Why Don't You Tell Me?

Enough of that depression and shit, I have a decision to make. That would be to medicate or not to medicate. Boooooring you may be saying. Not so fast, the bipolar life is anything BUT boring. It can be quite fun actually.

I mean before I was medicated I was mostly in a manic state, it was awesome. There was shopping, lots and lots of shopping. Not just ordinary shopping but $300 dollar bra and $175 thong shopping, $1000 Manolo, Louboutin and Chanel shopping, diamonds and platinum shopping and the list goes on. How in the hell do you think I got the name ”Diva” anyway?

I was friendly, outgoing and a hell of a lot of fun. My husband says a little too friendly and outgoing, he said I was flirty. Seriously, me flirty? HA, well maybe a little, especially after a few T&T’s.

The lows didn’t come along too often, but when they came they blew the lights out of everything. It was a dark and scary place. I wasn’t afraid of it then, I rolled with it until it turned around. There came a time though that rolling with it became hard to do. I won’t bore you to death with all the details, but let’s just say that even though I wasn’t scared, I scared the hell out of my family.

The meds evened it all out, mostly. As soon as I thought I got the right cocktail, not my Tanqueray and Tonic, but the A,B,C’s of my myriad of magical medications, something would change. There would be a weird side effect that really pissed me off. I don’t do pissed off well, it’s a Diva thing I’m thinking.

I started a miracle medication a couple of months ago. It freaking worked! I was back and I was back full force without the scary places. Then this little irritant happened, and you all know that I don’t do irritants. I started not being able to swallow, I don’t know about you, but I kinda like to be able to actually eat and not choke.

So yet another med was prescribed to counter act the side effects. That brought the total to nine freaking medications a day! Managing all that crap really cuts into my Diva Days, which is unacceptable.

This new med freaked me out, I mean totally freaked me out. Yes I could swallow again, but I couldn’t remember anything, I had hallucinations (which could have been sorta fun had I known what the hell they were), and I nearly ended up in the ER several times. All this in just 3 days. Fun times, yeah NOT.  That med has found it’s way through my plumbing and into the Willamette River. Let the fish be freaked out and not me. I'm laughing imagining Timothy Leary turned Mr. Limpett.

So here’s the dilemma. Do I stay on the miracle med and think I’m going to choke on my own tongue, do I stop the miracle med and look for something else, or do I start from scratch?

Hopping on the crazy train again might not be so bad. I could sell tickets and get enough money to buy all the Manolos, LV and Chanel I want. Hell I could have my own reality show and rake in the shopping bucks. As tempting as that all might be I know enough to know that I can’t let that happen. I’m running out of room in my closet for one and for another I now realize how scary the scary places really are.

So what would you do?

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It's Been Six Years

Six years ago tonight the angels came for Isaiah. We had prayed for weeks for his Creator to take him home, to end his pain. When the memories come I push them away. It's still too difficult to think about what really happened.

When I think of his feeding tube being removed it kills me. Herpes destroyed all of his brain except for the most basic of functions. The only way for him to be at peace was to remove the tube or overdose him on his pain meds. To see my grandson starve to death is a picture I want to forget forever. To hear him crying and be told it was only a reflex devastated me.

The child was never laid down, he was always in arms or snuggled up to his mommy at night. We had plenty of waiting arms for him to be passed to. We had a lifetime of love to give him in a very short time.

I remember the day the doctors told us that he would never be perfect. I told them that perfect to us and perfect to them was different. Perfect to us was as simple as sharing an ice cream cone with his grandfather. That was before they told us he would die.

I couldn't be at the last meeting with the doctors to hear that news. I knew that's what they would say and I didn't have the strength to hear them utter the words. We brought Isaiah home that night and waited. We waited and watched. We waited and prayed. We waited and cried.

Then there came the moment when my daughter took him into her arms and put the stethoscope to his heart and there was no beat, there was no pulse. He was gone.

We waited again. We waited for the men in the black van to come and take Isaiah. We passed him around. We kissed him. We loved him physically for the last time and we cried. When the men came for him my daughter carefully and lovingly strapped him into his car seat. We covered his tiny body with his blanket and we cried.

At his viewing we saw the tiny angel in his tiny bed that would hold him now. We wrote him letters, we gave him trinkets and we cried.

At his memorial service we were amazed at the packed seats. Isaiah touched more people in his short life than most people do in a life time. We cried.

At his burial his grandfather took the shovel and covered him with the earth that would keep him warm for eternity and we cried.

Today the pain remains but the tears are few, they hurt too much, they remind us of that time.

Today I'm thankful for the time we had with him. I'm thankful that our family is stronger. I'm thankful that nothing that bad can happen to us again. I'm thankful we have a new perspective on our current problems. Once you've lost a tiny grand child nothing can be as bad, nothing as traumatic.

One day I'll be able to look at his pictures again. We wait until we can see him again. We wait until we can hold him again. We wait and inside we cry.

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Side Effects And Java

 Since I haven't been able to write much lately due to things I'm sure would bore you to death, I'm going to do Java's Meet Me On Monday so I can write something. I'll tell you a little of what's gone on here though. I told you all about the bipolar darkness coming my way. In a effort to head it off I started on three new medicines. Not pretty, not pretty at all. I don't do "not pretty."

Here are the highlights, or low lights, of the last week: Sleeping, lots and lots of sleeping. Serious sleeping, about 18 hours a day of sleeping. I'm sick to death of sleeping. Then there were the many near ER visits, lots of doctor consults, weird vision things, and lots of other assorted irritants. Did I ever mention that I detest irritants? Side effects suck, I mean they REALLY suck! I don't have time for side effects!

Ok, enough of that crap, now on to Java's questions.

Questions:

1.  Do your pants get hung on a hangar or folded?
They're on hangars, lots and lots of hangers. I want my 18 year to move out so I can make his room into a closet. 

2.  If you are stranded on an Island, what 3 things would you need to have with you (not including humans or electronic devices)?
lots of pillows, iced tea and I'm really pissed that I can't take my laptop!

3.  Where is the farthest you have ever traveled to?
All of the US, lots of Mexico, Canada, and Hawaii

4.  Do you live in a house, trailer or apartment, etc.?
I live in a house, a big house with too many kids that can't seem to find their way to the theater or billiard room we put in. Instead they like to hang in the living room with us. They're kind of like leeches that way.

5.  What is your most hated household chore?
Writing the housekeeper a check.

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May I Have A Word With You?

Hey all. Usually when I write on here I try to keep it light and upbeat. It's no secret that I have bipolar disorder. Look at my header, and catch a clue if you had no idea. Sometimes bipolar gets the upper hand and it has it now. It's been touch and go for the last 2 months and it now has a strangle hold on me.

I may disappear for a few days or so to re-group. I'm not going to be writing a bunch of whiney-assed crap on here, there's enough of that shit flying around the blogosphere I don't want to be adding to it. Newsflash: no one else wants to read that crap either so if you're a whiner cut it the hell out!

Also if you're trying to run a popularity contest, everyone else knows it and you're pretty pathetic. Sorry I had to add that little bit of pent up anger in here somewhere. I mean, you're not 12 anymore. Grow the hell up!

So until I can get a handle on the dog this time I'll be lying low. Email me if ya want, I'd love it. It always helps to know that you're still there. If you have my number, use it....I could use it. If you don't have my number, check Facebook, it's there. I know I'm an idiot, my dad told me over and over. Whatev...

I'm asking that you don't give up on me. I'll kick the shit out of this dog and I'll be back, if I'm not back soon, you'll know that the dog did indeed win and I've run off to some far away island.

I plan to be in Texas soon and that may help as well. Yee-haw!

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Parasitic Bipeds and America's Most Wanted

I stole the questions from my friend at Classic NYC Story. They seemed interesting and certainly made me think. Let's see what happens when my younger self runs into my older self.

1. Depending on your age, go back 10, 15, 20, or even more years.
2. Tell us how many years back you have traveled and why.
3. Pretend you have met yourself during that era, and tell us where you are.
4. You only have one “date” with this former self.
5. Answer these questions.

Okay, as we start, what year is it and how old are you? Twenty is a nice round number. Let's start there. That would 1982 and I had a new baby girl, Karli. Two weeks after Karli was born my next daughter, Michelle, was born. Yeah, kind of weird I know.

Would your younger self (YYS, from here) recognize you when you first meet? Heck no! My YYS would have had no idea I'd be a tattooed biker chick and business owner, sort of,  with 8 parasitic bipeds, wearing Manolos and biker boots in the same week.

Would YYS be surprised to discover what you are doing job wise? Oh very much so. Career? Yeah right. There's no party involved in career. Well, I wouldn't have thought so then.


What piece of fashion advice would you give YYS? Forget 80's fashion, it really was ridiculous. Oh and start that shoe collection!

 What do you think YYS is most going to want to know? How in the world I ended up with those 8 parasitic bipeds, how I ended up married for 23 years and how it feels to be medicated and leading a semi-normal (for me) life.

 How would you answer YYS’s question? The first answer is that I didn't realize that kids are like cats. If you feed them they stick around. The second answer would be that I have no freaking clue. The third answer would have to be that it's different, good in some ways, but I miss some of the old ways.

What would probably be the best thing to tell YYS?  Buy Microsoft, lots and lots of Microsoft.

What is something that you probably wouldn’t tell YYS? How difficult it was picketing a certain car dealer for 8 straight months. The resolution was tremendous and changed the laws in the State of Washington, but the work was so very difficult.

What do you think will most surprise YYS about you? Well, that I'm still alive and am not currently being featured on America's Most Wanted for killing a parasite or two.

What do you think will least surprise YYS? That scars, emotional and physical, are permanent.

At this point in your life, would YYS like to run into “you” from the future? Oh heck yes! I have better shoes, a kick ass motorcycle and I'm much more cool now!

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American Protector Needs Help

Ok all, I’m asking for your help here. Joe is a personal friend of mine and is in trouble. He was diagnosed with a type of bone cancer called plasmacytoma last year. He’s exhausted his leave, he’s out of money and he’s fighting this insidious disease. He’s down to nothing at all. If the situation wasn't dire I wouldn't be posting this, but it is.


Joe’s one of the guys that put his life on the line every day to help keep America safe. I’m asking if you could please donate even $5 to help him and/or link to this post, share it on FB and tweet it to help spread the word.

Here is a short description of what Joe has done for us for the last 15 years. My friend Doug, Joe’s best friend, wrote this for me to share with you all so you can see all he’s done for us.

Joe is a 15 year veteran of the United States Customs Service, now called United States Customs and Border Protection. Joe works out of Brownsville, Texas. US CBP is charged with protecting the US from terrorists and terrorist weapons of mass effect, regulating trade and trade goods, and making sure that the people who apply for entry into the US are supposed to be here.

US CBP is also charged with regulating and checking traffic going into foreign countries. We are also tasked with enforcing literally thousands of federal laws, and helping out the locals whenever possible. Obviously the work is way more then that measly paragraph, let me try and put it in plain English.

At the Ports Of Entry (Brownsville is responsible for 4 bridges to Mexico, two international airports, a seaport, and a rail entry). Joe is certified and has worked in all capacities. We inspect every person and conveyance that is entering the US, we are primarily concerned with narcotics and criminals trying to enter the US illegally. We routinely encounter wanted felons, people trying to enter with false documents, narcotics and other nefarious folks.

We are also charged with interdicting the flow of currency, weapons and ammunition into Mexico, stopping stolen vehicles, apprehending fleeing suspects and criminals, as well as making sure folks exporting goods are in compliance; this is what I do now and what Joe was doing before he became sick. Joe has also been overseas to numerous countries on various missions with Customs throughout his career. Joe has been decorated and received many awards as well.

Please consider helping someone that has given his all for us and our country. 

Here's the poster that's helping to spread awareness. The Gunfighters Motorcycle Club is NOT an outlaw motorcycle club. It's a club of law enforcement officers that share a love of motorcycles. 

 

Today's update:

I just got this from Joe's family:

He's doing better...he is in a secondary hospital. Its for patients who need extended treatment. His immune system is still weak they only let family see him and its only 2 of us at a time. He is in good spirits and getting a little better everyday. He is eating little better meaning more solid foods. He as well as the family are just taking it a day at a time. Also is voice is slowly coming back to him.

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You're Putting That Where?

Today was eventful and not in the “OMG this is great!” way. I had an appointment with an ENT for a torturous test.

The doctor’s name was, well I guess it still is, Robert Roberts. Seriously, who in the hell would do that to a kid? My dad’s name was Andy Anderson, but that was a nickname. His real name was Julian. While I love Dad's name, and named my son after him, dad thought it was a girl’s name so he went by Andy. To me that makes sense. But Robert Roberts? That’s just plain ridiculous.

Back to the test. The nurse led me back to this room that looked like a medieval torture chamber. There was this big chair with straps, there were hoses, tubes, sprays and lots of other scary looking shit.

Then they told me that they were going to spray this crap up my nose and “guide,” another word for shove, a camera through my nose and into my throat. That seriously freaked me out. I gag when I brush my teeth and they think they’re getting a camera in my throat?

“Ok, Teri, this is going to be uncomfortable but it won’t hurt.”

I was going to ask him to demonstrate it on himself before attacking me with it, but decided that might piss him off. If I pissed him off then I’d be doomed for sure.

Since there were all kinds of unknown things in the room and a chair with straps I decided to comply.

The word “uncomfortable” had me freaked. Diva’s don’t do “uncomfortable.” I’m not sure I’m even familiar with the word but I soon learned it’s meaning.

It felt like he was putting something the size of a fire hose into my nose.

“Teri, you need to breathe.”

Tell me how in the hell I’m going to breathe with that thing stuck in my nose? I tried to relax, I tried to breathe and I tried not to pass out. He jabbed the thing all around my nose and throat before graciously removing it.

“Well, I’m not really sure what it is.”

Holy Mother of God! This is going to be a Karli moment. If you know my oldest daughter you know she’s what is known as a “zebra” in the medical community. Every freaking time she sees a doctor they tell her “Wow, I’ve never seen this before.”

“Please God, please don’t let this be a Karli moment. I’ll cook dinner, I’ll clean the house if you let me escape a Karli moment.”

It was not to be.

“We’re going to have to order at least one more test to find out what’s going on. I just have no idea from looking.”

Now I’m sitting here typing and sweating it each and every time my phone rings. If that was the beginning test, I don’t even want to know what the rest of them are. But you can bet that Xanex will be my best friend next time.

Oh, and one more thing. I heard on the news that the powers that be in Washington want to pass a bill that will force television shows and commercials to have the same volume! WTH?!?!?! Seems to me there are more pressing issues to deal with than the BLEEPING volume on TV. Use your remote people, use your remote!

Also, if you haven't visited Karli's site I'd like to ask that you go see her. Ten days from today is the 6th anniversary of her son's death.  Go give her some encouragement if you have a minute.

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