Well, the journey back continues. My mental clarity--my drive--have returned.
Thank God. I get angry when my body fails--betrays--me. Yet, truth be told, I figure out what I need to do, and try to move forward. I do not have a choice. I don't mean that pitifully. I know people who whine, whimper, shy away from taking any positive action--any action at all, and my urge to strangle them is difficult to suppress.
But, mess with my mental clarity, and I feel lost.
I felt naked when I met with a group regarding church reform last Wednesday. I could not remember ANY details of work I had immersed myself in. The group was concerned that I was overcommitted in my time. I only wish.
My left hand needs more medication to be tamed now. I will call on Thursday, and ask about going back to 60 mg of my antitremor medication. I'm on 40 mg now. I was on 80 last week. Amazing what a difference 20 mg. makes...both ways...either way.
The prayer I seek now is a bit more subtle, or nuanced. Pills.
Pills. They are my lifeline--for a lifetime, as least as I understand it to be now. At least that is my understanding regarding my anticonvulsants. I need to approach my antitremor medications with the same mindset. The temptation I need to resist is self-pity, resentment, some sense that I can surmount the medication, or a combination of any of those three.
Beyond seeking balance of medications, if I am going to be successful, to any degree, I need to stay as active as possible. This summer, I have gotten off track with the healthy routine I had established. The combination of doctor appointments, and church reform meetings messed up my swimming routine. I spent at least 24 hours over six weeks helping a friend to set up a laptop--no--setting up my friend's laptop and scanner. Everything I did was necessary, and in of themselves, I wanted to do each.
I am hoping to get back to my routine of four days a week, an hour each day. I am out of shape. I am trying to take some other constructive action. I am going to look at getting a front door handle, rather than a door knob, to lessen strain on my left hand.
My prayer? Now, and over the long haul. Balance. Steadiness. Loss of any resentment or pity--toward the temptation to indulge in either.
Thanks for listening.
Showing posts with label chemical imbalance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chemical imbalance. Show all posts
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Side Effects--The Third Dimension
Side effects connote manifestations that follow the prescription of a prescription, or over-the-counter medication. That is how I described it in Side Effects. Yet, upon further reflection, I realize that it is to the individual with a disability to act as an informant regarding--an advocate for--the reporting of what a given medication is causing in them. That turns on its head how we think of side effects. However, if that is to happen, and be maintained the relationship between the individual with a disability and health care providers must change.
This summer essential tremors in my left hand--the shaking of my confidence--led me to make an appointment with my neurologist. A medication was prescribed. Past experience with extreme chemical imbalances led me to ask my neurologist about the medication's side effect. Depression. Possible thoughts of suicide. I was glad to know what side effects had been identified. Though those side effects are--can be--very serious, I was not worried. I have a strong emotional support system. Generally, I am an upbeat person. I left the doctor's office armed with information, and buoyed with unrealistic expectations of a cure. Six weeks passed. At my followup appointment, I reported progress, much more progress. A cure. Not attracted to slot machines, or poker, I was ready to gamble--gamble with higher dosages of the medication I was taking. No cure was mentioned. But....I knew what I wanted, and I was going to get it. Case closed.
I entered my cure fantasy phase knowing several facts about myself relevant to this situation. First, I need to have directions written down, especially when it comes to medical issues. Sometimes, and the only way I know to say when is to follow my intuition. When that lovely little voice we all know says, "You need to write this down the instructions being given to you; it is as though I am Velcroing the instructions into my brain." I still want the written instructions from others giving me the instructions. That is not always true, but, when it is, I need to listen to my intuition.
Beyond written instructions, I knew that I have struggled with strong resentment regarding medication--anticonvulsants. It is not constant, but, it is a chronic condition to keep in check. The third fact I know about myself is that I need to have clarity of thought. Past chemical imbalances with anticonvulsants gave me an LSD-like trip once. Psychodelic colors are nice, but, the feeling is not, when mental clarity is at stake. Another anticonvulsant overdosage left me feeling as though I could see thoughts--the actual structure of thoughts--floating in front of me like a kite, but, a kite whose string was beyond my grasp. Frightening. Truly frightening. The complete lack of any short-term memory during that same period of time was frightening. Truly frightening.
I entered into my request for a higher dosage of antitremor medication knowing the three facts regarding myself from past experience, not to mention the potential of depression, or suicidal thoughts. I was instructed to report back in a week. A mistake. A huge mistake. My thought process was so sluggish. I struggled to stay my normal upbeat self. Not happy-go-lucky. That is not me, but, I struggled to function mentally. I had no suicidal thoughts, but, the sluggishness was enough to forego a cure. The sluggishness was enough for me to realize how much the old, lower dosage level had done to improve management of my tremors.
My resentment regarding taking medication was aggravated by the prescription of antitremor medications. Now, instead of two medications, I was faced with four medication bottles to fill into pill boxes. The antitremor medication pills are very small--great for swallowing, smaller to pick up with my left hand.
I called the doctor's office after the week on the higher medication dosage. I said I wanted to go on a lower dosage than I was on most recently, but, on a higher level than I was on initially. I knew what I wanted. I was going to get it. Case closed. I wanted to achieve that goal by taking medication at morning, and at night, and not in the middle of the day. Somehow, the mental, and/or emotional side effect of taking medication three times a day was to feel overdrugged--to feel like a drugstore. It is not a feeling of being overmedicated. Overmedicated and overdrugged are not the same animal. They are two separate beasts. I knew others might not understand the distinction, but, I did, and that was all that mattered.
Efforts to get what I wanted had a cost--a heavy emotional toll. The medical secretary suggested that I could cut one of the pills in half. Two problems. I could not cut the medication myself. If my pharmacist cut the pills for me, I would not be able to pick up the pill with my left hand. My left hand was affected by the tremors. My tremors were the reason I needed to take the medication in the first place. So, you say, "Just use your right hand." Well, cerebral palsy took that option away. Cerebral palsy stripped fine motor skills from my right hand. Normally, I don't think of it that way, but, I was at my wit's end. I was amazed that I had the emotional wherewithal to tell the medical secretary to go, talk with the doctor about options, and then call me back. She needed to get information. I needed to break down. She did. I did. She called me back, and we straightened out the dosage issues.
This is the third dimension of side effects. Resentment. Overdosages. Overdrugged. These are but a few of the side effects different from the tangible manifestations of taking a given medication that follow taking the pills.
Side effects. The first dimension. Side effects. The second dimension. Side effects. The third dimension. Side effects.
This summer essential tremors in my left hand--the shaking of my confidence--led me to make an appointment with my neurologist. A medication was prescribed. Past experience with extreme chemical imbalances led me to ask my neurologist about the medication's side effect. Depression. Possible thoughts of suicide. I was glad to know what side effects had been identified. Though those side effects are--can be--very serious, I was not worried. I have a strong emotional support system. Generally, I am an upbeat person. I left the doctor's office armed with information, and buoyed with unrealistic expectations of a cure. Six weeks passed. At my followup appointment, I reported progress, much more progress. A cure. Not attracted to slot machines, or poker, I was ready to gamble--gamble with higher dosages of the medication I was taking. No cure was mentioned. But....I knew what I wanted, and I was going to get it. Case closed.
I entered my cure fantasy phase knowing several facts about myself relevant to this situation. First, I need to have directions written down, especially when it comes to medical issues. Sometimes, and the only way I know to say when is to follow my intuition. When that lovely little voice we all know says, "You need to write this down the instructions being given to you; it is as though I am Velcroing the instructions into my brain." I still want the written instructions from others giving me the instructions. That is not always true, but, when it is, I need to listen to my intuition.
Beyond written instructions, I knew that I have struggled with strong resentment regarding medication--anticonvulsants. It is not constant, but, it is a chronic condition to keep in check. The third fact I know about myself is that I need to have clarity of thought. Past chemical imbalances with anticonvulsants gave me an LSD-like trip once. Psychodelic colors are nice, but, the feeling is not, when mental clarity is at stake. Another anticonvulsant overdosage left me feeling as though I could see thoughts--the actual structure of thoughts--floating in front of me like a kite, but, a kite whose string was beyond my grasp. Frightening. Truly frightening. The complete lack of any short-term memory during that same period of time was frightening. Truly frightening.
I entered into my request for a higher dosage of antitremor medication knowing the three facts regarding myself from past experience, not to mention the potential of depression, or suicidal thoughts. I was instructed to report back in a week. A mistake. A huge mistake. My thought process was so sluggish. I struggled to stay my normal upbeat self. Not happy-go-lucky. That is not me, but, I struggled to function mentally. I had no suicidal thoughts, but, the sluggishness was enough to forego a cure. The sluggishness was enough for me to realize how much the old, lower dosage level had done to improve management of my tremors.
My resentment regarding taking medication was aggravated by the prescription of antitremor medications. Now, instead of two medications, I was faced with four medication bottles to fill into pill boxes. The antitremor medication pills are very small--great for swallowing, smaller to pick up with my left hand.
I called the doctor's office after the week on the higher medication dosage. I said I wanted to go on a lower dosage than I was on most recently, but, on a higher level than I was on initially. I knew what I wanted. I was going to get it. Case closed. I wanted to achieve that goal by taking medication at morning, and at night, and not in the middle of the day. Somehow, the mental, and/or emotional side effect of taking medication three times a day was to feel overdrugged--to feel like a drugstore. It is not a feeling of being overmedicated. Overmedicated and overdrugged are not the same animal. They are two separate beasts. I knew others might not understand the distinction, but, I did, and that was all that mattered.
Efforts to get what I wanted had a cost--a heavy emotional toll. The medical secretary suggested that I could cut one of the pills in half. Two problems. I could not cut the medication myself. If my pharmacist cut the pills for me, I would not be able to pick up the pill with my left hand. My left hand was affected by the tremors. My tremors were the reason I needed to take the medication in the first place. So, you say, "Just use your right hand." Well, cerebral palsy took that option away. Cerebral palsy stripped fine motor skills from my right hand. Normally, I don't think of it that way, but, I was at my wit's end. I was amazed that I had the emotional wherewithal to tell the medical secretary to go, talk with the doctor about options, and then call me back. She needed to get information. I needed to break down. She did. I did. She called me back, and we straightened out the dosage issues.
This is the third dimension of side effects. Resentment. Overdosages. Overdrugged. These are but a few of the side effects different from the tangible manifestations of taking a given medication that follow taking the pills.
Side effects. The first dimension. Side effects. The second dimension. Side effects. The third dimension. Side effects.
Side Effects
Side effects. Side effects are three dimensional. Three dimensional? Yes, three dimensional.
Side effects. Proceeding from the most commonly dimension, and ending with what needs to exist in order for a "healthy, medical partnership" to exist, I will describe my understanding of each. I am open to differences--honest engagement on these issues--regarding my comments and ideas. The only way a partnership may survive much less succeed is for open, honest communication.
Side effects. The first dimension of side effects is the clinical, tangible, reportable manifestation of a disability--a condition that calls an individual to seek partnership with a health care provider. The best way to identify this first dimension is with a refrigerator. A refrigerator? Yes, a refrigerator. If you put the first dimension of side effects into a refrigerator--isolate the first dimension of side effects--the notion could be identified, whether or not the light was on. The dimension would be available to be understood. Whether or not the first dimension of side effects is understood depends upon all individuals' willingness to be enlightened. The choice is ours--of each individual--to make.
Side effects. The second dimension of side effects centers around neurologists, as my energies are devoted here, other doctors, nurses, and other health care providers, as I have identified them. I am open to the identification of other health care providers for a broader discussion. My list reflects my own experiences since 1960 in the United States.
Side effects. The second dimension begins with the education of the neurologist, other doctors, nurses, pharmacists, and other health care providers I have identified, to the degree appropriate--education regarding medication, and chemistry. Following initial education regarding anticonvulsants--any medication, for that matter--the second step happens in the examining room, or the pharmacy. When an individual with a disability enters the examining room, or the pharmacy, the doctor and the pharmacist ask what other prescription and over-the-counter medications the individual is taking. The next step for the neurologist, and other doctors is to prescribe, or not prescribe anticonvulsants based upon other medications being taken by the individual.
Side effects. The third dimension of side effects begins with the individual with a disability. First, the individual with a disability is given the initial prescription of an anticonvulsant--any medication---to treat a given neurological condition. Second, the individual with a disability needs to ask questions--needs to ask the neurologist--any doctor who is prescribing the medication--as to the physical, mental, psychological, or emotional manifestations secondary to the original condition is being treated. The only way for a side effect to be identified in an individual is for them to report the side effects. Reports of side effects by others--be they guardians, parents, other family members, or individuals close to them
Long-Term Effects
Long-term effects--the concept, not specific manifestations of my anticonvulsants--are illustrated best by telling you about a specific appointment with my neurologist.
I went into a routine checkup with my neurologist with no anticipation of any medication changes. At that point in time, I had no sense of "medical partnership" much less "a healthy, intelligent medical partnership with my neurologist--with any of my health care providers. The appointment I share was one of many events and circumstances that motivated my desire for a "healthy, intelligent medical partnership" paradigm.
At my regular neurology checkup, my neurologist said she wanted to take me off of an anticonvulsant I had taken since childhood. She said she needed to substitute a different anticonvulsant to ensure that I would not have a seizure in the future. [I was taking a second anticonvulsant that the neurologist had no intent in changing.] My neurologist threw out the names of a bunch of anticonvulsants, the names of which I had no familiarity, much less knowledge. She well may have told me the side effects of each option. All I heard her say after giving the list was, "I would recommend..." after which she gave me the name of the anticonvulsant. I sat on the examining table and thought, "OK, I trust you. You know far better than I do. These drug names are Greek to me."
Shortly after giving me her recommendation, my ears perked up. "If you were to go onto this anticonvulsant, I would need to put you onto it slowly. Starting you at full strength could be lethal."
Let's see now. The anticonvulsant I have taken since childhood could cause liver damage, if I were take it too long. Yet, the medication you are recommending could be lethal, if full-strength levels of it were to be prescribed when I started taking it.
Hmmm....What are my choices again?
Clearly, literacy, education, communication, and self-advocacy were missing--were needed--here. A healthy, intelligent medical partnership depends on it. Blame--on either side--of what didn't happen, or dismissal--of what did happen--have no place.
Humor is essential. Don't be mistaken. Humor is vital in making this relationship work. Humor directs both partners to where the needs lie.
I went into a routine checkup with my neurologist with no anticipation of any medication changes. At that point in time, I had no sense of "medical partnership" much less "a healthy, intelligent medical partnership with my neurologist--with any of my health care providers. The appointment I share was one of many events and circumstances that motivated my desire for a "healthy, intelligent medical partnership" paradigm.
At my regular neurology checkup, my neurologist said she wanted to take me off of an anticonvulsant I had taken since childhood. She said she needed to substitute a different anticonvulsant to ensure that I would not have a seizure in the future. [I was taking a second anticonvulsant that the neurologist had no intent in changing.] My neurologist threw out the names of a bunch of anticonvulsants, the names of which I had no familiarity, much less knowledge. She well may have told me the side effects of each option. All I heard her say after giving the list was, "I would recommend..." after which she gave me the name of the anticonvulsant. I sat on the examining table and thought, "OK, I trust you. You know far better than I do. These drug names are Greek to me."
Shortly after giving me her recommendation, my ears perked up. "If you were to go onto this anticonvulsant, I would need to put you onto it slowly. Starting you at full strength could be lethal."
Let's see now. The anticonvulsant I have taken since childhood could cause liver damage, if I were take it too long. Yet, the medication you are recommending could be lethal, if full-strength levels of it were to be prescribed when I started taking it.
Hmmm....What are my choices again?
Clearly, literacy, education, communication, and self-advocacy were missing--were needed--here. A healthy, intelligent medical partnership depends on it. Blame--on either side--of what didn't happen, or dismissal--of what did happen--have no place.
Humor is essential. Don't be mistaken. Humor is vital in making this relationship work. Humor directs both partners to where the needs lie.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
In Control?
Recent tweaking of my anti-tremor medication brings one word to mind--control. Control? Yes, control.
Oxford Dictionaries defines "control" as "[mass noun] the power to influence or direct people's behavior or course of events."
Control. Chemical. Neural. Human. Control.
Control. Seizures. Neurologists. Control. Me--a 52-year-old adult. Control.
Control of seizures seems straightforward. The neurologist identifies an anticonvulsant to control seizures. Based on my weight, among other factors, the neurologist prescribes a specific dosage. Simple. Periodically, blood is drawn. Lab technicians measure the amount of medication in my bloodstream. Simple.
Well...not so fast.
For years, I thought that my neurologist had the final say in the anticonvulsants I took, and in the amount. I respect the training, and clinical experience of neurologists. Yet, prescription of an anticonvulsant that caused me to vomit incessantly for several months was a test of my strength, and an unforgettable lesson.
I am the final arbiter of the medication--the final arbiter of the way I live.
Underdosage had a clear--unmistakable--effect--a convulsion. Underdosage had an incentive to correct--the consequence was too strong to tolerate. The only option I understood was to accept the pronouncements of my neurologist.
Control. Tremors. Neurologist. Me--a 52-year-old adult. Control.
Tremors in my left hand started at least five years ago. Fearful of what it might be, and without the strength to confront it, I denied it. I knew people who loved me noticed--were deeply concerned--about the tremors. But, I could not confront the tremors. I needed control. I needed to control what the diagnosis might be--I needed to control how I confronted it. I needed to steel myself to confront it.
Control. The diagnosis. Intentional tremors--essential-tremors. Control.
In my fearful--prediagnosis--days, the only way I knew to confront my tremors was to intend to be steady in my movement of my left hand, most notably my handwriting. My thinking was that my hand would be steadier--my handwriting would be more legible, if only I concentrated my full attention on being steady. It seemed simple. It makes sense. Well....the harder I tried, the shakier my hand became. The harder I tried the more illegible my writing became. The shakier I became, the more out of control I felt--emotionally.
Control. Intentional tremors. Anti-tremor medication. Control.
Prescription of a medication to eradicate my tremors--to take away my lifelong fear--seemed irresistible. My lifelong fear? Simple. My left hand would be compromised temporarily, or permanently, such that my mental, emotional, and spiritual resources would be trapped in my body.
Control. Take prescribed medication. Control.
Taking one 20 mg. minuscule blue tablet three times a day seemed a benign price to pay. I feel guilty in saying that that pill combined with the anticonvulsants I take left me feeling emotionally overwhelmed--out of control.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
Though an adult of 52 years, I have relinquished control to medical professionals, who know better, or so I have submitted myself to believe. Yet, slowly, ever so slowly, I am learning that I am the final arbiter of how I--how my body--shall live.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
My emotional response to my antitremor medication could not be measured clinically. Thank God, my doctor believed me--honored my response. A different dosage synchronized with my anticonvulsants seemed a reasonable alternative. Somehow, I was overwhelmed by having to ingest medication more times during the day than at the beginning and end of it. Yet, that was how I felt. Interceding events between then and now have not changed how I feel.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
Honoring me--my response--involved an educated--well-informed--tweaking of my dosages. With full-knowledge of adverse effects that might follow, I opted to try a higher dosage of my medication. I did not think my tremors were as well controlled as they could be. I was so overwhelmed emotionally, and lost perspective such that I agreed to try a higher dosage. I confused tremors with loss of stamina. I wanted my tremors eradicated and I wanted my indomitable left hand returned to me. Tremors can be controlled, but I do not have the right to abuse my left hand by stretching it beyond its limits, if I have any desire to live fully engaged.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
I am not without control. Overdosage of my medication. Many people, when faced with medication overdosage issues throw up their hands--they submit to their doctor without proclaiming the limits by which they are willing to live.
Choices between the lesser of two evils are troublesome at best. Such choices should not be "entertained." Such choices should be contemplated with due care.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
My choices?
Have my tremors fully controlled, and live with clouded thoughts, and thoroughly exhausting depression, or make necessary accommodations to what medications cannot control. I am still learning what that control--what that balance--implies on my life. Those are the extremes. I do not live in extremes. I live a full life. Most people I know live fully-engaged lives. Several people I know concern me.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
My tremors are controlled through deliberate means. Medication. Accommodation--reasonable accommodation. Engagement--mental, emotional, and spiritual engagement.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
Some refer to "Minnesota nice." Though I live in Minnesota, I do not engage in "Minnesota nice," I do commit myself fully to passionate, optimistic living. To the degree possible, I surround myself with individuals committed to live so.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
Oxford Dictionaries defines "control" as "[mass noun] the power to influence or direct people's behavior or course of events."
Control. Chemical. Neural. Human. Control.
Control. Seizures. Neurologists. Control. Me--a 52-year-old adult. Control.
Control of seizures seems straightforward. The neurologist identifies an anticonvulsant to control seizures. Based on my weight, among other factors, the neurologist prescribes a specific dosage. Simple. Periodically, blood is drawn. Lab technicians measure the amount of medication in my bloodstream. Simple.
Well...not so fast.
For years, I thought that my neurologist had the final say in the anticonvulsants I took, and in the amount. I respect the training, and clinical experience of neurologists. Yet, prescription of an anticonvulsant that caused me to vomit incessantly for several months was a test of my strength, and an unforgettable lesson.
I am the final arbiter of the medication--the final arbiter of the way I live.
Underdosage had a clear--unmistakable--effect--a convulsion. Underdosage had an incentive to correct--the consequence was too strong to tolerate. The only option I understood was to accept the pronouncements of my neurologist.
Control. Tremors. Neurologist. Me--a 52-year-old adult. Control.
Tremors in my left hand started at least five years ago. Fearful of what it might be, and without the strength to confront it, I denied it. I knew people who loved me noticed--were deeply concerned--about the tremors. But, I could not confront the tremors. I needed control. I needed to control what the diagnosis might be--I needed to control how I confronted it. I needed to steel myself to confront it.
Control. The diagnosis. Intentional tremors--essential-tremors. Control.
In my fearful--prediagnosis--days, the only way I knew to confront my tremors was to intend to be steady in my movement of my left hand, most notably my handwriting. My thinking was that my hand would be steadier--my handwriting would be more legible, if only I concentrated my full attention on being steady. It seemed simple. It makes sense. Well....the harder I tried, the shakier my hand became. The harder I tried the more illegible my writing became. The shakier I became, the more out of control I felt--emotionally.
Control. Intentional tremors. Anti-tremor medication. Control.
Prescription of a medication to eradicate my tremors--to take away my lifelong fear--seemed irresistible. My lifelong fear? Simple. My left hand would be compromised temporarily, or permanently, such that my mental, emotional, and spiritual resources would be trapped in my body.
Control. Take prescribed medication. Control.
Taking one 20 mg. minuscule blue tablet three times a day seemed a benign price to pay. I feel guilty in saying that that pill combined with the anticonvulsants I take left me feeling emotionally overwhelmed--out of control.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
Though an adult of 52 years, I have relinquished control to medical professionals, who know better, or so I have submitted myself to believe. Yet, slowly, ever so slowly, I am learning that I am the final arbiter of how I--how my body--shall live.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
My emotional response to my antitremor medication could not be measured clinically. Thank God, my doctor believed me--honored my response. A different dosage synchronized with my anticonvulsants seemed a reasonable alternative. Somehow, I was overwhelmed by having to ingest medication more times during the day than at the beginning and end of it. Yet, that was how I felt. Interceding events between then and now have not changed how I feel.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
Honoring me--my response--involved an educated--well-informed--tweaking of my dosages. With full-knowledge of adverse effects that might follow, I opted to try a higher dosage of my medication. I did not think my tremors were as well controlled as they could be. I was so overwhelmed emotionally, and lost perspective such that I agreed to try a higher dosage. I confused tremors with loss of stamina. I wanted my tremors eradicated and I wanted my indomitable left hand returned to me. Tremors can be controlled, but I do not have the right to abuse my left hand by stretching it beyond its limits, if I have any desire to live fully engaged.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
I am not without control. Overdosage of my medication. Many people, when faced with medication overdosage issues throw up their hands--they submit to their doctor without proclaiming the limits by which they are willing to live.
Choices between the lesser of two evils are troublesome at best. Such choices should not be "entertained." Such choices should be contemplated with due care.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
My choices?
Have my tremors fully controlled, and live with clouded thoughts, and thoroughly exhausting depression, or make necessary accommodations to what medications cannot control. I am still learning what that control--what that balance--implies on my life. Those are the extremes. I do not live in extremes. I live a full life. Most people I know live fully-engaged lives. Several people I know concern me.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
My tremors are controlled through deliberate means. Medication. Accommodation--reasonable accommodation. Engagement--mental, emotional, and spiritual engagement.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
Some refer to "Minnesota nice." Though I live in Minnesota, I do not engage in "Minnesota nice," I do commit myself fully to passionate, optimistic living. To the degree possible, I surround myself with individuals committed to live so.
Control. Mind. Body. Spirit. Control.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Blame??? Justified Living???
Introspection was infused in my bloodstream at birth. Through it, I have survived. Through it, I pray I may thrive.
A recent overdosage of an anti-tremor medication made me keenly aware of my thought processes--my mental, and emotional outlook. With my recent "visitor," I realized I needed to introduce him to people who had not seen him "lurking" around me--threatening to knock me down.
Chemical balance--perfect chemical balance--affords me a rich, very stimulation life. Not perfect. But, rich--stimulating. I want perfection. Not a perfect life. I know that is not possible. I know if it were, the gift of introspection would be taken. That is too heavy a price to pay. Given the choice, a perfect life or introspection, I have no question. Introspection is the treasure I seek.
But...but....
Chemical balance. Perfect chemical balance.
I know the landscape--the terrain--of chemical balance. I have traveled paths of its imperfections many times. Yet, how do I introduce others--how do I introduce it to individuals who know only my vibrant side?
Recently, I struggled with that introduction. How could I explain my compromised vibrancy to new comrades?
Four choices--five, perhaps--were given to me. Apologize. Explain. Blame. Blame my chemical imbalance. Justify my mental vacancy. Or, a combination of the other four choices.
Apologize. "I am so sorry I did not come today with my promised documents, and input."
Explain. "I am taking new medication to control my intentional tremors. Past experience with other medications tells me that improper dosages can impair my thinking. Right now, I just don't know what to think is happening."
Blame. Blame my chemical imbalance for falling short of my promises.
Justify. Justify that my current shortfalls were due to chemical imbalances, and not to feeling overwhelmed.
Blame, and justification are two sides of the same creature. Both scream of helpless pleading. Of the two--if the two were my only choices--I would opt to justify my mental vacancy. Brain damage has robbed me of an abundance of short-term memory. I have some. Yet, short-term memory is not the well-spring--the spark--of my vibrancy.
When self-pity overtakes my spirit, blame takes advantage of my vulnerable soul. I stand guard, lest I fall victim to self-pity and blame.
I pray--with urgency, I pray, "God, banish chemical imbalance that threatens my vibrancy. God, grant my new comrades with patience--with understanding, with compassion. God, grant them understanding--my mental vacancy is not permanent. My mental vacancy is temporary. It may be explained. God, grant me patience to survive your definition of 'temporary.' May I thrive on the other side of 'temporary'--through its inner core."
A recent overdosage of an anti-tremor medication made me keenly aware of my thought processes--my mental, and emotional outlook. With my recent "visitor," I realized I needed to introduce him to people who had not seen him "lurking" around me--threatening to knock me down.
Chemical balance--perfect chemical balance--affords me a rich, very stimulation life. Not perfect. But, rich--stimulating. I want perfection. Not a perfect life. I know that is not possible. I know if it were, the gift of introspection would be taken. That is too heavy a price to pay. Given the choice, a perfect life or introspection, I have no question. Introspection is the treasure I seek.
But...but....
Chemical balance. Perfect chemical balance.
I know the landscape--the terrain--of chemical balance. I have traveled paths of its imperfections many times. Yet, how do I introduce others--how do I introduce it to individuals who know only my vibrant side?
Recently, I struggled with that introduction. How could I explain my compromised vibrancy to new comrades?
Four choices--five, perhaps--were given to me. Apologize. Explain. Blame. Blame my chemical imbalance. Justify my mental vacancy. Or, a combination of the other four choices.
Apologize. "I am so sorry I did not come today with my promised documents, and input."
Explain. "I am taking new medication to control my intentional tremors. Past experience with other medications tells me that improper dosages can impair my thinking. Right now, I just don't know what to think is happening."
Blame. Blame my chemical imbalance for falling short of my promises.
Justify. Justify that my current shortfalls were due to chemical imbalances, and not to feeling overwhelmed.
Blame, and justification are two sides of the same creature. Both scream of helpless pleading. Of the two--if the two were my only choices--I would opt to justify my mental vacancy. Brain damage has robbed me of an abundance of short-term memory. I have some. Yet, short-term memory is not the well-spring--the spark--of my vibrancy.
When self-pity overtakes my spirit, blame takes advantage of my vulnerable soul. I stand guard, lest I fall victim to self-pity and blame.
I pray--with urgency, I pray, "God, banish chemical imbalance that threatens my vibrancy. God, grant my new comrades with patience--with understanding, with compassion. God, grant them understanding--my mental vacancy is not permanent. My mental vacancy is temporary. It may be explained. God, grant me patience to survive your definition of 'temporary.' May I thrive on the other side of 'temporary'--through its inner core."
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