My Condition is in the Driver's Seat

We don’t talk about the past, Dr. Shoja and I. Ten years of therapy boils down to one word: Neglect. 

I experienced seeing a long string of images of my life; what I saw in those images was that in every memory I was alone. I was 45 then, but that experience is what makes me believe in Dr. Shoja’s skill and diagnoses.

Neglect. It hurts. The truth hurts. It is really hurting me. Seizures, a nasty speech disorder. Truth is a burden for me. 

I have been looking back and seeing the past through a new lens. Specifically, I feel that neglect, unknown to my conscious self, distrustful of people. I feel it doomed me to be single, that’s what I knew. I’d never been completely open with anyone until I met Dwight and Steve in my early thirties.

We lasted 14 years, Steve and I. And we are in constant contact with each other still. I’m good at friendship. Love at a distance.

I love this house, having pets, having space and total quiet. I love my spa and the forest. I really love living in a log home right against the forest. It’s perfection. But I don’t feel it was my choice to live here. My breakdown made the overwhelmingly stimulating environment of downtown Vancouver unbearable.

My condition drove me here. 

I have a speech capacity that enables conversation but not discourse. I only have a speech disorder when I am with people. I have seizures when I’m with people. It seems to me that my condition wants me to be alone.

It’s fucking chilling to understand that ‘neglect’ is the engine of my life. Ove and over and over I say to myself, ‘I’m somebody I don’t want to be.’ I’ve been through this before, being born when being out took guts that I didn’t have, and it was a mortal sin in my faith.

It’s so fucking ironic that when I moved into the basement of the Tyrell’s house, the collected works of Charles Dickens was on the bookshelf.  His works were full of orphans.

 Walking yesterday afternoon in the sunshine with Sheba, on trails that are constantly changing in slow motion, and alone. We saw no one. It intoxicates me. I feel like the happiest, luckiest guy alive. I forget my troubles. I don’t hear my broken voice. I hear birds, I hear Sheba panting, so I know she’s close when she’s behind me. It’s a spiritually cleansing experience. It’s a healing experience.

My symptoms and my comfort only in solitude are driven by the constant of my narrative: neglect.

Given up by my birth mother, in an orphanage overwhelmed with unwanted babies, and then the Tyrells. I was doomed.

All my life, I protected them. I always said, ‘I don’t want to judge them. I don’t know their story. They have me a dreadful legacy, but the neglect by the Tyrells made me, more than anything, want to belong. I wanted to join the West Van Band because of the uniform. I valued love, and to be love, I felt I needed to try always to be ethical. I got a good moral education from my church.

That’s why I don’t defend The Tyrells anymore. They should have known better. If I can be loving, they could have been.

There was a time when I looked back on my life, I thought of the public theatre I design, and built with money I raised, a show, of my conception that toured Canada and got a review in Variety, and I was very proud of a series of four lectures that I presented in a large Vancouver venue, of outstanding female curators/creators, and with each speaker, I presented a twenty-minute playlet performed by professional actors I loved and respected, speaking lines extracted from the writings of four great female artists. It sold out.

Sadly, I think instead about this neuro-psychological mess I’m in, and that often makes me think about why I got it and how neglect affected by relationships. Yes, those things I did, happened. But they were things I did. Dr. S. attributes “compartmentalizing’ for allowing me to function well professionally.

So, this is understanding myself. And that is the result of the onset of my condition. It truly has changed my life and my life story, these two diagnoses.

I was watching a movie last night, and I was interrupted by whimpering from her highness. I stopped the movie and gave her a hearty massage back, neck and head massage. She begs for more. Instead, I propose that we go outside. I go out onto the courtyard, and I look at my landscaping, done without research or knowledge, just winging it, and now, eight years on, it is looking pretty damn good.

There’s variance of colour and height in the plantings, lots of open space left to nature, and I’m particularly pleased with the pathway and courtyard with its fountain and trellis.

I look at it all, and everything I see, other than plant the trees and some of the other natural shrubbery, everything is done by me. When I finally get the studio of my dreams, instead I create a mini park. And that makes me feel as good as I do on the trails. In the Winter, its books, pets and the fireplace that fulfil me.

What a ride my life has been, but it ends in paradise on earth: Pinecone Park.

Glass half full.

•

I got an email from one of the women in my dog walking group. It said: “I found an engorged tick in the sink drain when I was plunging that bathroom sink.”

I replied all: “You have no idea how much it delights me to receive an email with a sentence that I am very, very, proudly sharing with my friends: I found an engorged tick in the sink drain when I was plunging that bathroom sink.  Why am I proud? Because it’s a sentence that comes from living a rural lifestyle, and I am so proud to be here. I’m still, actively smitten with life here. And it’s also hilariously funny. Humour is an interesting thing to me. Denise saying “that” sink is what makes that sentence rock with colour and so, so funny. I think it’s a brilliant line for the right movie.”

The delight of my morning yesterday was taking a shower. My arm bandages did not come off, nor was there any bleeding. It felt so, so good to feel clean and to know I could go back to regular showering. While I waited to go to see my NP at the clinic, I wrote Jess to tell her that I will not be taking more speech therapy for a while. While I’m seeing Dr. S. twice a month, that is all I want to do.

My speech is holding well for friends. I remain unable to speak to strangers. I tried hard to speak to the receptionist at the clinic, but it was impossible and I could not care less. If I can speak to my friends, that’s all that matters. I’m still worse than I was prior to March 28, but if I can speak to my friends, I am giddy.

I cancelled the cortisone shot that Jennifer offered me. It’s only temporary and, given that I’ve already been waiting for eight months, I don’t see the point. If it works, I’d just be wanting another one and I’d be waiting again for another year. So f*ck that.

Instead, she has ordered barbotage. Barbotage (or needle aspiration and lavage) is a minimally invasive, ultrasound-guided procedure used to treat calcific tendinopathy (caused by my bone spurs). It involves using needles to break up and suck out calcium deposits within my Achilles tendon, followed by a corticosteroid injection to reduce inflammation. 

When I got home, we all had lunch and I had a nap. Then Her Highness and I went for our afternoon walk as the sky brightened and the angel piss stopped. It didn’t deserve consideration as precipitation. It was, as it always is, a delight to be forest walking. I love taking her walking. It is never something I want to put off. Come Friday, though, I may be feeling too poorly to walk her after my shingles shot tomorrow.

Last night was as usual and today may be an outdoor day. I kept waking up last night and so my sleep was fitful and so today I may not feel up to doing too much yard work. We’ll walk with our friends, and we’ll go into the village to pick up meds. Walking will be the highlight of my day.

Clouds and Angels

By the time we were ready to walk yesterday morning, it had clouded over and that somewhat dampened my desire to spend the day outdoors gardening because it was cooler than our glorious Sunday. Instead, I focused on some chores needing doing. 

After our walk, we went into the village to arrange for ana appointment at the clinic and to fetch some tomatoes from the nursery for the edible garden. The clinic is very good to me. Instead of getting an appointment in three weeks to a month, I am going in this morning at 11:40! 

When we got home, I planted the tomatoes and cleaned up one garden bed before heading out for our afternoon walk. After that, came some reading. Sadly, I am about to read the last of my Jackson Brodie novels by Kate Atkinson. And then our regular evening routine carried us through to bedtime.

Today is cloudy and Angle piss has dampened everything. What happened to those April showers made famous in song? I am hopeful that we’ll get some real rain today, but I have my doubts. I am worried about forest fires this year, and about how many trees we will lose to drought this Summer. Sigh.

Thursday, I get my second shingles shot. I am worried about that too. My first one made me sick the following day. And the nurse here says I may have a worse reaction to number two. Double sigh. 

Because it’s so dull outside, I lit a fire this morning. I shall be chillin’ today, reading and doing domestic chores. We will shop after my clinic appointment.

My Day

Sunday, My Day, was a spectacular day! The pets awoke me very early (4:00). Sheba made her wee whimpers, and Fred made puking sounds. I then played Find the Puke, but I couldn’t. I searched everywhere but could not find it. It’ll be revealed in time.

I fed everyone and then read. It is a great time to read while all the pets sleep some more after eating. There was no need for a fire, so both Fred and Ethel retreated to my bed to sleep, Sheba slept on the bedroom floor, and I mounted the chaise to read.

At 9:00, it was time to walk. I could hardly wait. It was such a perfect morning. We did a long walk and only saw one other person. And it was silent; the dawn chorus was long over. We walked for 1.5 hours, and when we arrived back at Pinecone Park it soon was lunch time. (When you get up at 4:00, lunch is at 11:00.) 

And then it was time to work in the garden. I chose to tidy up the edible garden. I’m in no hurry to do anything, so it was a pleasure to work. The edible garden gets lots of sunlight, so I was working in my tee. I had to weed whack the paths around my raised beds before I could rake-up all the cones and other detritus and tote it to the lower forty (behind the fence). Plus, I tidied up the beds themselves, throwing all the weeds and cones on the ground before the big sweep, and as I worked, I found Raspberry suckers growing in the path, so I transplanted them into the Raspberry planter. The last work of the day was to water the plants in containers and the Butterbur that needs so much water.

I was delighted to find myself wanting to work in the yard and gardens. Finally, my will kicked into gear, and at the end of the day it is very, very rewarding to see the product of my work. The garden looked fantastic, and because the entire coming week is predicted to be warm and sunny, I will get lots of things done. But Tuesday, with luck, will be rainy. God, I hope we get rain!

I did 4.5 hours work. I loved every second of it, and I am eternally grateful to Dr. Dorscheid and Tezspire because that drug enabled my labour. Without it, I would have had to hire someone to do the work I did today. That’s what I did for the past two years. But at 15:30, I was tired and hot and so I called it quits to walk Her Highness and then do some reading before dinner. My God, I wish Kate Atkinson was as prolific with her Jackson Brodie series as is Donna Leon with her Commissario Guido Brunetti series (I read forty of them; Ms. Atkinson’s series is six books).

Last night was a great version of the usual!

Today, another sunny one, has begun at a rather chilly 8°. We’ll walk with our friends, and then I’ll be watering and doing yard work all day. I’m really looking forward to being outside all day. Below are some recent snaps.

Magnificent old Maple in Elder Cedar.

It's the most beautiful time of year in the forest because 
everything is so brilliantly green.

A large field chock full of Nettles.

Beautiful tiny white flowers in the moss on the side of a trail in the 707 Park.

There are also huge swathes of Vanilla Leaf plant.

Alder trunks have a beauty like Plane trees of southern France.

My left arm post dog-jumping up on me.

My right arm got the worst of it.

 I propped my phone on a tree trunk and took this selfie
of us by triggering the shutter with my watch!