Skip to main content

Grand Delusions

I may pass sooner than later. I'm having terrible spasms throughout my organs and around my heart. I wake up with my whole body quivering. Much to my dismay, nobody seems to notice. 
Fasciculations herald the death of the muscles, in my personal observations. Therefore, I figure I will likely die suddenly from a catastrophic organ failure.
I know I'm paralyzed but I'm unnerved when my body seizes. I gasp for air almost every time I'm changed, as I'm being lowered, my body stretches, then my diaphragm spasms big time.  Though I'm gasping, caregivers continue to lower my body to proceed with changing, without realizing it, they are increasing pressure on the chest, with the weight of gravity. Instead, it makes more sense to raise the head of the bed, to reduce pressure on the chest, then pause until the spasm (gasping) passes.
This was my state of mind yesterday evening.  Luckily, I got out of my head and shared with my husband and one of my favorite, and most trusted nurses.Apparently, I am more likely to pass from respiratory failure. Oh yeah!  I forgot. Interesting to note that I am still able to make shit up, believe it, and run with it! By the way, the part about raising my head up when I'm gasping is true.
Labels:
Location: 2720 E Madison St, Seattle, WA 98112, USA

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Fall

Orange, gold, rust, burnt sienna, ochre, raw umber; the riot of fall colors, in the trees and at our booted feet; a drive in the countryside; the taste of hot apple cider on my lips; the satisfaction of a truckload of firewood we gathered and cut ourselves; elk herds on the move; hearty stews, savory soup, crusty whole-grain bread, pumpkin and gingerbread spice lattes; these are the memories I tap into the most this time of year. Cabela's fliers in the mailbox; Carhart's camo-clad hunters swarm outlying areas; mushroom garthering; huckleberry picking; logger burgers; forest service roads; cheese sandwiches on the woodstove; warm quilts, cool sheets, and flannel nightgowns; cold butt, warm heart.  Immensely grateful to have the well of memories to draw upon.
Post a Comment
Read more

Lashing Out

Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry."  Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?
Post a Comment
Read more

Prayer

Occasionally, we are seized with a rebellion so sickening that we simply won't pray. When these things happen we must not think too ill of ourselves. We should simply resume prayer as soon as we can, doing what we know to be good for us. -- TWELVE STEPS AND TWELVE TRADITIONS, page 105  Gee, I could have saved myself years of self-reproach by taking it easy on myself. "Try" as I might, I never could make prayer, in the traditional sense, a daily occurrence for stretches longer than a month. I had good intentions but inevitably, I'd be running late and forget. Or worse, I'd get a big, fat bout of attitude about not getting my wishes (the permanent position at the Gates Foundation, being fired from my last job when my health deteriorated, the cancellation of my Panama Canal cruise, and the various abandonments I experienced following my ALS diagnosis) and off I'd go, cursing my Higher Power, turning my back, isolating, and wishing I were dead (actually, I wa...
Post a Comment
Read more