Panicked, pitiful voicemail I left for one of my sisters tonight:
“I waxed my face and OH MY GOD that shit hurts like hell and I think I might have pulled some skin off. I’m gonna have to wear a little half-mask like the Phantom of the Opera and probably start singing in a vibrato all the time and I’m gonna spend the rest of my life in the tenor section instead of just when I’m in community choir.”
I meant for the post title to demonstrate that I’m mentioning a lot of little things that I keep forgetting to post about, but I have been cleaning house. Every day. Thanks to FlyLady. You should really try it out. Your house will be clean and you won’t even have to plan what to do or when to do it.
Remember that whole thing with my boss’s inability to take responsibility and do her job? Last Monday I contacted our area manager, who’s responsible for employee issues. He was horrified by my story and assured me the issue would be addressed. On Wednesday my boss told me she was writing me up because there was 75 minutes of overtime on the last payroll. I’m also losing part of my bonus for November. The 75 minutes of overtime meant we paid someone $5 more. I’m not even kidding.
Tomorrow Rocco and I are going to church together. It will be the first time I’ve attended religious services in exactly one year.
I have five unread comic books sitting on my nightstand. This is a sentence I’d have never typed exactly one year ago.
My middle sister LaTasha has created a blog tracking my mother’s recovery from her medical nightmare.
Meghan has a link on her blog to some terrifically cute hand-made hair bows. My youngest sister Kyli should keep these in mind for her daughter, Tayden. They’re extra-super cute.
bettie has some photos of the WGA Strike from Mutant Enemy Day at Fox. You can see Joss Whedon’s arm and enough of Nathan Fillion to make me salivate. bettie was on the picket line.
The colon cleanse/total body purification is going nicely. No discomfort, no diarrhea, and no funny smells oozing from my pores.
Confession: I was disappointed that I didn’t win a NaBloPoMo prize. I think that, subconsciously, I thought that I was supposed to win a prize, karmically speaking. Because, let’s be honest: between my mother’s brain exploding and the shit at work and the near-decapitation event, the final quarter of 2007 kind of sucked. But then I thought that karma would bite me in the ass for thinking karma owed me. And then my head sort of exploded in that vicious circle sort of way, so I stopped thinking about it.
The Christmas tree and decorations are in place. Rocco tried to hang gym socks from the mantle for stockings. Naturally, I objected.
If you know any wealthy people who like to give Christmas gifts to strangers, please tell them I’d like a basic digital camera so I can participate in 12 of 12, a “blank” spice rack so I can put what I want/need/use in it, and a personal assistant whose sole responsibility is to clean the litter box.
I don’t know what I was thinking with this whole NaBloPoMo thing. I mean, I don’t have 30 things to say, much less 30 interesting things to say.
Yesterday I had my sister post for me. (This involved giving her my user name and password, as well as dictating the post to her. If some crazy shit starts showing up here, it’s because of her.) I was too lazy to go home and was having too much fun continuing to gorge myself on leftovers to leave Aunt Doodie’s house. But I couldn’t not blog, because I’ve made this silly commitment and I’m kind of big on commitment.
In three days I’ll probably be writing posts that say, “This is my post for Wednesday.” But I will be posting.
Last night I realized that if my family were in hiding like Anne Frank’s, we would turn each other in.
Posted for me by my sister Kyli while I was indisposed.
Thanksgiving Menu:
2 pans of dressing
1 turkey
1 ham
5 casseroles
2 other dishes
3 pans rolls
1 cake
2 pies
Number of People:
Nine
Amount of Food Initially Eaten:
Less than 1/6
And we are still bloated and huge and stuffed!
Rocco and I hosted a costume party on Oct. 27. Here’s evidence!
My cousin Mayme.
My cousin Bailey and her friend Paul (as Britney and Kevin).
Nick, Bailey’s husband (as Bailey, who’s on a roller terby team.)
Aunt Doodie (as herself in 30 years).
… and Rocco (as Robin’s gay vampire cousin*).
*That’s what he said he was dressed as. We just called him Dracula.
I’m so lazy that I’m cross posting this (in part) from an email to my friend Jimmy.
The end of last week was pretty busy at work because [the local university’s) Family Weekend, a rodeo, and a giant family reunion were all in town. We were full for, like, four days straight. And I was the representative at the hotel’s booth at the business expo last Thursday and Friday, so I was there all day and worked pretty late into the early evening those days, plus worked the first and third shifts on Saturday because I had to train a new person on night audit. Guhhhhhhh. I was exhausted, and Sunday was my only day off. Not much you can do with your day off when you don’t get off until 7 a.m. that morning and have to go back at 7 a.m. the next morning.
I did manage to accomplish some stuff, though. I painted this thing in my room. It’s a large custom-made kitchen island on wheels with a detailed design on the sides made out of some sort of wood. (I think it’s pine.) The people who lived in my townhouse before me just left it there, probably because it’s crazy heavy. Plus, one of the wheels was off of it. So this weekend I painted it black to match my bedroom furniture. (My bedroom furniture came out of several boxes from Wal-Mart. I put it together myself!) I was pretty proud of my paint job, and I managed to attach the missing wheel. Even Rocco complimented me on it. When Rocco does a home improvement project — well, it’s like when you do a home improvement project. He’s got to draw up plans and set up a time line and color code stuff. Except you code in primary colors and Rocco uses pastels. (Kidding! Just kidding! But that was funny, wasn’t it?) Anyway, when I get a compliment from Rocco about a home improvement project, I’m pleased. Unfortunately, I don’t think I washed his good paintbrush out enough, even though I rinsed it for about 10 minutes. I’ve hidden the paintbrush from him. There’s no way that’s going to end well. When Rocco loans you his tools or implements — well, it’s like when you loan me your tools or implements.
My owner has been a complete dick this week, and there’s a lot of tension at the hotel. Some shit’s going down, and I want to come out smelling like a rose.
A representative from Timber Ridge, the facility in Benton that specializes in brain injuries, evaluated Mama on Tuesday. She’s an ideal candidate for the facility, but now we have to see if her insurance will pay for it. Timber Ridge will accept patients only if their insurance covers it. Here’s hoping.
And in the middle of all that shit, I managed to take my cats to the vet, clean my bathroom from top to bottom, make homemade chicken noodle soup, watch the first two seasons of Weeds on DVD, and play with my awesome new laptop.
My sisters, daddy and I met with Mama’s medical team today. She has made some progress at the new facility, including gaining some very limited mobility and a bit of control over her right hand. The primary obstacle is that she has no idea what the right side of her body is doing most of the time. Best as I understood it, it’s kind of like the opposite of having a phantom limb in that she’s really unaware that she has a right arm and leg. It’s very slow going right now, but she grows more cooperative every day, which means that the progress should continue.
Mama’s speech and language are also improving. She is much more communicative in general and often more coherent. Case in point: today she asked what day it was, and when told it was October 03, she was surprised to learn that almost a month had passed. She was particularly distraught to realize that she’s missed so much work. “You think somebody might need to sign me up for disability?” she asked her occupational therapist. We’re taking this as a good sign because it means that she’s thinking abstractly on some levels.
Mama will be discharged from her current rehabilitation facility — which focuses on physical and occupational therapy — on Oct. 17. At that point, we have decided to try to get her in to Timber Ridge Ranch, a residential rehab facility that specializes in brain trauma.
Finally, today my mother called me by name only once. The rest of the time she called me “Buffy” — which, of course, is totally awesome for me but not so good for her. But it also means that she remembers stuff about me and is making connections on different levels. So again, there’s progress.
I don’t have the energy to recall and record all the details right now regarding my mother’s brain explosion. So here are the highlights as I remember them.
In short, we still don’t know exactly what happened. The tissue samples show no signs of malignancy. Best as the doctors can tell, Mama developed a benign tumor made entirely of blood that burst.
She was moved from CCU to a private room early last week. The medical professionals made that decision after she removed the device measuring the inner-cranial pressure (i.e., pressure in her brain) herself in the middle of the night. Granted, the pressure had been decreasing regularly over the past week, but she removed it herself. Guhhhhh.
Mama was in the private room for about a week, during which time her comprehension, lucidity, coherence, and general responsiveness varied greatly. Basic physical and occupational therapy routines were initiated during that time, although no real progress was made. Mama also became more and more aggravated by the various medical devices attached to/inserted into her, so she — among other things — pulled out the PIC line used for blood samples. (Amazingly, that resulted in only three small droplets of her blood outside her body — whereas, according to the medical staff, we should have expected pools. Again, she removed it herself. Guhhhhh.)
Earlier this week Mama was moved from UAMS to the residential rehab facility in White County, a mere ten miles from her home. Here she is supposed to get intensive physical and occupational therapy. The original estimate was that she would be here for several months. However, Mama is alternately (a) in intense pain; (b) uncooperative; or (c) antagonistic and/or belligerent. All this makes for the prescribed therapy treatments being very slow going, and thus far she isn’t showing much progress. She has a specialized wheelchair to help support her head and legs, in addition to being strapped into said chair; however, it’s not “meeting her needs,” so the new medical staff is trying to arrange for a more sophisticated chair.
Mama sometimes has periods of near-euphoria wherein she sings — on key and with every single word of the lyrics — at the top of her lungs with carefree abandon. We assumed this was her natural love of and aptitude for music clinging to the remaining shreds of her identity. But the doctors said that music doesn’t work that way; in fact, people who suffer from major brain injuries often don’t recall much of their former lives, but the music familiar to them is mysteriously ingrained and retained. Bummer. (Apparently, pretty much any person with significant brain damage but limited verbal skills can still sing Happy Birthday, which is just weird — and, somehow, comforting.)
Mama has yanked out her own urine catheter the two nights she’s been at the new facility. Again, she removed it herself. Guhhhhh. She’s kept her roommate awake all hours, alternately yelling, singing, moaning, and babbling; the roommate has since been moved to an alternate location, and Mama’s enjoying a “private” room. She sometimes recognizes voices and faces, although she’s recognized and directly addressed me only once. (Tonight she kept asking who the person in the corner with the big head was; it was I.) She has lost virtually all inhibitions, spending a good deal of her time trying to strip naked and/or cursing/saying things she would normally consider inappropriate. (As Daddy said, “I’ve seen more boob, butt and bush in the last twelve days than I’ve seen in the last twelve years. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.”) And yet the core of her personality seems to still be intact, even if her jokes are somewhat juvenile. The best description I can offer is that Mama has the mind of a three- to four-year-old child with extreme ADD.
Next week my sisters, daddy and I are having a family meeting with Mama’s “medical support team.” The social worker has already suggested a facility in Central Arkansas that caters specifically to brain trauma patients, since Mama is showing little progress thus far on either the cognitive or physical fronts. Since the current prognosis is a 25-50% recovery, I’m all for it.
We’ll see what happens next.
Inappropriate Things I’ve Said During This Ordeal
And finally, thank you for the kind words, thoughts and prayers from everyone, including and certainly not limited to my WD family. I kind of love you guys.
During a concert at which she was performing on Saturday evening, my mother’s vision started to blur. After being transported to the local hospital, she said her name was “Rhonda Jail” (It’s Rhonda Gale.), but she couldn’t remember her last name, birth date, etc. Her blood pressure was through the roof (At one point, her systolic reading was 200.). Regardless, she seemed to be stable and vaguely lucid, if not entirely coherent. However, a test (At this point, I can’t remember if it was a CT scan, MRI, or something else.) revealed blood on her brain. She was to be sent to UAMS* Hospital via MedFlight, but a catastrophe on the Louisiana border ended up necessitating the use of the helicopter and she was transported to the new hospital via ambulance.
When Mama arrived at UAMS, the EMTs reported that she had remained conscious and sort of lucid for the bulk of the 60-mile trip. She was admitted and more tests were initiated. During that time her blood pressure continued to fall to more normal levels, with her systolic reading hovering in the 150-160 range. She was intubated and put on a ventilator to make certain she was able to breathe in case anything changed and precluded that. The neurosurgeon who was called in suspected an arterial burst and asked for the family’s permission to drill a small hole in her temple to insert a wire of some sort that would monitor the pressure in her head, among other things. However, ten minutes later he returned and said that the doctor to whom they’d sent the test results via computer (It was approximately 2 a.m. by then.) did not suspect an arterial burst but rather a mass of some sort, so they would not be doing the drill-and-wire thingie. Mama was moved to CCU, and another MRI was scheduled for 8 a.m. Sunday morning. I went home at 6 a.m. to get some rest.
At 7:45 a.m. I received a call from one of my sisters saying they had discovered more bleeding on the brain, her vitals were destabilizing, and her blood pressure was rising again. Mama was rushed into emergency surgery, during which they drained as much blood as they could and took tissue samples from her brain around the affected area. She was then returned to CCU.
At this point she remains in CCU with no diagnosis. Her vitals have remained within normal parameters except for the incident prior to the emergency surgery on Sunday morning. She is in a medically induced coma to keep her from trying to remove the ventilator tube and provide her body the opportunity to attempt to begin healing itself. She was given a feeding tube this afternoon, and she fought the insertion and actually pulled it out at one point, so they increased the medication to sustain/vamp up the intentional coma. I’m told her reaction is a good sign.
If things remain as they currently are, they will attempt to take Mama off the ventilator tomorrow and see if she comes around. There is, of course, still no diagnosis, as the test results from the tissue sample have not returned. We do not know if there is a mass and likely will not know for a few more days.
I appreciate the good thoughts and prayers from my internet friends, especially the WD contingent. Grace and Jordan have also been wonderful. Thank you all very much.
*Yes, we do in fact have some top-notch medical facilities in Arkansas, including UAMS, Children’s Hospital, and others.
