I’m sure all will be well, but my eye doctor has referred me to another ophthalmologist to look at my eye. I’m impressed with Dr. Nguyen because it was her suggestion that I see a second eye surgeon for another point of view. So that will happen sometime soon.
We had an easy peasy trip to the doc’s place. I left here at 7:15 and got onto the 7:30 ferry, and when the appointment was over, I did some shopping and then we arrived at the terminal just as the ferry was finishing unloading, so we went directly on board.
As always happens, I felt, when I got home, incredibly happy and relieved to be back. It was as though I’d been gone for days, how I felt. Such is my addiction to home. We all had lunch and then Ron arrived to walk Sheba and I get busy scrubbing the hot tub.
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One year when I was in college (1966-1970), I was part of a carpool of two for a while. Dale was the other guy. He was wealthy and Jewish, and like other Jewish people I have met or known, he believed in giving pack to his community, so I joined him in volunteering at Gordon Neighbourhood House that was, at the time, led by Emory Barnes, who one played for the BC Lions (pro football).
Dale and I were assigned to spend time with a young fellow who was completely withdrawn, and he wouldn’t talk. We met in the art room where Dale and I would do creative things and talk with him. That’s all we did, and we did it at least once a week. I had to stop when Summer came because I had a job. When I finished, Mr. Barnes asked me to meet with him, and so I went to his office where he interviewed me.
Mr. Barnes and the boy’s full-time attendant asked me questions about the boy, and I did my best to answer them. They were questions about eye contact, facial changes, head turns etcetera in response to our conversations with him. At the end, they told me about the boy. I don’t want to tell you what his parents did, gut the boy became a ward of the state (as happened to me), and his parents went to jail.
This amazes me, this story, I realized this last night.
I remember asking Mr. Barnes why he wouldn’t speak. And the boy’s attendant explained that the boy can link all known things and colours and smells, everything he sees and sense, to objects in the room where he was abuse. In other words, for this young lad, everything is a trigger.
I am not triggered by everything, but like this boy, I have withdrawn due to childhood trauma. I can’t fucking believe that. But that poor boy went far, far deeper into withdrawal than I have.
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I have another story—a story that makes me very angry. Here’s what I wrote to Dr. S.
Baboon mouth. This is something that really upsets me.
I went to Namibia a while back, and so when I discovered a fellow named Ruben on YouTube, I started watching his videos of the animals they adopted and protect on their farm. Ruben, the host of the videos, is the son of the farmer. His parents adopted a baby Baboon named Cindy. Cindy is blind. Ruben was born 2years after they took in Cindy, and all his life, Ruben has called Cindy his sister. I love them both.
When any of the Meercats, Mongoose, and baby Warthogs approach Cindy, she picks them up and cuddles them. And to express her pleasure, she ‘snaps’ her lips back and forth. A few times lately, I have done the same thing! I’ve never done it before in the 8 years of having my condition. It kind of freaks me out that I’m imitating a baboon. Doing the snaping was not my idea; twice, it’s just happened, and like my seizures and speech, I can’t help it. This condition feels like a malevolent disorder. A big fat fucking bully. It really pisses me off that I’m doing this. It just happens. I am not consciously in control.
Giving me speech to people I trust but making it impossible with my closest friends, and now, imitating a Baboon!? Bullying!
Not only am I getting worse, I am also getting weird. The other night, I started shaking like I was getting electrocuted, and I fell over. It lasted seconds, but it scared me to death. I was very nervous for a while, and still am about driving. I was like no other seizure I’ve ever had.
It is therapy to put this all in writing. Who would believe this?
I once called this blog, Diary of a Madman. This post, more than any other, proves its worth.
Henceforth, regardless of what more surprises are coming to me due to FND, I will remember that boy,, and I’ll pray to a God that I don’t believe in, that he healed as best he could, and that he had close friends. And every time I honour him, I am reminded to be good to myself as well.
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It’s been pouring rain this morning, and there’s been lots of wind, so I am hoping we do not have another power outage. But tomorrow, a long stretch of good weather begins, so I’ll be back in the gardens again. Yahoo!
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