Woo hoo. Two people I am very fond of and close to here on Gabe, are Kris and Steve. It was Kris who lined me up with CAYA, the society that provides communication assistance to the deaf and mute population. Kris wrote to me yesterday about our dinner together coming up on Saturday. She wanted to help me with dessert, so I called her on FaceTime.
And as we were winding up, Steve came home, and he came online with me to ask about my tests. Steve is an anesthesiologist, and he is, I discovered, extremely knowledgeable. We had a long talk, and I read him my MIBI results, and he believes that I’ll be asked to have an angiogram and that my problem is plaque in a coronary artery.
It was uplifting to talk to him. I hope and pray that he is correct in his impression because what he thinks is wrong is correctible with stents, and that is a very easy fix. A fix is what want.
From the Advantages of Snow Department: The snow helped me realize that Sheba’s urine is full of blood, so I went to the vet’s. They always want a urine sample and I’ve been trying to obtain one since Friday. But She flees every time I approach her when she is peeing. Sigh.
Last night, I thought about why I was failing at capturing a sample, and then I got a very, very small ceramic cup that I have, and I taped it to the end of my cane. When we went out for her to pee last night, I got a pretty good sample, much to my delight. I’ll take it in to the vet’s in the morning.
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I’ve come to realize that I am obsessing over this weakness issue. I’ve got to do something else with my brain to get out of myself. I shall work on that.
There’s a trick acrobats do in the circus. Clowns will put a long flat plank on a ball, and they mount the plank and swing back and forth, and they can spin around. Emotionally, I feel like I am on that plank. And that’s because like the clown on the ball, I am seeking balance. I need everything to be working. My ideal is eternal stasis. I want to be still on the plank, on the ball.
Moving here was an act of disengagement. So was deciding not to entertain people here at home. So was quitting every organization I joined here on Gabriola. I am at my best alone. And when you think about it, having profoundly bad speech is disengagement.
I ask myself how this could come to be. Why did I end up this way?
I believe Dr. Shoja. She said neglect is the worst form of abuse. It’s ironic: I thought my issues were the beatings, whereas it was the all-day, every day, year in and out, alone. And the church that owns me didn’t want me either—I was a born of sin in a Catholic orphanage where one aged out at age two-to-three, depending on development. Plus, I was secretly gay, which was both illegal and a sin.
I can see why my amygdala, my fight or flight center that operates in my subconscious, has a morbid fear of humans. My soul needs them, but my brain makes me stutter and seize when I am with them.
Eight years of therapy in the hands of woman whom I greatly respect and value has me capable of understanding and expressing this hypothesis I can think about this with absolutely no emotion at all. That, too, is proof of my well-being. I can’t erase the past, but I can stop crying about it.
The reward of accepting Dr. Soja’s theory that the neglect caused Complex PTSD and then something triggered the onset of FND in 2016, is that I can understand my past and present much better. I’d explain my journey with Dr. S. as a study of the ‘personality’ of my subconscious, as formed by past events.
I understand so much more about myself, people in general, and the relationship between mind and body due to my breakdown and the subsequent teaching of Dr. Shoja. It’s my experience that there’s benefit in every tragedy.
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Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ve had a sore neck for a few days, last night, as I went to bed, I did so, hoping that a night of sleep would make things better. But no! This morning, I awoke is dreadful pain. I had to hold onto my head to keep the pain at bey. I’m living with a big scarf around my neck to support my head. It’s excruciatingly painful and I’m sick to death of having things go wrong with me.
This morning has been brutal. I had a hell of a time getting dressed and getting the fire going. Once I fed the pets, I went back to bed until it was time to go to the vet with Sheba’s urine sample I’ll be bed bound all day I reckon.
No photos today. I'm too sad and I'm really hurtin'.
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