"You're a prime candidate for another bout of pancreatitis - all the symptoms are back and you are drinking just as much. Your blood tests are bad and show your pancreas is under stress. You really need to go back into hospital for 3 or 4 days days to at the least break the physical addiction."
Who are they kidding?
Been there. 6 times now. Can recite them hymn and verse the withdrawal symptoms. The shakes, sweating, vomiting, paranoia, suicidal thoughts ... for what purpose? To feel 'hopeful' for 24 hours? 48 maybe? I managed 8 weeks alcohol-free courtesy of a gall bladder and major surgery/hospitalisation being involved.
BIG DEAL. What is it supposed to mean when all that happened was that I slid rapidly back into the oozing calm of addiction despite the best of intentions, resistance and avoidance mechanisms?
FUCK OFF is what I say to that.
FUCK. OFF.
Took the proffered prescription for Valium (haven't even bothering filling it) and promised him I would see him next Monday; tried not to smile at my gaffe of saying "Valium is addictive isn't it?" when he responded "Err, yes, but so is alcohol!"
Dave pulled me up this evening - he is the only one locally who knows something of the truth - to ask if I would be going to AA.
Have never been (apart from once in Sydney and that was so horrific I swore I would never go back). I never plan on going either. It's the reason I have also stopped going to see the guy at the Drug and Alcohol Clinic in Muswellbrook. I promised him I would turn up some weeks back. A moment of optimistic - desperate? - delusion. Who was I kidding?
I felt bad fobbing off Dave. He's a lovely guy. But I can't stand groups; people; truth. I'd rather cut myself with a thousand razor blades.
Safer to sit here in inebriated - well maybe just 'peaceful' - bliss.
Oh the weakness of a habit. The false truths. The bullshit. The dependency.
The blackout immerses after 700+ mls of the stuff. The RBT unit is now in place - in the house no less - to ensure I am ok to drive at 7.30am ...
Fuck the world.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Prison Break
There's a saying that "the most secure prisons are those we construct for ourselves" and if you've ever been an addict or engaged in the multitude of self-destructive behaviours available to modern men, I reckon you might nod when you read those ten words.
The bars in this prison are not much to look at, usually just a set of bad habits but sure as a steel cage, many of us can't step beyond them.
The alcoholic, like the cheating husband, the shoplifter or gambler knows his misery is caused by monotonously repeated acts, yet he persists and his frustration with himself often leads to other destructive behaviours so he can forget about the first set of stuff ups.
Then there's all those "what ifs" in our lives - the better job, the dreams of wealth, the fabulous wife, the university degree or boy's own adventure that we put off forever because we tell ourselves we're too busy, too fat or too stupid - more bars in the prison ...
Psychiatrist Gordon Livingston makes the observation that "there is nothing more pointless, or common, than doing the same things and expecting different results" or, as one of my mates used to say, "if you do what you always did, you'll get what you always got."
You see this ring true time and time again with pissheads who say they can just have "one or two" drinks or "social" smokers who still manage to carve through a pack or two a week and wonder why their fitness never improves.
Not learning from our mistakes also plays out in intimate relationships, with friends and family and those whom we chose to partner with - which is why the failure rate for second marriages is even higher than it for first.
Says Livingstone in his book Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart: "We do not like to think of ourselves as trapped ... we are surrounded by images of success. Our culture presents us constantly with stories of people who rose from obscurity to fame, often with limited talent."
"Rather than take hope from these stories, most people absorb them as additional indications of their own inadequacy. We are also confused and put off by the apparent ease with which these transformations occur."
"The slowness with which productive change actually takes place does not play well in an impatient society. Where do we find the determination and patience required to achieve the things we want?" writes Livingston.
I love this guy because, unlike a lot of authors who offer "change", "self-improvement" or "transformation" Livingston doesn't gussy up his answers: if you want to stop do something - then you have to stop doing it, if you want to start doing something, then start doing it.
No chants, lists, affirmations, ointments, herbal teas, chakra adjusting or mentors required.
"People mistake thoughts, wishes, and intentions for actual change," writes Livingston.
The discrepancy between what we say and what we do is the bars in the prison and the surest way to pass beyond them is to remove that discrepancy; action, not good intentions, is what matters.
Problem is, most of us want instant change, we wanna stroll right out of the prison, when that doesn't even happen in the movies.
"Look at any successful prison break and you will see plenty of imagination, hours of planning, often months, even years, of slow progress towards freedom. We may not admire the people who do this, but their ingenuity and determination are lessons for us all," says Livingston.
Source: All Men Are Liars Blog, Sydney Morning Herald, 13 October 2008
The bars in this prison are not much to look at, usually just a set of bad habits but sure as a steel cage, many of us can't step beyond them.
The alcoholic, like the cheating husband, the shoplifter or gambler knows his misery is caused by monotonously repeated acts, yet he persists and his frustration with himself often leads to other destructive behaviours so he can forget about the first set of stuff ups.
Then there's all those "what ifs" in our lives - the better job, the dreams of wealth, the fabulous wife, the university degree or boy's own adventure that we put off forever because we tell ourselves we're too busy, too fat or too stupid - more bars in the prison ...
Psychiatrist Gordon Livingston makes the observation that "there is nothing more pointless, or common, than doing the same things and expecting different results" or, as one of my mates used to say, "if you do what you always did, you'll get what you always got."
You see this ring true time and time again with pissheads who say they can just have "one or two" drinks or "social" smokers who still manage to carve through a pack or two a week and wonder why their fitness never improves.
Not learning from our mistakes also plays out in intimate relationships, with friends and family and those whom we chose to partner with - which is why the failure rate for second marriages is even higher than it for first.
Says Livingstone in his book Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart: "We do not like to think of ourselves as trapped ... we are surrounded by images of success. Our culture presents us constantly with stories of people who rose from obscurity to fame, often with limited talent."
"Rather than take hope from these stories, most people absorb them as additional indications of their own inadequacy. We are also confused and put off by the apparent ease with which these transformations occur."
"The slowness with which productive change actually takes place does not play well in an impatient society. Where do we find the determination and patience required to achieve the things we want?" writes Livingston.
I love this guy because, unlike a lot of authors who offer "change", "self-improvement" or "transformation" Livingston doesn't gussy up his answers: if you want to stop do something - then you have to stop doing it, if you want to start doing something, then start doing it.
No chants, lists, affirmations, ointments, herbal teas, chakra adjusting or mentors required.
"People mistake thoughts, wishes, and intentions for actual change," writes Livingston.
The discrepancy between what we say and what we do is the bars in the prison and the surest way to pass beyond them is to remove that discrepancy; action, not good intentions, is what matters.
Problem is, most of us want instant change, we wanna stroll right out of the prison, when that doesn't even happen in the movies.
"Look at any successful prison break and you will see plenty of imagination, hours of planning, often months, even years, of slow progress towards freedom. We may not admire the people who do this, but their ingenuity and determination are lessons for us all," says Livingston.
Source: All Men Are Liars Blog, Sydney Morning Herald, 13 October 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
When Society unveils some fatal flaws
From today's Sydney Morning Herald the following story which really does make you sit back and wonder what the world is coming to:
Jeering onlookers goad suicidal teenager to his death
Onlookers goaded a teenager as he threatened to jump off a building and then took photos of his body, British newspapers reported.
Shaun Dykes, 17, plunged 18 metres to his death from the roof of a car park at the Westfield shopping centre in Derby, England on Saturday after police negotiators tried in vain for three hours to talk him down.
A crowd had gathered underneath, with a few onlookers shouting abuse at him and urging him to jump.
Reports said one teenager yelled: "How far can you bounce?"
Superintendent Andy Hough, of Derbyshire police, said it was a "disturbing and shocking reflection on society when people feel inclined to do that".
"People were at the police cordon shouting for the man to jump," Hough told the Daily Mail.
An unnamed witness told the newspaper: "When he fell, lots of people were screaming and crying, but there were several groups of youths who ran from behind the cordon and looked like they were taking pictures with their mobile phones."
Dykes, of Kilburn, Derbyshire, had become depressed after a recent relationship break-up, friends told Britain's The Daily Telegraph.
Security guard Paul Kennedy told the paper: "There were horrible scenes that afternoon, with the crowd shouting some awful things at the poor young lad.
"The police did a fantastic job at the incident and were not helped by a baying crowd, some with children, calling for the lad to jump."AAP
Jeering onlookers goad suicidal teenager to his death
Onlookers goaded a teenager as he threatened to jump off a building and then took photos of his body, British newspapers reported.
Shaun Dykes, 17, plunged 18 metres to his death from the roof of a car park at the Westfield shopping centre in Derby, England on Saturday after police negotiators tried in vain for three hours to talk him down.
A crowd had gathered underneath, with a few onlookers shouting abuse at him and urging him to jump.
Reports said one teenager yelled: "How far can you bounce?"
Superintendent Andy Hough, of Derbyshire police, said it was a "disturbing and shocking reflection on society when people feel inclined to do that".
"People were at the police cordon shouting for the man to jump," Hough told the Daily Mail.
An unnamed witness told the newspaper: "When he fell, lots of people were screaming and crying, but there were several groups of youths who ran from behind the cordon and looked like they were taking pictures with their mobile phones."
Dykes, of Kilburn, Derbyshire, had become depressed after a recent relationship break-up, friends told Britain's The Daily Telegraph.
Security guard Paul Kennedy told the paper: "There were horrible scenes that afternoon, with the crowd shouting some awful things at the poor young lad.
"The police did a fantastic job at the incident and were not helped by a baying crowd, some with children, calling for the lad to jump."AAP
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Oblivion
... is bliss.
The pancreas is heaving. Not sure how long it is going to cope with the current agenda; shits me - everyone else gets to abuse alcohol without physical repercussions.
Typical that what grounded me in hospital a few months ago has marched back into contention.
Infuriates me to be honest.
Meanwhile I am defying the numbness, constant tingling in my left arm and chest, headaches, acute abdominal pain and nausea.
I need more than a few weeks of quiet contemplation courtesy of my drug of choice. Damn it to hell for extracting a physical price.
The pancreas is heaving. Not sure how long it is going to cope with the current agenda; shits me - everyone else gets to abuse alcohol without physical repercussions.
Typical that what grounded me in hospital a few months ago has marched back into contention.
Infuriates me to be honest.
Meanwhile I am defying the numbness, constant tingling in my left arm and chest, headaches, acute abdominal pain and nausea.
I need more than a few weeks of quiet contemplation courtesy of my drug of choice. Damn it to hell for extracting a physical price.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Forever and ever
Forever and ever
Life is now or never
Forever never comes around
(People love and let go)
Forever and ever
Life is now or never
Forever's gonna slow you down
Cry For You, September
Life is now or never
Forever never comes around
(People love and let go)
Forever and ever
Life is now or never
Forever's gonna slow you down
Cry For You, September
Disturbia
I worked late last night, went and caught up with Tess afterwards who I always love seeing, then went across to JB's place. We had dinner at one of our usual haunts - Makoto. I ate bits and pieces but courtesy of me liberally and deliberately anaesthetising myself after I left work I felt suddenly, and overwhelmingly, violently unwell. Maintaining some facade of normalcy in that situation was a tad tricky. I was also on the defensive more so than normal - hurt, angry and inwardly revolted knowing how much I was hurting him with my behaviour but equally seemingly unable to offer any sensible alternatives.
We barely spoke as we walked home, and when he opened the front door of the apartment I threw a sheet onto the sofa, grabbed a pillow and doona and curled up in relief. Said nothing.
Sleep came easily - for a change when staying in the city. The noise of Sydney on a Friday night is unbelievable.
The silence was a physical weight between us this morning however but when he offered to walk me down to Central to catch the train I refused; saying I wanted to go alone.
"Noooo," he said "You have to get the Antabuse first."
I didn't want to pick it up; certainly don't want to take it now I am back in the mindless routine I have fallen back into with delirious ease.
I said as much to him, knowing full well what impact such words would have and resenting myself even as they lingered in the air.
I know damn well that what I am doing is killing him; it was with some surpise then that he suddenly walked up to me and pulled me to him. It was impossible for the tears not to well up. The sheer comfort of human contact. When you are frayed and disintegrating on the edge of society it is more healing than any rehab programme. And, as always, I wished it would never end - as if his arms could protect me from myself and salvage some sense from this appalling state of affairs.
Alas life doesn't work that way.
We walked to the pharmacy - the city's well known address for dealing with its addicts - and I dutifully handed him the drugs after they were dispensed. These ones are ferocious bastards. Scary. JB is coming to Scone with David and Emma next weekend and said he will supervise the first doses; (half) jokingly said he was at his fastest and strongest at the moment so I would be taking them whether or not I wanted to or tried to get away.
As much as the visit next weekend will break the usual routine the Antabuse is a massive issue for me right now. I seriously don't want to take it.
Guess I will deal with that when the time comes.
We barely spoke as we walked home, and when he opened the front door of the apartment I threw a sheet onto the sofa, grabbed a pillow and doona and curled up in relief. Said nothing.
Sleep came easily - for a change when staying in the city. The noise of Sydney on a Friday night is unbelievable.
The silence was a physical weight between us this morning however but when he offered to walk me down to Central to catch the train I refused; saying I wanted to go alone.
"Noooo," he said "You have to get the Antabuse first."
I didn't want to pick it up; certainly don't want to take it now I am back in the mindless routine I have fallen back into with delirious ease.
I said as much to him, knowing full well what impact such words would have and resenting myself even as they lingered in the air.
I know damn well that what I am doing is killing him; it was with some surpise then that he suddenly walked up to me and pulled me to him. It was impossible for the tears not to well up. The sheer comfort of human contact. When you are frayed and disintegrating on the edge of society it is more healing than any rehab programme. And, as always, I wished it would never end - as if his arms could protect me from myself and salvage some sense from this appalling state of affairs.
Alas life doesn't work that way.
We walked to the pharmacy - the city's well known address for dealing with its addicts - and I dutifully handed him the drugs after they were dispensed. These ones are ferocious bastards. Scary. JB is coming to Scone with David and Emma next weekend and said he will supervise the first doses; (half) jokingly said he was at his fastest and strongest at the moment so I would be taking them whether or not I wanted to or tried to get away.
As much as the visit next weekend will break the usual routine the Antabuse is a massive issue for me right now. I seriously don't want to take it.
Guess I will deal with that when the time comes.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Baudelaire
He drank, not as an epicure, but barbarously, with a speed and dispatch altogether American, as if he were performing a homicidal function, as if he had to kill something inside himself, a worm that would not die
Baudelaire, writing about Edgar Allan Poe
Baudelaire, writing about Edgar Allan Poe
Same day, 9 hours apart
9 hours ago I was ankle deep in fresh clover, sun hot against my face as a moleskinned knee bore the imprint of moistened earth – a camera lens focused at one of the dry mares who remained perplexed by the sudden attention.
Perfection was glimpsed amongst the silence; nature’s beauty.
In that moment I was complete; whole.
Darkness now - the city noisy and affronting in comparison; the traffic and fumes oppressive even 19 floors above the quandary of chaos and time.
Alone - again.
The option was there not to be but the desire to sink in silken silence beneath the hand of the bottle was too appealing when compared with making conversation and pretending to care about solutions.
Two nights indulging the lesser evil of wine faded this evening. The familiar brand was spotted then isolated, the hand that poured its almost medicinal fragrance into the glass some ten minutes later recoiled slightly at the strange memories of hospitalization and medical swabs as the fumes overwhelmed.
Two glasses and that memory thankfully stilled.
They say you can’t yearn healing until you reach the point of no return.
What point is that?
Near death?
A child being hauled into a car by a strident parent or DOCS social worker?
Loss of a job?
Financial ruin?
One wonders.
The city is such a foreign place. People move and interact as strangers. Dusk seems darker here when mediated by concrete shadows and clothes and empty facial expressions that mirror the same.
The mobile vibrates, its face flashing brightly with the number. I don’t even look at it anymore. It’s been years since I have readily answered calls. Occasionally I listen to voicemail. More often than not I simply delete them.
When did I take the enjoyment of isolation and entrench it in such a rigid lifestyle that it would reinforce my addictions and not allow me to break free?
When did my pride in my work succumb to self defeat and I would suddenly believe that a last minute 4-hour rush would suffice as “sufficient” for preparing a major annual report?
The truth revolts me as much as it carves the self esteem to shreds.
I stood in the kitchen with the vets this morning, jokingly discussing methods of euthanasia. They laughed along with my casual banter, supplied all number of answers; offered to slot me in for a Tuesday appointment.
375mls of vodka his evening. 11 standard drinks. An easy journey despite the haunting echoes from a pancreas that once didn’t have to deal with such things.
Not even inebriated. Just quiet. Still. Amazing how a 12 week gap does not reduce the amount of alcohol required for some measure of peace.
I can hear my breath, feel it even against my wrist. Life is such an ephemeral thing.
16+ years I have battled with depression. And now 8 years with alcohol – the past 3 knowing I could no longer break free. Is it wrong to be exhausted of its everpresent demands? To just want a road that is less traversed with hurdles, diversions and thorns?
I suspect I am sometimes too arrogant for my own good.
It’s a nice apartment I am in this evening. A studio. The quintessential plethora of white and glass and aluminum. As if pale platitudes will provide the answers.
The hardest reality is knowing that it is only I who can take the first step.
Perfection was glimpsed amongst the silence; nature’s beauty.
In that moment I was complete; whole.
Darkness now - the city noisy and affronting in comparison; the traffic and fumes oppressive even 19 floors above the quandary of chaos and time.
Alone - again.
The option was there not to be but the desire to sink in silken silence beneath the hand of the bottle was too appealing when compared with making conversation and pretending to care about solutions.
Two nights indulging the lesser evil of wine faded this evening. The familiar brand was spotted then isolated, the hand that poured its almost medicinal fragrance into the glass some ten minutes later recoiled slightly at the strange memories of hospitalization and medical swabs as the fumes overwhelmed.
Two glasses and that memory thankfully stilled.
They say you can’t yearn healing until you reach the point of no return.
What point is that?
Near death?
A child being hauled into a car by a strident parent or DOCS social worker?
Loss of a job?
Financial ruin?
One wonders.
The city is such a foreign place. People move and interact as strangers. Dusk seems darker here when mediated by concrete shadows and clothes and empty facial expressions that mirror the same.
The mobile vibrates, its face flashing brightly with the number. I don’t even look at it anymore. It’s been years since I have readily answered calls. Occasionally I listen to voicemail. More often than not I simply delete them.
When did I take the enjoyment of isolation and entrench it in such a rigid lifestyle that it would reinforce my addictions and not allow me to break free?
When did my pride in my work succumb to self defeat and I would suddenly believe that a last minute 4-hour rush would suffice as “sufficient” for preparing a major annual report?
The truth revolts me as much as it carves the self esteem to shreds.
I stood in the kitchen with the vets this morning, jokingly discussing methods of euthanasia. They laughed along with my casual banter, supplied all number of answers; offered to slot me in for a Tuesday appointment.
375mls of vodka his evening. 11 standard drinks. An easy journey despite the haunting echoes from a pancreas that once didn’t have to deal with such things.
Not even inebriated. Just quiet. Still. Amazing how a 12 week gap does not reduce the amount of alcohol required for some measure of peace.
I can hear my breath, feel it even against my wrist. Life is such an ephemeral thing.
16+ years I have battled with depression. And now 8 years with alcohol – the past 3 knowing I could no longer break free. Is it wrong to be exhausted of its everpresent demands? To just want a road that is less traversed with hurdles, diversions and thorns?
I suspect I am sometimes too arrogant for my own good.
It’s a nice apartment I am in this evening. A studio. The quintessential plethora of white and glass and aluminum. As if pale platitudes will provide the answers.
The hardest reality is knowing that it is only I who can take the first step.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Redundant questions
I have utterly no idea what to do
I am the only one who can stop this and I can’t stop
I can’t talk to the people I want to talk to talk to as who is to understand the nature of addiction where they aren’t one themselves
Similarly I can’t bear the thought of sitting around with people who are addicts
Makes me feel even more repulsive
I’m so angry at everything
for no reason
I can’t bear being with people but my isolation, ironically, seems to be my worst enemy
I have pushed everyone away who cares
I have destroyed the perfect surroundings as much as I cannot bear to think of being taken away from them
The doctors all say if I am to get well I have to go somewhere where I can be closer to help and have people around even as I don’t want them
Don’t want to leave here because of my son
Don’t want to leave here. Full stop.
Yet I guess my son is the one who is going to find me dead in the next few weeks anyway
What if DOCS take him once his father has to find out why I need to move
Who am I kidding re. the contradiction in all of that
Who am I kidding anyway re being able to parent
How can it be that I can refuse food for 8 weeks when the desire for food should be stronger than a craving for alcohol yet I can’t withstand the incessant demands in my head for ‘just one drink’ once I get back to real life
How can I exhaust every possible avenue of walking 20 miles with the dogs, not allowing myself to go inside the house, taking on extra work, sending myself on long photography assignments, read the right books, take the naltrexone, try and arrange night shifts at work so I can upend the usual routine and yet I still can’t stay away from the stuff
I have tried counting minutes
Counting hours
Taking valium or sleeping tablets just so I can stop thinking and make the days end earlier
I guess I’ll have to try the antabuse next.
Not sure why. I have created a life situation where this can’t seem to stop.
I’m not you and I can’t just stop something.
You don’t understand what it is like to want so badly to stop something and yet for some reason you can’t
I would actually rather be dead than having to live with this for one more day if nothing changes
I am the only one who can stop this and I can’t stop
I can’t talk to the people I want to talk to talk to as who is to understand the nature of addiction where they aren’t one themselves
Similarly I can’t bear the thought of sitting around with people who are addicts
Makes me feel even more repulsive
I’m so angry at everything
for no reason
I can’t bear being with people but my isolation, ironically, seems to be my worst enemy
I have pushed everyone away who cares
I have destroyed the perfect surroundings as much as I cannot bear to think of being taken away from them
The doctors all say if I am to get well I have to go somewhere where I can be closer to help and have people around even as I don’t want them
Don’t want to leave here because of my son
Don’t want to leave here. Full stop.
Yet I guess my son is the one who is going to find me dead in the next few weeks anyway
What if DOCS take him once his father has to find out why I need to move
Who am I kidding re. the contradiction in all of that
Who am I kidding anyway re being able to parent
How can it be that I can refuse food for 8 weeks when the desire for food should be stronger than a craving for alcohol yet I can’t withstand the incessant demands in my head for ‘just one drink’ once I get back to real life
How can I exhaust every possible avenue of walking 20 miles with the dogs, not allowing myself to go inside the house, taking on extra work, sending myself on long photography assignments, read the right books, take the naltrexone, try and arrange night shifts at work so I can upend the usual routine and yet I still can’t stay away from the stuff
I have tried counting minutes
Counting hours
Taking valium or sleeping tablets just so I can stop thinking and make the days end earlier
I guess I’ll have to try the antabuse next.
Not sure why. I have created a life situation where this can’t seem to stop.
I’m not you and I can’t just stop something.
You don’t understand what it is like to want so badly to stop something and yet for some reason you can’t
I would actually rather be dead than having to live with this for one more day if nothing changes
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
One thing ... rather the other
All week I have been committed to attending AA.
This afternoon I drove a stake through that idea; instead lingered in the hybrid foam of denial that involved a delayed departure from work and the singular desire to get that first bottle of wine, despite the tears that presented themselves to the (bewildered) sales assistant.
Oh how I envied the other cars their non-addictive drivers.
Just a bottle of wine
Just a case of beer
And no voices demanding peace
Quiet
Solititude
Calm
Instead I take the easy option. The silence.
God forgive me.
This afternoon I drove a stake through that idea; instead lingered in the hybrid foam of denial that involved a delayed departure from work and the singular desire to get that first bottle of wine, despite the tears that presented themselves to the (bewildered) sales assistant.
Oh how I envied the other cars their non-addictive drivers.
Just a bottle of wine
Just a case of beer
And no voices demanding peace
Quiet
Solititude
Calm
Instead I take the easy option. The silence.
God forgive me.
Letter to a friend
It's been strange since I returned home some weeks ago. The silence has been oppressive - a considered, or perhaps a distracted response to an email, the relied-on comment about time being limited, a lack of telephone contact ... in combination they have given me due cause to think.
I have often wondered what I would do were the situations reversed.
I confess I would have been long gone.
Says more about the sort of person you are cf. to me I suspect.
I don't tolerate poor behaviour. Until I discharged myself from hospital it's all you did. Tolerate. Condone. It made me love you even more. Even as it was tearing you apart.
I think your approach re. pulling back is actually the right one. The writing is on the wall really. Returning to the same situation with nothing changed except for an organ removed - of course the old demons would again rise and the same reality that prompted addiction in the first place would be back on the agenda.
Being attached to cannulas and hospital routines has its benefits for only so long after all.
One would think that after what I have been through in the past few months - and indeed the past year - would be enough to cure me of whatever evils ail me. God knows it was revolting enough.
Apparently not.
I always thought I was the strongest person alive - able to deny myself anything and step aside from whatever stood in my path.
I still don't know what it is about the dulled warmth of forgetfulness and calm that crucifies my brain, removes all self control and renders me helpless purely from a singular voice that starts gnawing at me come midday.
What I do know is that I have fought this addiction for 8 years. With apparently no ability to deflect it despite various rehab. respites and now an operation to remove an organ contaminated by the poison.
It would have looked strange to the woman serving in the shop to see someone in tears purchasing a bottle of spirits the other day I suspect. They were the same tears that misted the view from the office; indeed had delayed the departure time by more than an hour.
Days have descended to weeks. Books had been read, therapists attended, reminders of children and writing and jobs and photography and new cameras memorised. The pancreas screams. It is the only thing calling for a reality check.
Ultimately it is never enough.
Only I can stop this. And I can't stop this.
You were right to step away.
I would have done the same thing.
I'm just sorry that you were caught up in it from the beginning.
Your help was appreciated. More than you will ever know. I hope you know that.
I just wish things had been different.
I won't stay with you Thursday. Will borrow your couch Friday if that's ok. But know what you are dealing with. Nothing more than a pathetic addict who one would think would have the foresight to appreciate what is out there - instead who chooses the alternative.
You're so much stronger than I am. As much as I hate you for it I envy you equally.
I have often wondered what I would do were the situations reversed.
I confess I would have been long gone.
Says more about the sort of person you are cf. to me I suspect.
I don't tolerate poor behaviour. Until I discharged myself from hospital it's all you did. Tolerate. Condone. It made me love you even more. Even as it was tearing you apart.
I think your approach re. pulling back is actually the right one. The writing is on the wall really. Returning to the same situation with nothing changed except for an organ removed - of course the old demons would again rise and the same reality that prompted addiction in the first place would be back on the agenda.
Being attached to cannulas and hospital routines has its benefits for only so long after all.
One would think that after what I have been through in the past few months - and indeed the past year - would be enough to cure me of whatever evils ail me. God knows it was revolting enough.
Apparently not.
I always thought I was the strongest person alive - able to deny myself anything and step aside from whatever stood in my path.
I still don't know what it is about the dulled warmth of forgetfulness and calm that crucifies my brain, removes all self control and renders me helpless purely from a singular voice that starts gnawing at me come midday.
What I do know is that I have fought this addiction for 8 years. With apparently no ability to deflect it despite various rehab. respites and now an operation to remove an organ contaminated by the poison.
It would have looked strange to the woman serving in the shop to see someone in tears purchasing a bottle of spirits the other day I suspect. They were the same tears that misted the view from the office; indeed had delayed the departure time by more than an hour.
Days have descended to weeks. Books had been read, therapists attended, reminders of children and writing and jobs and photography and new cameras memorised. The pancreas screams. It is the only thing calling for a reality check.
Ultimately it is never enough.
Only I can stop this. And I can't stop this.
You were right to step away.
I would have done the same thing.
I'm just sorry that you were caught up in it from the beginning.
Your help was appreciated. More than you will ever know. I hope you know that.
I just wish things had been different.
I won't stay with you Thursday. Will borrow your couch Friday if that's ok. But know what you are dealing with. Nothing more than a pathetic addict who one would think would have the foresight to appreciate what is out there - instead who chooses the alternative.
You're so much stronger than I am. As much as I hate you for it I envy you equally.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Shame I can't draw
If I could this would be exactly how I would sketch how I feel right now. Not even sure who the artist is for this - damn perceptive anyway.
How it really feels
Left broken
Empty
In despair
Wanna breathe can't find air
....
And I wonder if you know
How it really feels
To be left outside alone
When it's cold out here
Well maybe you should know
Just how it feels
Excerpt from 'Left Outside Alone' [Anastasia]
Empty
In despair
Wanna breathe can't find air
....
And I wonder if you know
How it really feels
To be left outside alone
When it's cold out here
Well maybe you should know
Just how it feels
Excerpt from 'Left Outside Alone' [Anastasia]
Addiction
Weeks telling myself to be grounded, to focus on the immediacy of now rather than allowing the stupid morass of noise in my head to dictate terms slithered to an untidy end this evening.
Merely a case of feeding one wolf rather than patting the other.
Actually forget the metaphors. This is - no matter which way you analyze it - purely about indulging a self-obsessed ego.
I'm therefore glad I am sitting here in vile discomfort. I am glad my pancreas is blazing. I am glad I feel nauseated.
Actually I'm not. Ironically perhaps I am actually scared of both.
The alcohol has had no effect on my mental state. There wasn't enough in the house to follow my usual path. 300mls, even after such a long break, has no effect on me whatsover.
If anything it has merely increased the agitation and intensified the rage.
The judge and jury would surely say "well then, case closed. No need to do it again. You know the outcome of this particular journey. IN FACT - you DON'T know exactly what's going to happen along the way but you do know the end point. So snap out of it and start recognising this for what it is."
I just wish I knew how to calm down the days [considering I hardly lead a stressful life] so I don't get so wired up that the only thing I am screaming for by mid afternoon is this. I wish I could exert the same control that I impose on so many other things on my life on this. I wish I could walk away from this the way other people walk away from much harder things.
I wish I had enough respect for those close to me to stand by one of the AA promises which is that I have no right to do this to others.
Other times I so miss the haze that inebriation brings that I wish I could just be within it permanently or not be alive at all so that I didn't have to face this every day.
Merely a case of feeding one wolf rather than patting the other.
Actually forget the metaphors. This is - no matter which way you analyze it - purely about indulging a self-obsessed ego.
I'm therefore glad I am sitting here in vile discomfort. I am glad my pancreas is blazing. I am glad I feel nauseated.
Actually I'm not. Ironically perhaps I am actually scared of both.
The alcohol has had no effect on my mental state. There wasn't enough in the house to follow my usual path. 300mls, even after such a long break, has no effect on me whatsover.
If anything it has merely increased the agitation and intensified the rage.
The judge and jury would surely say "well then, case closed. No need to do it again. You know the outcome of this particular journey. IN FACT - you DON'T know exactly what's going to happen along the way but you do know the end point. So snap out of it and start recognising this for what it is."
I just wish I knew how to calm down the days [considering I hardly lead a stressful life] so I don't get so wired up that the only thing I am screaming for by mid afternoon is this. I wish I could exert the same control that I impose on so many other things on my life on this. I wish I could walk away from this the way other people walk away from much harder things.
I wish I had enough respect for those close to me to stand by one of the AA promises which is that I have no right to do this to others.
Other times I so miss the haze that inebriation brings that I wish I could just be within it permanently or not be alive at all so that I didn't have to face this every day.
When the writing is on the wall
Severe cases of acute pancreatitis may lead to a number of complications:
*Infection. A damaged pancreas may become infected with bacteria that spread from the small intestine into the pancreas. Signs of infection include fever, an elevated white blood cell count and, in severe cases, organ failure.
*Abscess. This is a collection of pus in or near your pancreas that may develop about four to six weeks after the onset of acute pancreatitis. Treatment involves drainage of the abscess by catheter or surgery.
*Respiratory failure. Chemical changes in your body can affect your lung function, causing the level of oxygen in your blood to fall to dangerously low levels.
*Shock. This life-threatening complication usually occurs when your blood pressure is so low your organs can't carry out their normal functions. Severe shock can cause death within minutes if left untreated.
The complications common to acute pancreatitis can also occur in the chronic form of the disease. In addition, chronic pancreatitis can lead to:
*Bleeding. Ongoing inflammation and damage to the blood vessels surrounding the pancreas can cause potentially fatal bleeding.
*Malnutrition and weight loss. Lack of digestive enzymes prevents your body from absorbing nutrients from food. The result is often unintended weight loss and malnutrition.
*Diabetes. Damage to insulin-producing cells can lead to diabetes, a disease that affects the way your body uses blood sugar.
*Drug addiction. Because medical treatments for severe pancreatic pain aren't always effective, people with pancreatitis may become addicted to pain medications.
*Pancreatic cancer. Long-term inflammation of the pancreas increases your risk of pancreatic cancer, one of the most serious of all malignancies.
Unlike acute pancreatitis, in which the pain often disappears within a few days to weeks, chronic pancreatitis pain can linger. In fact, persistent pain can be the biggest challenge of chronic pancreatitis because conventional pain relievers are often ineffective and pose the very real risk of addiction.
*Infection. A damaged pancreas may become infected with bacteria that spread from the small intestine into the pancreas. Signs of infection include fever, an elevated white blood cell count and, in severe cases, organ failure.
*Abscess. This is a collection of pus in or near your pancreas that may develop about four to six weeks after the onset of acute pancreatitis. Treatment involves drainage of the abscess by catheter or surgery.
*Respiratory failure. Chemical changes in your body can affect your lung function, causing the level of oxygen in your blood to fall to dangerously low levels.
*Shock. This life-threatening complication usually occurs when your blood pressure is so low your organs can't carry out their normal functions. Severe shock can cause death within minutes if left untreated.
The complications common to acute pancreatitis can also occur in the chronic form of the disease. In addition, chronic pancreatitis can lead to:
*Bleeding. Ongoing inflammation and damage to the blood vessels surrounding the pancreas can cause potentially fatal bleeding.
*Malnutrition and weight loss. Lack of digestive enzymes prevents your body from absorbing nutrients from food. The result is often unintended weight loss and malnutrition.
*Diabetes. Damage to insulin-producing cells can lead to diabetes, a disease that affects the way your body uses blood sugar.
*Drug addiction. Because medical treatments for severe pancreatic pain aren't always effective, people with pancreatitis may become addicted to pain medications.
*Pancreatic cancer. Long-term inflammation of the pancreas increases your risk of pancreatic cancer, one of the most serious of all malignancies.
Unlike acute pancreatitis, in which the pain often disappears within a few days to weeks, chronic pancreatitis pain can linger. In fact, persistent pain can be the biggest challenge of chronic pancreatitis because conventional pain relievers are often ineffective and pose the very real risk of addiction.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Fear vs. bravery
Maybe deep down inside, you don't believe it
Your wailing wall, it isn't weeping at all
And you're not worthy of adoration
You're scared that somebody somewhere's gonna find
the burst pipe
And as fast as they bow down they'll leave you behind
But baby be brave cause what's the point of it all
What's the point of it all, yeah
Baby don't blow it, tell me what's it all for
If you're not terrified to fail
Are you terrified to fail?
Way far down below you don't feel it
Yeah everyone knows but we don't believe it
The pain of a pop star you're breaking my heart
But baby be brave cause what's the point of it all
What's the point of it all, yeah
Baby don't blow it, tell me what's it all for
If you're not terrified to fail
(Confide in me, tell your story)
Are you terrified to fail?
(it's your fear that makes you worthy)
I know what you're doing 'cause
God I've been tempted, you are
Drowning the special to
Inmortalize the rise
And what's the point of it all
If you're not terrified to fail
(Confide in me, tell your story)
Are you terrified to fail?
(it's your fear that makes you worthy)
I'm terrified to fail
(Confide in me, tell your story)
Are you terrified to fail?
(it's your fear that makes you worthy)
The Corrs 'Baby Be Brave"
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Filling every minute
I can wake myself early to try and beat a dream's memories by shattering it with an alarm, I can be rushing around from 6am, I can fill every minute of the day with things to do so that come 7.20pm I am - literally - exhausted.
But I find weekends hard. Evenings almost impossible.
But I find weekends hard. Evenings almost impossible.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Lunar cycles
Lunar cycles.
Lunacy.
Much has been written on the correlation - perceived or otherwise - between the two.
Personally I like to ignore all the urban myths and rather focus on the fact that:
* if we live to 70 we will only see 960 full moons (and we won't have seen all of those anyway as some will be obscured by rain/cloud/we just didn't look at them etc)
* a full moon transforms the rural surrounds to endless silver
* people on the other side of the planet will look at the full moon at night - just as I have. That gives me an enormous sense of connectedness to the world.
* it must look amazing from the air
Lunacy.
Much has been written on the correlation - perceived or otherwise - between the two.
Personally I like to ignore all the urban myths and rather focus on the fact that:
* if we live to 70 we will only see 960 full moons (and we won't have seen all of those anyway as some will be obscured by rain/cloud/we just didn't look at them etc)
* a full moon transforms the rural surrounds to endless silver
* people on the other side of the planet will look at the full moon at night - just as I have. That gives me an enormous sense of connectedness to the world.
* it must look amazing from the air
Fragile foundations
9 weeks ago I was admitted to hospital.
I clearly remember those first hideous hours. Don't recall much of the next week or so.
Today it was as if had all never happened. Hectic schedule, competing deadlines, stress, demands from senior management, grilling over certain annual fiscal matters, and a rising pressure valve that 2 months ago would have resulted in me coming home to the security of something a hell of a lot stronger than lemon cordial.
It's not easy to say no when every cell in your body is screaming to be free of the day.
My feet still slow as I walk past THE shop as I go to Coles, my head still turns as I drive past another of THE shops as I turn left at the roundabout in the main street and head out towards home. I still pace the floor at night, chew gum incessantly (and not just one piece - I change it every 3 minutes or so - very odd), lose my temper, and wish I had more valium/double strength mersyndol/sleeping tablets or anything just so I could wipe out a few hours.
But the naltroxene helps, as does occasional - oft times profound - words of wisdom from friends, and just being tough on myself and refusing to allow myself to give in.
There are lots of people who I have drawn strength from recently. There was a special extra this week - someone I met the night I was (paradoxically) due to get married to another so many years ago.
Cold Play's song 'Fix You' seems perfect in describing how someone can just understand - and step in to balance you from a potential fall on a particularly precarious day, knowing full well you can and do walk alone at other times. Thank you.
Meanwhile, a day at a time ...
When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse.
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
"Just what you're worth"
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
Tears stream, down on your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face and I...
Tears stream, down on your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face and I...
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.
I clearly remember those first hideous hours. Don't recall much of the next week or so.
Today it was as if had all never happened. Hectic schedule, competing deadlines, stress, demands from senior management, grilling over certain annual fiscal matters, and a rising pressure valve that 2 months ago would have resulted in me coming home to the security of something a hell of a lot stronger than lemon cordial.
It's not easy to say no when every cell in your body is screaming to be free of the day.
My feet still slow as I walk past THE shop as I go to Coles, my head still turns as I drive past another of THE shops as I turn left at the roundabout in the main street and head out towards home. I still pace the floor at night, chew gum incessantly (and not just one piece - I change it every 3 minutes or so - very odd), lose my temper, and wish I had more valium/double strength mersyndol/sleeping tablets or anything just so I could wipe out a few hours.
But the naltroxene helps, as does occasional - oft times profound - words of wisdom from friends, and just being tough on myself and refusing to allow myself to give in.
There are lots of people who I have drawn strength from recently. There was a special extra this week - someone I met the night I was (paradoxically) due to get married to another so many years ago.
Cold Play's song 'Fix You' seems perfect in describing how someone can just understand - and step in to balance you from a potential fall on a particularly precarious day, knowing full well you can and do walk alone at other times. Thank you.
Meanwhile, a day at a time ...
When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse.
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
"Just what you're worth"
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
Tears stream, down on your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face and I...
Tears stream, down on your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face and I...
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Keeping things whole
In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.
We all have reasons for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
Mark Strand
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.
We all have reasons for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
Mark Strand
It's not about the content
We clinked wine glasses.
And laughed.
Toasted the vintage, admired the colour, and swilled the liquid as we sniffed thoughtfully at its imperceptible fragrance ..
Water. 100% pure.
It didn't matter. I didn't want wine anyway.
And laughed.
Toasted the vintage, admired the colour, and swilled the liquid as we sniffed thoughtfully at its imperceptible fragrance ..
Water. 100% pure.
It didn't matter. I didn't want wine anyway.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Psychological cravings
Physical cravings can be treated.
Valium as useful as anything else. It stop the tremors, sweating, muscular spasms and panic. Stemetil curbs the nausea and dizziness.
Over a period of time the body recovers - and if you haven't done too much damage - you can quite easily come through the physical addiction after 3 days initially then a few weeks for longer term resistance.
The various rehab. clinics are set up for that exact purpose.
Psychological cravings are a different kettle of fish.
Must ground myself in the present. Stay clear of the thoughts that churn incessantly. Try and ignore the incessant shriek for MORE.
MORE silence
MORE control
MORE numbing of the feelings
MORE numbing of the past
MORE stillness
MORE boundaries
All just ego. All just that part of me that the rest of me needs to free up by learning to breathe.
Bloody hard some days. Some nights I become so frantic I can't possibly imagine myself getting through the next day.
Strangely though I do.
In desperation I contacted one of the online counsellors last night. They just want to praise you for abstinence to date and whip you off to a large-as-life counsellor. Still, reading their words about what made life so good when I was drinking, and what went wrong when I didn't drink/curbed the desire to do so [actually ... nothing happens as I am safe ...] did sink in.
Also made me realize I am a bit more in control of this than I thought.
Also made me think of the good old yellow Brick Road analogy which is an integral part of the 888 journey - one step at a time, and the way you step across/along that path is entirely your own choice.
A bit of Eckhart Tolle this afternoon didn't hurt me either.
Valium as useful as anything else. It stop the tremors, sweating, muscular spasms and panic. Stemetil curbs the nausea and dizziness.
Over a period of time the body recovers - and if you haven't done too much damage - you can quite easily come through the physical addiction after 3 days initially then a few weeks for longer term resistance.
The various rehab. clinics are set up for that exact purpose.
Psychological cravings are a different kettle of fish.
Must ground myself in the present. Stay clear of the thoughts that churn incessantly. Try and ignore the incessant shriek for MORE.
MORE silence
MORE control
MORE numbing of the feelings
MORE numbing of the past
MORE stillness
MORE boundaries
All just ego. All just that part of me that the rest of me needs to free up by learning to breathe.
Bloody hard some days. Some nights I become so frantic I can't possibly imagine myself getting through the next day.
Strangely though I do.
In desperation I contacted one of the online counsellors last night. They just want to praise you for abstinence to date and whip you off to a large-as-life counsellor. Still, reading their words about what made life so good when I was drinking, and what went wrong when I didn't drink/curbed the desire to do so [actually ... nothing happens as I am safe ...] did sink in.
Also made me realize I am a bit more in control of this than I thought.
Also made me think of the good old yellow Brick Road analogy which is an integral part of the 888 journey - one step at a time, and the way you step across/along that path is entirely your own choice.
A bit of Eckhart Tolle this afternoon didn't hurt me either.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
The words of others often say just as much
Religion doesn't play a role in my life (traditional religion anyway) but apart from that Faith Hill's song 'This is me' seems like a good summary this evening:
Yeah I have my addictions
I keep my share of secrets
And things you'll never see
Mmm I get selfish and defensive
And pay too much attention to my insecurity
Though I
I'm just like everybody else
I try to love Jesus and myself, yeah yeah
I don't know what you believe
Or what you think of what you see
But this is a part of me yeah
What I do and who I am
All of my impurities oh
Are right here on my sleeve
This is me
This is me
Yes my heart breaks for the homeless
I worry about my parents
And all my bills are late
Yeah I I'm dealing with the changes
Of this complicated strangeness
Of seeing life this way
Hey yeah I
I'm just like everybody else
I try, Lord I try to love Jesus and myself, yeah yeah
I don't know what you believe
Or what you think of what you see
But this is a part of me yeah
Of what I do and who I am
All of my impurities
Are right here on my sleeve
This is me yeah
This is me
Wo... yeah yeah, yeah
I laugh at silly movies
Tear up when I see babies
And I'm stubborn as a stone
Yeah I
I criticize my body
I wonder if I'm ready to ever be alone
Oh I
I'm just like everybody else
I cry yes I cry just like everybody else yeah yeah yeah
I don't know what you believe
Or what you think of what you see
But this is a part of me
Of what I do and who I am
All of my impurities
Are right here on my sleeve
This is me
Oh this is me
Oh this is me
I'm gonna celebrate it
I'm gonna celebrate it
Don't be afraid who you are
Celebrate who you are
What you do, what you feel, what you see, who you are
Celebrate, celebrate
This is just me
I'm not afraid, I'm not ashamed
This is me
Yeah I have my addictions
I keep my share of secrets
And things you'll never see
Mmm I get selfish and defensive
And pay too much attention to my insecurity
Though I
I'm just like everybody else
I try to love Jesus and myself, yeah yeah
I don't know what you believe
Or what you think of what you see
But this is a part of me yeah
What I do and who I am
All of my impurities oh
Are right here on my sleeve
This is me
This is me
Yes my heart breaks for the homeless
I worry about my parents
And all my bills are late
Yeah I I'm dealing with the changes
Of this complicated strangeness
Of seeing life this way
Hey yeah I
I'm just like everybody else
I try, Lord I try to love Jesus and myself, yeah yeah
I don't know what you believe
Or what you think of what you see
But this is a part of me yeah
Of what I do and who I am
All of my impurities
Are right here on my sleeve
This is me yeah
This is me
Wo... yeah yeah, yeah
I laugh at silly movies
Tear up when I see babies
And I'm stubborn as a stone
Yeah I
I criticize my body
I wonder if I'm ready to ever be alone
Oh I
I'm just like everybody else
I cry yes I cry just like everybody else yeah yeah yeah
I don't know what you believe
Or what you think of what you see
But this is a part of me
Of what I do and who I am
All of my impurities
Are right here on my sleeve
This is me
Oh this is me
Oh this is me
I'm gonna celebrate it
I'm gonna celebrate it
Don't be afraid who you are
Celebrate who you are
What you do, what you feel, what you see, who you are
Celebrate, celebrate
This is just me
I'm not afraid, I'm not ashamed
This is me
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Unveiled words
A child in tears is always confronting. When they curl up in your lap and entwine their arms around your neck, their sapphire eyes too blurred to meet yours as they start to sob - then all manner of thoughts cross your mind.
It fast becomes more than just a case of being confronted though as their words tumble in an unruly but ominous flow.
A stinging recognition unfolds of what is actually being said even as the brain struggles to equate vocabulary with the unspoken fears that have swirled beneath the surface for so many months anyway.
In the mist of inebriation I could silence the demons, switch off from the fact that I had failed in my most important role.
Perhaps it merely put off the inevitable and it took a night like tonight - the house otherwise quiet; content even, for the poison to finally seep to the surface like a wound has finally broken open.
Icy fear haunts as much as despair and self hatred. He "spent 2 weeks discussing it with Dad"; further fuel for an already inflammatory situation with a man who, despite offering no financial assistance and zero emotional or other assistance, takes strident delight in highlighting faults to further reinforce the labels. To claim the role as parent despite having not earned his right to do so, and who, quite simply, will never understand the hard yards of the past decade.
Incompetent.
Failure.
Bad parent.
Psych. patient.
Unstable.
"He needs to live with me where he is safe."
"His emotional health is being damaged."
"He wants to live with me, not you. You make him feel permanently uncomfortable."
No strength for this. Ironic perhaps that it is in being sober that I have had my failures etched against the heavens.
And people wonder why it is easier to lift that erasing bottle.
He's gone back to bed. Still crying but now I am also too upset to go to him in the fear it will upset him further. I told him I was proud of him for saying something, that it was so good that he was brave enough to talk about what is troubling him. How can we speak when every defence is crumbling, when our own sobs have to be bitten to salt inside our mouths, as a facial expression fights for control even as the unholy shriek of truth negates everything that has been said or thought until this one fractured moment.
How can my own child be scared of me? Prefer to not be with me? Feels anxious "most of the time" I am around? Is always worried about me? Is scared of how I am going to react, what I am going to do next, or how I am even going to respond? When so much effort has been made in the stupidly short space of time since I got out of hospital to make some of this right.
Failing at work is one thing. Failing in a relationship another. Failing as a parent - particularly when I never wanted to be one in the first place and have always known I was struggling at the best of times even as I tried to make things ok in terms of ensuring everything was as best as I could make it - is the worst punishment of all. The razored humour of it all is that I could so easily have tripped this so I never made it out of hospital as that was a choice that was well and truly open to me given what was wrong with me. Instead I stood up and chose to get well instead.
What the fuck for. One has to ask the question, surely ...
I can cope letting myself down.
Instead all I have done is let him down.
And in numbness the flickering question remains "How much of this are his words. How many are those of another?"
It fast becomes more than just a case of being confronted though as their words tumble in an unruly but ominous flow.
A stinging recognition unfolds of what is actually being said even as the brain struggles to equate vocabulary with the unspoken fears that have swirled beneath the surface for so many months anyway.
In the mist of inebriation I could silence the demons, switch off from the fact that I had failed in my most important role.
Perhaps it merely put off the inevitable and it took a night like tonight - the house otherwise quiet; content even, for the poison to finally seep to the surface like a wound has finally broken open.
Icy fear haunts as much as despair and self hatred. He "spent 2 weeks discussing it with Dad"; further fuel for an already inflammatory situation with a man who, despite offering no financial assistance and zero emotional or other assistance, takes strident delight in highlighting faults to further reinforce the labels. To claim the role as parent despite having not earned his right to do so, and who, quite simply, will never understand the hard yards of the past decade.
Incompetent.
Failure.
Bad parent.
Psych. patient.
Unstable.
"He needs to live with me where he is safe."
"His emotional health is being damaged."
"He wants to live with me, not you. You make him feel permanently uncomfortable."
No strength for this. Ironic perhaps that it is in being sober that I have had my failures etched against the heavens.
And people wonder why it is easier to lift that erasing bottle.
He's gone back to bed. Still crying but now I am also too upset to go to him in the fear it will upset him further. I told him I was proud of him for saying something, that it was so good that he was brave enough to talk about what is troubling him. How can we speak when every defence is crumbling, when our own sobs have to be bitten to salt inside our mouths, as a facial expression fights for control even as the unholy shriek of truth negates everything that has been said or thought until this one fractured moment.
How can my own child be scared of me? Prefer to not be with me? Feels anxious "most of the time" I am around? Is always worried about me? Is scared of how I am going to react, what I am going to do next, or how I am even going to respond? When so much effort has been made in the stupidly short space of time since I got out of hospital to make some of this right.
Failing at work is one thing. Failing in a relationship another. Failing as a parent - particularly when I never wanted to be one in the first place and have always known I was struggling at the best of times even as I tried to make things ok in terms of ensuring everything was as best as I could make it - is the worst punishment of all. The razored humour of it all is that I could so easily have tripped this so I never made it out of hospital as that was a choice that was well and truly open to me given what was wrong with me. Instead I stood up and chose to get well instead.
What the fuck for. One has to ask the question, surely ...
I can cope letting myself down.
Instead all I have done is let him down.
And in numbness the flickering question remains "How much of this are his words. How many are those of another?"
Monday, September 1, 2008
Beyond the invisible
I look into the mirror
See myself, I'm over me
I need space for my desires
Have to dive into my fantasies
.
I know as soon as I'll arrive
Everything is possible
Cause no one has to hide
Beyond the invisible
.
Latvian chant
Sajaja bramani totari ta, raitata raitata, radu ridu raitata, rota
(translation
The brave and wise men came together on horse)
Close your eyes
Just feel and realize
It is real and not a dream
Im in you and you're in me
.
It is time
To break the chains of life
If you follow you will see
What's beyond reality
.
Ne irascaris domine,
Ne ultra memineris iniquitatis:
Ecce civitas sancti facta est deserta:
Sion deserta facta est:
Ierusalem desolata est:
Domus sanctificationis tuae et gloriae tuae
(translation
Do not be angry Lord,
Or remember iniquity forever:
Behold the holy city is a desert:
Zion is mad a desert:
Jerusalem is desolate:
The house of your holiness and glory )
Thought for the day
"Adversity either builds or destroys. It builds us if we are strong enough to withstand its pressures and wise enough to learn from the experience. It destroys us if we lose faith in ourselves and in the innate strength of our human spirit, our wondrous capacity to survive against the odds."
Chris Waters, Principal, St Mary's Primary School
Chris Waters, Principal, St Mary's Primary School
Mirrored moments
I knew the old habits would haunt when I returned home, but I guess I hoped they would be more flimsy, veiled perhaps, indifferent even.
Alas, no.
Have managed to steer clear of the more insidious of the voices despite pacing all number of floors, filling the hours with a sprawling, at times maniacal, list of "to do's", and when the going got rough or I have just been so exhausted I couldn't even sleep as everything hurt too much I found solace behind the lens of the camera.
When you peer through a glass window at the world you, ironically perhaps, have to slow your breath from the rapid fire gasps of everyday stressful existence to a level of control you can't even achieve when mentally practicing. Everything stills, softens, heightens the surrounds and brings everything into acute focus for the minutes until the right frame is formed and the Nikon shutter then captures history forever ... well, until Photoshop gets its claws into it anyway.
The nights, as always, are the hardest.
One step -
One path -
A recognition that what may feel bad in this particular moment may feel better in the next -
Knowledge that escaping the memories and the present by being narcissistic now will not solve the pain in the morning, the vomiting later tonight, the guilt, the grief, or indeed, the problem that initially presents itself -
It shames me that I always want to take the easy way out, wipe it all away like it can be erased so simply, shamelessly, thoughtlessly -
When all it will be is muted.
Momentarily.
Not a great demon to have to live alongside this one.
Slow it down ... breathe ... keep it at bay.
Alas, no.
Have managed to steer clear of the more insidious of the voices despite pacing all number of floors, filling the hours with a sprawling, at times maniacal, list of "to do's", and when the going got rough or I have just been so exhausted I couldn't even sleep as everything hurt too much I found solace behind the lens of the camera.
When you peer through a glass window at the world you, ironically perhaps, have to slow your breath from the rapid fire gasps of everyday stressful existence to a level of control you can't even achieve when mentally practicing. Everything stills, softens, heightens the surrounds and brings everything into acute focus for the minutes until the right frame is formed and the Nikon shutter then captures history forever ... well, until Photoshop gets its claws into it anyway.
The nights, as always, are the hardest.
One step -
One path -
A recognition that what may feel bad in this particular moment may feel better in the next -
Knowledge that escaping the memories and the present by being narcissistic now will not solve the pain in the morning, the vomiting later tonight, the guilt, the grief, or indeed, the problem that initially presents itself -
It shames me that I always want to take the easy way out, wipe it all away like it can be erased so simply, shamelessly, thoughtlessly -
When all it will be is muted.
Momentarily.
Not a great demon to have to live alongside this one.
Slow it down ... breathe ... keep it at bay.
Friday, August 29, 2008
A new journey
It had been a long time since I last drove into the town that oversaw my return just before midday today. Watching the patchwork of brown and green unfold from the car windows, inhaling those first stinging lungfuls of rural air, and allowing myself to close my eyes against the sun's rays glancing against cheekbone and eyes alike and breathe in that interminable silence, it was almost a shock as much as it was the recalled familiarity of a well worn and much loved piece of clothing.
I am too scared to stop. To do so allows the voices to clamour to penetrating heights, urging, teasing, begging, demanding ... all a bit too much for Day 1. A day I expected, stupidly perhaps, to be just be another step along that 8 week path. The reality has been somewhat akin to a freight train. Has increased the restlessness and had me absorbed in continual tasks even though every fibre of my being screams to just rest for a moment.
Seeing the house again was like witnessing it for the first time. I walked around it a number of times, lingering amongst the various gardens, leaning on the pool fence, exploring the back paddocks, pausing to follow the flight of 2 light planes taking off from the tarmac behind us, collecting handfuls of fresh lavender/may/wattle and daffodils that now overflow numerous vases, then sat on the front balcony and just absorbed what had changed - what had flowered, what was blossoming in response to the first warmth of Spring, and what new shoots and seed pods promised colour for the coming months.
Everything looked 'normal' enough but the simple fact of standing back on the stage that had played witness to the events pre July 4 fast had me in a panic and hunting through drawers looking for something to take the edge off; thank god for valium. The lesser of 2 evils.
The medical bills resulted in a 6 inch thick-pile by the time I had taken each out of their window faced envelope and neatly smoothed them on top of each other - from a private hospital admission that 'ran out' of eligible days many days prior to being discharged through 3 general anaesthetists bills to CT scans, pathology, specialists, pharmaceuticals ... you name it basically - suffice it to say that yes I did panic and yes, the size of the pile and the amount of money involved did make me cry. As I did last night simply contemplating the fact that it was time to shift the physically improved self back to the station. Too late I realized that 8 weeks fixing the body had done little to heal the demons that marched on back home with me. Maybe I am still just feeling unnerved after seeing the specialist yesterday.
Suitcases were unpacked, the NRMA arrived to kick over the battery in the car, a gardener arrived to mow the lawns, 7 weeks of dust was hosed off the car, a large grocery shop was done to re-fill the cupboards and fridge, the vets were paused at to pay (one of a number of) overdue invoices and I booked the dogs in for their annual vaccinations as Joel played with a 16 week old labrador pup, and then, feeling oddly light headed I drove to the farm, wanting to be anywhere but near the house and its voices.
I had forgotten the simple raw pleasure of spotting my horse in the paddock. To inhale her as I wrapped my arms around her as she chased my hands for carrots, to throw the rugs across her back and secure them for the evening, to run my fingers through her mane and allow the heavenly concoction of grass and afternoon sunshine to wash over me felt so 'right' that it took every inch of power not to break down and start to cry ... Joel was troubled enough by my refusal to rest despite my obvious exhaustion to allow tears to flow - equally I was unable to explain that to just 'be' with my horse after months tied to drips and tubes and threats and fears finally allowed a gateway of reality back into the whole equation.
Was equally emotional seeing people from work - to hear the tones of their voices even before they spotted me, to see their expressions, to be hugged so often and so delightedly - made me scrabble for the safety of the naltroxene when I finally returned home (we did set out to pick up the animals but there was no-one at the kennels when we arrived; tomorrow perhaps). The voices continue their strident whispering re. how easy it would be to just take the edge off now that I am here ... even as the realism speaks a far graver truth.
Day at a time. Just have to get through the next few hours and then, blissfully, sleep will take care of the next few.
Tomorrow is another day.
I am too scared to stop. To do so allows the voices to clamour to penetrating heights, urging, teasing, begging, demanding ... all a bit too much for Day 1. A day I expected, stupidly perhaps, to be just be another step along that 8 week path. The reality has been somewhat akin to a freight train. Has increased the restlessness and had me absorbed in continual tasks even though every fibre of my being screams to just rest for a moment.
Seeing the house again was like witnessing it for the first time. I walked around it a number of times, lingering amongst the various gardens, leaning on the pool fence, exploring the back paddocks, pausing to follow the flight of 2 light planes taking off from the tarmac behind us, collecting handfuls of fresh lavender/may/wattle and daffodils that now overflow numerous vases, then sat on the front balcony and just absorbed what had changed - what had flowered, what was blossoming in response to the first warmth of Spring, and what new shoots and seed pods promised colour for the coming months.
Everything looked 'normal' enough but the simple fact of standing back on the stage that had played witness to the events pre July 4 fast had me in a panic and hunting through drawers looking for something to take the edge off; thank god for valium. The lesser of 2 evils.
The medical bills resulted in a 6 inch thick-pile by the time I had taken each out of their window faced envelope and neatly smoothed them on top of each other - from a private hospital admission that 'ran out' of eligible days many days prior to being discharged through 3 general anaesthetists bills to CT scans, pathology, specialists, pharmaceuticals ... you name it basically - suffice it to say that yes I did panic and yes, the size of the pile and the amount of money involved did make me cry. As I did last night simply contemplating the fact that it was time to shift the physically improved self back to the station. Too late I realized that 8 weeks fixing the body had done little to heal the demons that marched on back home with me. Maybe I am still just feeling unnerved after seeing the specialist yesterday.
Suitcases were unpacked, the NRMA arrived to kick over the battery in the car, a gardener arrived to mow the lawns, 7 weeks of dust was hosed off the car, a large grocery shop was done to re-fill the cupboards and fridge, the vets were paused at to pay (one of a number of) overdue invoices and I booked the dogs in for their annual vaccinations as Joel played with a 16 week old labrador pup, and then, feeling oddly light headed I drove to the farm, wanting to be anywhere but near the house and its voices.
I had forgotten the simple raw pleasure of spotting my horse in the paddock. To inhale her as I wrapped my arms around her as she chased my hands for carrots, to throw the rugs across her back and secure them for the evening, to run my fingers through her mane and allow the heavenly concoction of grass and afternoon sunshine to wash over me felt so 'right' that it took every inch of power not to break down and start to cry ... Joel was troubled enough by my refusal to rest despite my obvious exhaustion to allow tears to flow - equally I was unable to explain that to just 'be' with my horse after months tied to drips and tubes and threats and fears finally allowed a gateway of reality back into the whole equation.
Was equally emotional seeing people from work - to hear the tones of their voices even before they spotted me, to see their expressions, to be hugged so often and so delightedly - made me scrabble for the safety of the naltroxene when I finally returned home (we did set out to pick up the animals but there was no-one at the kennels when we arrived; tomorrow perhaps). The voices continue their strident whispering re. how easy it would be to just take the edge off now that I am here ... even as the realism speaks a far graver truth.
Day at a time. Just have to get through the next few hours and then, blissfully, sleep will take care of the next few.
Tomorrow is another day.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
I still...
Who are you now?
Are you still the same
Or did you change somehow?
What do you do?
At this very moment
When I think of you
And when I'm looking back
How we were young and stupid
Do you remember that?
No matter how I fight it, can't deny it
Just can't let you go
I still need you
I still care about you
Though everything's been said and done
I still feel you like I'm right beside you
But still no word from you
Now look at me huh
Instead of moving on
I refuse to see
That I keep coming back
Yeah, I'm stuck in a moment
That wasn't meant to last
I've tried to fight it, can't deny it
You don't even know that
I still need you
I still care about you
Though everything's been said and done
I still feel you like I'm right beside you
But still no word from you
No, no
I wish I could find you
Just like you found me, then I
Would never let you go
I still need you
Though everything's been said and done
I still feel you
Like I'm right beside you
But still no word from you
You can view their video clip at the following link.
Are you still the same
Or did you change somehow?
What do you do?
At this very moment
When I think of you
And when I'm looking back
How we were young and stupid
Do you remember that?
No matter how I fight it, can't deny it
Just can't let you go
I still need you
I still care about you
Though everything's been said and done
I still feel you like I'm right beside you
But still no word from you
Now look at me huh
Instead of moving on
I refuse to see
That I keep coming back
Yeah, I'm stuck in a moment
That wasn't meant to last
I've tried to fight it, can't deny it
You don't even know that
I still need you
I still care about you
Though everything's been said and done
I still feel you like I'm right beside you
But still no word from you
No, no
I wish I could find you
Just like you found me, then I
Would never let you go
I still need you
Though everything's been said and done
I still feel you
Like I'm right beside you
But still no word from you
You can view their video clip at the following link.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Self imposed Ramadan
I confess the fast didn't end at sunset but a day without pancreatic pain was worth the fact that I was no doubt playing havoc with a malnourished body.
The simple pleasure of being pain-free. Confess it is not something I have dwelt on at much length in recent years, but it gave me pause for thought for all those people who do live in excruciating agony day after endless day with no respite. One wonders where they draw their strength from.
Anyway, I finally got some decent sleep, didn't have to swallow a handful of painkillers, didn't have to fight the whole way with - simply - myself ... and it was heaven.
Back to the food this morning - but a wondrous 24 hour respite in between.
The simple pleasure of being pain-free. Confess it is not something I have dwelt on at much length in recent years, but it gave me pause for thought for all those people who do live in excruciating agony day after endless day with no respite. One wonders where they draw their strength from.
Anyway, I finally got some decent sleep, didn't have to swallow a handful of painkillers, didn't have to fight the whole way with - simply - myself ... and it was heaven.
Back to the food this morning - but a wondrous 24 hour respite in between.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
I rue the day
... when the biggest challenge for me became the digestion of a 120g tin of baby food.
I have done well with the rice/apple since Saturday (please note it was the NON baby food variety i.e. it was REAL food ... one has to cling - however desperately - to some sense of normalcy in all of this). The drinking of the supplementary electrolytes has been ok. The jelly beans had a shelf life (or should that be 'stomach life') of around 7 minutes, but swapping to plain glucose has sorted that. The water crackers did cause the good old pancreas to have a minor fit, but it was tolerable enough. Introducing the (so assumed) harmless chicken and garden vegetable Golden Circle concoction yesterday though caused all out pancreatic war ... when I want to put some weight back ON as you know things have become a bit concerning when sitting on cushions still hurts the bones in your backside.
I cannot even begin to describe the pain that I was in last night. And it rolled on and on in relentless white lava waves so that even managing to stay silent and endure it became impossible as the hours ground on.
I don't mind so much not having a gall bladder [I confess that the 'empty space' did flare violently after I was sick a few times earlier last night ... ghosts :-) Silly things] but dealing with the wash-up of pancreatitis is far, far worse than I could ever have imagined. Who would ever have thought that I would be in an all out race to try and find food that my body could keep down (i.e. low fat due to no gall bladder) whilst any food would cause the pancreas to scream back its own response that hits a weightlessness of 45 kilos like a sledgehammer decimating a pumice wall.
I look back on those weeks of no food and feel quite wistful this morning. At least the pain was manageable then.
Oh well, baby food concoction number 2 awaits (at least it tastes nice - the paradox of it all perhaps). I would prefer to just stick with rice today as feeling all a bit under the weather after last night, but alas I suspect that rice alone won't be the ticket back to work anytime soon.
One step at a time ...
I have done well with the rice/apple since Saturday (please note it was the NON baby food variety i.e. it was REAL food ... one has to cling - however desperately - to some sense of normalcy in all of this). The drinking of the supplementary electrolytes has been ok. The jelly beans had a shelf life (or should that be 'stomach life') of around 7 minutes, but swapping to plain glucose has sorted that. The water crackers did cause the good old pancreas to have a minor fit, but it was tolerable enough. Introducing the (so assumed) harmless chicken and garden vegetable Golden Circle concoction yesterday though caused all out pancreatic war ... when I want to put some weight back ON as you know things have become a bit concerning when sitting on cushions still hurts the bones in your backside.
I cannot even begin to describe the pain that I was in last night. And it rolled on and on in relentless white lava waves so that even managing to stay silent and endure it became impossible as the hours ground on.
I don't mind so much not having a gall bladder [I confess that the 'empty space' did flare violently after I was sick a few times earlier last night ... ghosts :-) Silly things] but dealing with the wash-up of pancreatitis is far, far worse than I could ever have imagined. Who would ever have thought that I would be in an all out race to try and find food that my body could keep down (i.e. low fat due to no gall bladder) whilst any food would cause the pancreas to scream back its own response that hits a weightlessness of 45 kilos like a sledgehammer decimating a pumice wall.
I look back on those weeks of no food and feel quite wistful this morning. At least the pain was manageable then.
Oh well, baby food concoction number 2 awaits (at least it tastes nice - the paradox of it all perhaps). I would prefer to just stick with rice today as feeling all a bit under the weather after last night, but alas I suspect that rice alone won't be the ticket back to work anytime soon.
One step at a time ...
Traversing boundaries with dance
14 months in the making, 42 countries, and a cast of thousands.
To see the transformation of Matt's videos from him dancing solo (which he thought was the 'correct thing' back in 2004) to huge groups dancing with him (which he said he now wishes he had done from the start) is nothing short of amazing re. an evolving conversation over a period of years. His latest video was released in June this year.
Matt says the Project is all about cutting through cultural boundaries. The music is also extremely emotive. The latest is a creation of Garry Schyman called PRAAN.
The lyrics are in Bengali (language of the Bangladesh). Some of the lyrics read as follows [thanks to 2 helpful souls on YouTube who offered the following insights to assist: "the poet, Rabindranath Tagore, would often use a free translation of his bengali poems into english, preserving the feeling, but not the literal meaning of the bengali lyrics")
Stream of Life
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
Since Matt put out his first video 28,000 other people have created their own. And who said one person couldn't make a difference?
I confess I shook my head when I read some of the feedback on the videos which has been that Matt should actually 'learn' to dance and take some lessons.
Why does something have to be "structured" to be "right"?
As Tolle would say - we must learn to suspend judgment. That alone is a far harder task than anything else we have to do.
To see the transformation of Matt's videos from him dancing solo (which he thought was the 'correct thing' back in 2004) to huge groups dancing with him (which he said he now wishes he had done from the start) is nothing short of amazing re. an evolving conversation over a period of years. His latest video was released in June this year.
Matt says the Project is all about cutting through cultural boundaries. The music is also extremely emotive. The latest is a creation of Garry Schyman called PRAAN.
The lyrics are in Bengali (language of the Bangladesh). Some of the lyrics read as follows [thanks to 2 helpful souls on YouTube who offered the following insights to assist: "the poet, Rabindranath Tagore, would often use a free translation of his bengali poems into english, preserving the feeling, but not the literal meaning of the bengali lyrics")
Stream of Life
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
Since Matt put out his first video 28,000 other people have created their own. And who said one person couldn't make a difference?
I confess I shook my head when I read some of the feedback on the videos which has been that Matt should actually 'learn' to dance and take some lessons.
Why does something have to be "structured" to be "right"?
As Tolle would say - we must learn to suspend judgment. That alone is a far harder task than anything else we have to do.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Time to be free
Contrary to medical advice, contrary to those who feel more comfortable by the structures and rigid constraints of modern medicine - I walked out the front doors of St Vincents this morning and put 5 and a half weeks, labels, cannulas, threats, and the poison of being in such an atmosphere behind me.
Now at Tony's house with my darling Joel (Tony teaching him to grate apples - the first he has ever grated!). I haven't eaten for almost 6 weeks, have had a major organ removed since I last blogged, and have lost a rather staggering 13 kilos. As white as a sheet and not so steady on my feet, but this afternoon I am happy.
For the first time in a long, long time.
And I feel safe.
Finally.
Tony and Joel are preparing my 'first supper' - a mixture of rices and grated apple that the dietician told me will help with the nausea and start my stomach re-accepting food as the stomach has already started decomposing.
I just want to get well now. I had to reach my lowest point to re-embrace life. Did it yesterday when 3 doctors went at me with cannulas to get a vein (as they had all collapsed). I got to the sixth vicious cannula dug into a ligament and I started to sob uncontrollably. "ENOUGH", I sobbed "ENOUGH!!!!!"
It was as if I was crying out to myself as much as to the people mutilating me (I had so much blood running down my arms it was hard to even see skin at one point).
A man sat alongside me outside the CT room, a nasal gastric tube down his nose. Another woman, also tubed, coughed blood alongside. 4 other patients looked on the proceedings and my sudden unwinding with startled but morbidly fascinated expressions.
The female registrar was called and she finally got the vein on the 7th attempt but the vein collapsed and the cap suddenly came loose on the cannula as the dye was forced through as CT ended and sprayed me with blood, dye and saline. I shook with revulsion, nausea and the sheer stupidity of this whole wretched thing. And knew that on Monday the whole thing started over.
To achieve what? For whom exactly? And for how long this time?
Life.
One step at a time.
When the resident doctor spat her hatred at me last night, intercepting her comments with pointed abuse I turned my head from her for a moment, took a breath, turned back to her then said. " Fine, I'm discharging myself."
"But you need an NG Tube, you need ..." - and on she went.
Her words blurred even as the fire in me suddenly ignited and the anger surged.
No, what I need is safety, a belief in myself, belief generally, and to be loved.
And to breathe.
888.
So here I am. And the light of my world - Joel - and Tony who has been such an instrumental part of my healing as well, are jointly cooking for me.
And the tears are not of pain. But of contentment.
Now at Tony's house with my darling Joel (Tony teaching him to grate apples - the first he has ever grated!). I haven't eaten for almost 6 weeks, have had a major organ removed since I last blogged, and have lost a rather staggering 13 kilos. As white as a sheet and not so steady on my feet, but this afternoon I am happy.
For the first time in a long, long time.
And I feel safe.
Finally.
Tony and Joel are preparing my 'first supper' - a mixture of rices and grated apple that the dietician told me will help with the nausea and start my stomach re-accepting food as the stomach has already started decomposing.
I just want to get well now. I had to reach my lowest point to re-embrace life. Did it yesterday when 3 doctors went at me with cannulas to get a vein (as they had all collapsed). I got to the sixth vicious cannula dug into a ligament and I started to sob uncontrollably. "ENOUGH", I sobbed "ENOUGH!!!!!"
It was as if I was crying out to myself as much as to the people mutilating me (I had so much blood running down my arms it was hard to even see skin at one point).
A man sat alongside me outside the CT room, a nasal gastric tube down his nose. Another woman, also tubed, coughed blood alongside. 4 other patients looked on the proceedings and my sudden unwinding with startled but morbidly fascinated expressions.
The female registrar was called and she finally got the vein on the 7th attempt but the vein collapsed and the cap suddenly came loose on the cannula as the dye was forced through as CT ended and sprayed me with blood, dye and saline. I shook with revulsion, nausea and the sheer stupidity of this whole wretched thing. And knew that on Monday the whole thing started over.
To achieve what? For whom exactly? And for how long this time?
Life.
One step at a time.
When the resident doctor spat her hatred at me last night, intercepting her comments with pointed abuse I turned my head from her for a moment, took a breath, turned back to her then said. " Fine, I'm discharging myself."
"But you need an NG Tube, you need ..." - and on she went.
Her words blurred even as the fire in me suddenly ignited and the anger surged.
No, what I need is safety, a belief in myself, belief generally, and to be loved.
And to breathe.
888.
So here I am. And the light of my world - Joel - and Tony who has been such an instrumental part of my healing as well, are jointly cooking for me.
And the tears are not of pain. But of contentment.
When love and friendship combine to heal
Joel and TTT work together to create my first meal post-hospital. All hands on deck.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Layers
This is not a story of a rotten gall bladder,acute pancreatitis, complications and surgery. This is about friends from across the globe who have linked hands with a common goal and made me realize what a treasure we each have in our lives to be surrounded by so many arms that lift us skyward even when we struggle to hold our own weight.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Medical update
I was discharged from St Vincents hospital on Sunday night. Now that the gall bladder is out the hepatitis of the liver has abated as has the acute infection in the pancreas. Still getting some referral pain from the latter though and I had some horrific days post op dealing with pain that can only be compared with childbirth.
The tests on the gall bladder post op showed that the organ was in a dreadful state and had been in decline for some time which would explain feeling so unwell for so long.
So organ-wise all ok. Surgery a success.
The problem we are left is that I have been unable to eat for weeks (even before being admitted to hospital I was struggling to eat a proper meal as it made me feel so sick). Instead I used vodka to soothe the intense pain and in a sense it became my food. Now it is also gone I no longer desire anything.
What has happened though is that 4 weeks and 3 days on a drip/central line may have kept me hydrated but any thing other than water (and even that took 4 weeks to re-learn to drink) makes me heave/vomit/or causes such awful pain that I have lost any tolerance for. My high pain threshold has been obliterated. Completely.
'It can't be that hard. Put it in your mouth. Chew it. Swallow. Yes, it is going to hurt. That's just what has to happen as we get your stomach to learn to take food again".
The frustrated/powerless/helpless sighs.
Unfortunately it hasn't been that easy. Something in my brain has shut down on this one and despite barely being able to walk now, not being able to stand when having a shower, and losing more than 12 kilos, I am still not ready to take that next step. Terror actually. That with strength returns that evil voice in my brain that relentlessly craves the medicine to take away the nightmares, ease the anxiety, allow me to 'parent', and function at work. I will certainly get to the point where I can take that step. It's just not yet.
Not surprisingly the doctors are not working at my pace and the good old "we will schedule you" words are yet again hanging over my head.
No. I will do this my way. It is about taking responsibility for myself. I cannot eat right now. Fact. If they want to stick an NG tube down, take endless amounts of blood and do whatever tests that make them happy then fine, I will let them. I will go back into hospital this afternoon, get the tube put down, learn to use it, then return to John's as Joel arrives in Sydney tomorrow night and I am not having him see me in hospital again.
To many none of it makes sense. Sometimes least of all to me. An NG tube a revolting thing.
The world is hard enough to comprehend let alone the actions of one individual however.
"The greatest journeys start with a single step."
I know where I want to get to. I just need the time and people to suspend judgement in the interim.
The tests on the gall bladder post op showed that the organ was in a dreadful state and had been in decline for some time which would explain feeling so unwell for so long.
So organ-wise all ok. Surgery a success.
The problem we are left is that I have been unable to eat for weeks (even before being admitted to hospital I was struggling to eat a proper meal as it made me feel so sick). Instead I used vodka to soothe the intense pain and in a sense it became my food. Now it is also gone I no longer desire anything.
What has happened though is that 4 weeks and 3 days on a drip/central line may have kept me hydrated but any thing other than water (and even that took 4 weeks to re-learn to drink) makes me heave/vomit/or causes such awful pain that I have lost any tolerance for. My high pain threshold has been obliterated. Completely.
'It can't be that hard. Put it in your mouth. Chew it. Swallow. Yes, it is going to hurt. That's just what has to happen as we get your stomach to learn to take food again".
The frustrated/powerless/helpless sighs.
Unfortunately it hasn't been that easy. Something in my brain has shut down on this one and despite barely being able to walk now, not being able to stand when having a shower, and losing more than 12 kilos, I am still not ready to take that next step. Terror actually. That with strength returns that evil voice in my brain that relentlessly craves the medicine to take away the nightmares, ease the anxiety, allow me to 'parent', and function at work. I will certainly get to the point where I can take that step. It's just not yet.
Not surprisingly the doctors are not working at my pace and the good old "we will schedule you" words are yet again hanging over my head.
No. I will do this my way. It is about taking responsibility for myself. I cannot eat right now. Fact. If they want to stick an NG tube down, take endless amounts of blood and do whatever tests that make them happy then fine, I will let them. I will go back into hospital this afternoon, get the tube put down, learn to use it, then return to John's as Joel arrives in Sydney tomorrow night and I am not having him see me in hospital again.
To many none of it makes sense. Sometimes least of all to me. An NG tube a revolting thing.
The world is hard enough to comprehend let alone the actions of one individual however.
"The greatest journeys start with a single step."
I know where I want to get to. I just need the time and people to suspend judgement in the interim.
Monday, July 28, 2008
You know you've been in hospital too long ...
- the desk in your hospital room has become as immersed in papers, books and general crap that mirrors the state of your desk at work
- your IV runs out of potassium and the alarm sounds but rather than self-importantly ringing for the nurse (when you first get admitted you actually think such alarms mean something) you instead continue with whatever you are doing and time how long it takes for someone to notice (I keep my door closed so can be awhile ...)
- you know the workings of your IV drip better than the nurses so when it breaks down you can advise them how this particular model prefers to be treated
- you know most of the staff by name and when their next scheduled days off are
- when the patient wireless network breaks down you throw a hissy fit akin to the same you would throw at work AS WHAT CAN YOU DO IF YOUR COMPUTER'S INTERNET CONNECTION ISN'T WORKING???
- you know what will be offered on each of the day's meal menus (even though you're not ordering off them)
- you know exactly when the doctor has arrived on the ward by the different sound of the patient file drawer being opened
- you want to kill anyone who enters your room bearing a needle/cannula/request for some new type of test
- odd requests like "when was the last time you passed wind/opened your bowels" no longer make you blush with mortification and stare at anything but the enquiring face of the nurse
- your IV runs out of potassium and the alarm sounds but rather than self-importantly ringing for the nurse (when you first get admitted you actually think such alarms mean something) you instead continue with whatever you are doing and time how long it takes for someone to notice (I keep my door closed so can be awhile ...)
- you know the workings of your IV drip better than the nurses so when it breaks down you can advise them how this particular model prefers to be treated
- you know most of the staff by name and when their next scheduled days off are
- when the patient wireless network breaks down you throw a hissy fit akin to the same you would throw at work AS WHAT CAN YOU DO IF YOUR COMPUTER'S INTERNET CONNECTION ISN'T WORKING???
- you know what will be offered on each of the day's meal menus (even though you're not ordering off them)
- you know exactly when the doctor has arrived on the ward by the different sound of the patient file drawer being opened
- you want to kill anyone who enters your room bearing a needle/cannula/request for some new type of test
- odd requests like "when was the last time you passed wind/opened your bowels" no longer make you blush with mortification and stare at anything but the enquiring face of the nurse
Saturday, July 26, 2008
2 weeks and and 2 days
... and counting ....
Endone and morphine a wondrous combination though. Had hoped to be back at work next week but appears I will be enjoying the luxuriant surrounds of St Vincents Private for some time yet. Bugger.
Meanwhile I feel like a pincushion with daily heparin injections (I'm starting to resemble a drug user with all the bruises down arms/thighs/stomach) and blood tests and confess that I almost want to cry when the canula trolley reappears every 3 days to put the new drip in (they had to do it 3 times on Wednesday as they burst a vein with first jab, put the next one in my elbow which was beyond agony so I pulled it out myself in a fit of rage when no-one would listen to me - then they had to put it in again).
And today's the day for jab number 354767 :-(
So, dilemma, dilemma, what arm shall we have the drip put in today?! Ah the important decisions of those in hospital.
Think I'll go and read the Sydney Morning Herald instead. Thank you for all the lovely emails/flowers/cards/telephone calls that people have sent - very much appreciated.
Endone and morphine a wondrous combination though. Had hoped to be back at work next week but appears I will be enjoying the luxuriant surrounds of St Vincents Private for some time yet. Bugger.
Meanwhile I feel like a pincushion with daily heparin injections (I'm starting to resemble a drug user with all the bruises down arms/thighs/stomach) and blood tests and confess that I almost want to cry when the canula trolley reappears every 3 days to put the new drip in (they had to do it 3 times on Wednesday as they burst a vein with first jab, put the next one in my elbow which was beyond agony so I pulled it out myself in a fit of rage when no-one would listen to me - then they had to put it in again).
And today's the day for jab number 354767 :-(
So, dilemma, dilemma, what arm shall we have the drip put in today?! Ah the important decisions of those in hospital.
Think I'll go and read the Sydney Morning Herald instead. Thank you for all the lovely emails/flowers/cards/telephone calls that people have sent - very much appreciated.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
In case you're wondering
I'm in hospital - have been for past 11 days.
I started off in Scone Hospital, then Maitland, and am now at St Vincents Private Hospital in Sydney where I will be until at least next Monday.
I was due to have my gall bladder out yesterday but due to acute pancreatitis and hepatitis of the liver it is too unsafe to operate so for now it is IV drips, morphine ... and thank god for Tony who brought me in a laptop today so I can stop terrorising the staff and do some blogging instead.
My angel - JRB - (literally) saved my life - last Friday when he got me to Sydney (if they had gone ahead with the planned operation in Maitland they would have [rather horrifyingly in retrospect] killed me as they didn't pick up the pancreatitis or hepatitis - just the gall bladder) and again last night when I completely lost the plot. Tony continues to save me everyday (I owe him the world for the help he is giving me right now - he's here everyday teaching me so much and helping me through some horrible days) and I am, as always, in debt to my beloved Heather and David, Ju Ju, Inge, Dick and my darling Joely.
Not going to be an easy road to climb back this time. It can only be me who can do it, but as my precious mum said "3 steps forward, 2 back". And I have the love of some outstanding people to lean on as well.
Too tired to write more now. Will be blogging in force over next few days however.
My love to you all and apologies if I havent contacted everyone to let you know where I am.
I started off in Scone Hospital, then Maitland, and am now at St Vincents Private Hospital in Sydney where I will be until at least next Monday.
I was due to have my gall bladder out yesterday but due to acute pancreatitis and hepatitis of the liver it is too unsafe to operate so for now it is IV drips, morphine ... and thank god for Tony who brought me in a laptop today so I can stop terrorising the staff and do some blogging instead.
My angel - JRB - (literally) saved my life - last Friday when he got me to Sydney (if they had gone ahead with the planned operation in Maitland they would have [rather horrifyingly in retrospect] killed me as they didn't pick up the pancreatitis or hepatitis - just the gall bladder) and again last night when I completely lost the plot. Tony continues to save me everyday (I owe him the world for the help he is giving me right now - he's here everyday teaching me so much and helping me through some horrible days) and I am, as always, in debt to my beloved Heather and David, Ju Ju, Inge, Dick and my darling Joely.
Not going to be an easy road to climb back this time. It can only be me who can do it, but as my precious mum said "3 steps forward, 2 back". And I have the love of some outstanding people to lean on as well.
Too tired to write more now. Will be blogging in force over next few days however.
My love to you all and apologies if I havent contacted everyone to let you know where I am.
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