.

That was in Southern California. I returned to the Bay Area after my SoCal sojourn and moved in with a friend who siad I could stay with them until I found a job and a new home, since I had to sell Mom’s, because that crazy bitch tore up her living will and the grant deed adding me to the house. She was bat-shit crazy and it ruined my life more than once. And since I paid the bulk of the mortgage, and it was a 2nd mortgage, I technically had been paying on that house for 8 years.

But, I came back here with a pittance of an inheritance to start my life again. She got me fired from my job, though they called it a layoff due to plant closure, but they stayed open for another 2 years, and I had been there for 5 years and knew where the proverbial bodies were buried.

I couldn’t work and take care of Mom. She always made everything about her. Kinda like Trump. Full-time chaos. Grrrr.

I came home and within 2 months I had the stroke. Most of my belongings had to be stored, including what I had to move to storage when my “friend” said they were moving and I had to go because I was ruining their happiness. You know what? They’re still there! Jerks.

I got no help from Contra Costa in finding a home. I’m running into the same problem with Livermore Housing Authority, but I have organizations to call. Whatever is wrong with me, it makes daily functions hard to figure out. I get overwhelmed and need to sleep. Or pass out. I don’t “decide”. It just happens.

I have filed for Social Security and am waiting for a hearing, as I have been denied, but I can’t blame them. There is no patient history other than an ER visit and hospitalization. That’s pretty much it, other than tons of prescriptions for things I did not have. Not enough to give me early SSI.

So I have a GoFundMe campaign. There is a reason for that. I am broke. I have food stamps (which Contra Costa screwed up this month) and I have General Assistance I have to pay back. $192 and $300 for each. At least I get GA through Alameda. CC said if I had $50 in the bank, I didn’t qualify. I had to find a job. Yeah right. I can’t do 3rd grade math and I was a finance analyst/assitant controller amd FX was one of my speciaties, but I’ll find work. If I could walk and stand up without tipping, or become so confused if I hear two things at once and I forget what I was doing, but I’ll figure out some mundane task to be paid minimum wage if an employer wants a fall risk on their payroll.

You need money to live, especailly if you’re a hypertensive diabetic with pernicious anemia and retinopathy. I take 9 medications by mouth daily. I take an insulin injection once weekly (better than twice a day just 1 month ago) and I take an injection once a month for Pernicious Anemia. I take blood sugar tests 2-3 times a day and my BP reguarly. That’s a lot to keep track of, but I manage. Everything sits within view and I set up my meds on a weekly basis, morning and evening. I have OCD, which comes in handy now.

I have carpal tunnel and a doctot has recommended surgery. My glasses prescription is 6 years old and my eyes have changed and not just because retinopathy. I drive a 1998 Oldsmobile Cutlass that my Dad bought before he died and it needs maintenance and wiper blades. I’ve got a Dell laptop from 2008 and it needs some time at Best Buy for worm removal and driver restoration.  I can’t use my Tower because no currently paid virus protection.  And my AAA Road Service has lapsed for non-payment. I stopped paying my credit card (just 1 – in case of emegency) months ago.

The GoFundMe is to provide for the cost of living until SSI comes through, hopefully soon. A friends’ sister was recently approved and that took 3 years. I’m a year and half in and had a lousy lawyer for the first 9 months.

My main storage unit is at Towncentre Self Storage in Brentwood and they won’t take partial payment per the district manager because it screws up their lien process. I am behind and the site manager has been told she can’t take a partial payment.

I am getting screwed out of my belongings – my life – because the District Manager is doing her job. Yes, they know about my situation. Yes, the site manager has compassion, but it’s still a businesa of real estate and that real estate has a price that needs payment.

Could I pay them $300? No. I need to pay them $660. I might be able to get $600, but I won’t be paying my car insurance, gas for that car or cell bill this month. $660, or she can’t take it.

My other unit is paid until November 29th. The rest of it is under a tarp on the patio where I am staying.

I need a place to live that has my things and not in storage. I purged everything I could when I packed Mom’s house. Gave away all I could. Even had a garage sale and listed on Criagslist. I lived in the backwater of Riverside County and they are CHEAP! 7′ aliminum ladder, months old that cost $70 at Home Depot, a little shit got it for $10 and it was SO EXPENSIVE. I sold it to him just to get rid of it, and he was pissed because I ripped him off.

Sure I did. That’s what privileged white people do that live in retirement communities. I hated it when Mom pulled “But I’m not from here, I don’t speak your language” crap. They know. They just assume you’re stupid or racist. I’m neither. I just hate that “I’m foreign, feel sorry for me” bullshit.

Think I don’t know? If you had any idea how many times I’ve told people I was born here and they don’t believe me – because of my name – and compliment me on my “good English”, I’m surprised I’m still free , because some folks need the stupid smacked off their smug mugs.

I’ve tried going to the press/media but I guess some one crying wolf isn’t sympathetic, even if it is real. I’ve lost my ability to work, to enjoy hikes, to drive to a nice area to walk away my worries for a few houra in nature, to sit and knit or do needlework or needlepoint, even to read for an hour or two, without my chaosed mind refusing to cooperate. I need some peace and that requires money. If I have to think about that, it becomes an obsession and I can’t sleep until I pass out, which for me varies amd depends if I have eaten well or just enough. If it’s just enough (1 meal a day and hopefully not Ramen), I can go 2-3 days without restful sleep, and my brain can’t take that.

Please go to my Campaign gofundme.com/Life4V and donate. I need help. I want to Live for however long I have and with my memories and savored remembrances of a life well lived.