Draw on your reservoir of faith and resilience! Don’t allow fear or uncertainty to hold you back. For the LORD your God will blaze the trail ahead of you. He will stand by you unwaveringly, now and forever.
《《Deuteronomy 31:6》》
(Pictures taken February 27th, prior to going in to prep for surgery)
I became an amputee in 2010, after losing my left arm in a motor vehicle accident. Recently I injured my right hand and wrist. I’m currently in the hospital, recovering from a second emergency surgery, so as you can see, I’m quite limited right now.
But where there’s a will, there’s a way! I’ve discovered that a little faith and determination can go a long way. Some days your biggest accomplishment will be something big and spectacular, while other days it will be simply moisturizing your face.
In the words of Martin Luther King Jr. :
“If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.”
… OKAY?
No? Me neither. I am not okay today. But there are other things we can be!
Ok, so let’s see …
In the absence of okay, what else can I be?
I can be gentle.
I can be unashamed.
I can be creative and turn my pain into art.
I can be still.
I can be compassionate.
It’s okay if you’re not okay today. I promise you though, you can still be many other beautiful things!
Sending hugs to anyone who needs one right now.
🖤🩷🖤
After spending the last month in hospital on a psych unit, I’m in my own home tonight. I thought often of writing about my experiences while I was there but each time I would just stare at the blank screen and think things like …
Who really wants to hear about a hospital, much less a psyc unit full of crazy ppl?
What if I’m oversharing?
What if ppl start to look at me as a crazy person now?
Someone who knows me in real life might recognize me and then everyone in town will know things about me and will never look at me the same way again.
You get the idea. So I have not written anything in a month. I’ve kept myself locked up and silenced because of shame.
Well, you know what? Screw everybody! I don’t care what ppl think!
Sorry, that’s not very nice of me. I don’t mean that. I really do care what ppl think. I care too much. That’s the problem.
I need to be a little selfish and think of myself sometimes. Particularly about writing. I love to write but I’m so focused on other ppl and what they think that it prevents me from genuinely expressing myself, both in real life and online. I want to work on changing that. I want to write from my heart. I want to be genuine and honest and tell things the way I want to tell them, without shame.
I just want to relax a bit and be myself. I want to let go of the shame and judgment. I truly am my own worst enemy.
It all started when I went for my regular Ketamine infusion, which is part of my treatment for Complex Regional Pain Syndrome.
Felicia, the head nurse, asked if I was doing ok. She said I wasn’t looking like myself and that I was pale. I said I was good and that was all that was said.
I remember lying back on the stretcher while they prepped me, putting heart monitoring stickers on my chest, attaching a BP cuff to my arm, oxygen in my nose … I was shivering and could feel tears running down from the corners of my eyes but i had no emotions. It was strange because that doesn’t usually happen. They took my hand to start an IV and I heard a faint voice in my head whispering – don’t touch me.
I remember turning my head to the side and just letting myself drift away. Don’t have any more memories about the treatment than that.
Once the infusion was done they wanted to talk to David. Felicia asked him how I’ve been doing lately. David later told me that he told her I’ve been purging a lot, that I’ve been quite depressed and that he’s been worried. Apparently she told him that I’m not looking well. That I was pale, my eyes were dark, and my lips were almost grey.
I was awake, my eyes were open, but I was non-responsive. My neck and head were spasming and I was staring off with no reaction when someone spoke or touched me. So they decided to keep me an extra hour to give me more fluids and more time to let the meds wear off. David asked if they felt I had taken anything and she said no because my vitals were all good. But they did bloodwork just to be sure.
An hour later Felicia called David back in and told him that he needs to take me to the ER. Apparently I had been mumbling some things that no one could really pick out but Felicia had heard me say something about this being the end and it was almost time to die …. I don’t remember any of that. I’m just telling what I was told.
So they put me in a wheelchair and David registered me in the ER, where I sat/slumped for 9 hours. David said I kept falling to the side as if I couldn’t hold myself up. He had to ask for a pillow and blanket to put around me to secure me a bit. He said I was in a completely different world.
Then they called us in to a small room that had nothing but 2 chairs bolted to the floor. And that’s where I spent the next 26 hours. It was nothing short of brutal.
Tears are burning my eyes now as I write that. I think it’s cruel how this was handled. They took me from the OR after having a procedure done and forced me to sit up on hard seats for a total of 36 hours. I was hallucinating. I was in terrible pain and developed a migraine. Had multiple bouts of vomiting. And I started experiencing opiate withdrawal because after I took my meds Thursday morning, I wasn’t given anything until Friday night. By that time I had missed 6 doses of morphine. It was torture.
David had to leave at one point. We had taken our dogs with us that morning. So David spent the entire day going from me in the hospital to the dogs in the car. He’d switch every hour. Take them for a walk, a drink, get them a snack then settle them in the car again before coming back in with me. But they couldn’t do that all night. So around 10pm he spoke to the staff. They assured him that I would be in safe hands and would be looked after so he left to go home with the dogs. Just before he left, he brought me in Zoey’s blanket from the car because he’d been asking for a blanket for me for 2 hrs with no luck. So I just kinda dozed off, sitting up in the chair, with Zoey’s blanket over me.
At one point I started to be more alert and I was really confused. I needed to use the bathroom but there wasn’t one so I left the room and just wandered around a bit. I went to the nurse’s station and asked if there was a bathroom and he said down the hall on the right. I roamed the hospital for a while. Took the elevator a few times, and eventually made my way back to that room. I called David, upset, wanting to know what was going on. When he realized that I was still there in that room – alone, he drove back to Grand Falls again at 4am. In the meantime, while hyperventilating and being trapped in that space with the chairs bolted to the floor, I clawed/scratched/cut my neck.
David came, and he channeled his anger into fighting for me. He took me outside for some air then went and found a vending machine and got me a sandwich and water. I hadn’t had anything since 7am the previous day. Thankfully there was one nurse there on Friday that had a bit of respect and showed some compassion. She even gave me a little bit of her on personal toothpaste so I could brush my teeth. No one gave me a breakfast tray but she made sure there was one for me by lunch time. And she also contacted the necessary ppl to get my meds ordered.
Then my psychiatrist came. It was still another long painful day sitting in that chair but by Friday evening I was admitted to the psyc unit.
And I’m still here. I am much more stable than I was over 2 weeks ago but still have a ways to go. Have no idea what is going to come out of this.
I had my Ketamine infusion on Thursday This time was harder than the others have been over the past few months. Maybe because I was dehydrated …? I don’t know. But … I honestly did not think I was that dehydrated though. It never even crossed my mind when I went in there. I could tell that one of the regular nurses started to get frustrated. She said my veins were even smaller than they usually are. It took her quite a while to locate one that she would even attempt to put an iv into. She started sweating and I felt soooo bad. I wish I could have just pointed to a spot anywhere on my body and said, there’s a vein! But there were literally no visible veins to be found.
So then came the manual search. She was gentle, like she usually is, but even just running a finger over my skin and some light tapping hurt. I felt as if I was covered in bruises. Except I wasn’t. I was just cold. After her 3rd failed attempt she called over another nurse who started with my hand, then worked her way up my arm, poking and patting and rubbing to try and get a vein to swell up enough for an iv needle to thread into. She said something about my arm being cold and commented on the fact that I appeared to be quite dehydrated. Something about the elasticity of my skin. I can’t remember exactly what it was that she said.
By this point the shivering had started. The first nurse took my socks off and started rubbing the top of my foot while the other one made several attempts at what she thought were strong veins. I had been fighting with every bit of strength I had to hold back tears but after another failed attempt at yet another promising vein – in my foot this time – a sob came out of my mouth. It actually took me off guard because I was not expecting it. I thought that the imaginary valve in the back of my throat was secure in the closed-off position but the force behind that sob blew right through it.
Somewhere along the line a 3rd nurse had come over and was rubbing my other foot. I didn’t remember her coming. It’s like she just appeared. She rubbed my leg and said, I’m only going to try once and if I don’t get it we’ll have to call Jackie. Jackie is one of the anaesthesiologists in the hospital and has been called on more than one occasion to come and place an iv in me. She’s never had to poke me more than 2 times and more often than not she got it in on the first try.
So that’s what happened. They called Jackie. In the meantime the nurses tidied up around my bed and got me a clean, warm blanket. They had used the other one to catch blood that had ran down my arm. They said they were going to give me a little break and then left me alone for a few minutes. I turned over on my side and held the blanket against my mouth and nose. I didn’t want anyone to hear me cry.
I stared at the curtain and just started praying. God, I can’t handle this … It’s too much. It hurts … it hurts all over. It doesn’t usually hurt this much. I don’t want them to touch me anymore. God, please … this is torture … I can’t …….... I know you’re here. You’re always with me. You tell me you’ll never leave me and I can come to you anytime. Well, I’m here and I really need you to be here too right now. God, please … make it stop ...
Jackie pulled up a chair and sat at the foot of my bed after a brief look over my arm and not finding anything of interest. She started rubbing my foot with her hands, to try and warm them up, she said. She told me to try and relax and to take a few deep breaths. With that little bit of compassion from her, I felt a fresh stream of tears run down from the corners of my eyes. She told me that if I take a few deep breaths it will help the blood to flow better through my veins and that my blood needs oxygen to flow properly.
Every time I tried to inhale my breath kept catching in my throat, which in turn led to a small gasp to get it back. It took several attempts before I got a good breath in but it really helped. I had started to feel like I was floating away. After a few good breaths I started to feel the bed beneath me again and I could feel Jackie patting the top of my foot. She spoke and told me to, stay really still now. I instantly lost my breath again. I felt the needle pierce the top of my foot and she slowly went deeper. I heard the click of the release button, indicating the iv was threaded into the vein and could be released from the needle. It’s in, she said. You need to breathe ….
And that’s all I remember. That was around 11am on Thursday. The next clear moment was when I felt Zoey’s wet nose against my arm around 9am Friday morning. Ketamine has that effect on me. It tends to wipe my memory clean of almost everything for 12 – 24 hours following the infusion.
My head felt like it had been smashed against a wall when I lifted it off my pillow this morning. I did a quick body scan to see if there was pain anywhere else. Nope. All clear! The first 24 – 48 hours after my Ketamine infusions are the closest I get to being ‘pain-free’. Today offered little space to appreciate the low pain level though. It was a freaking emotional roller-coaster inside of me today. Tears began shortly after I got up. I was washing my face and noticed that one of my earrings had fallen out at some point. This big wave of sadness just swept right over me and tears started falling. Wasn’t expecting that!
A little while later I was laying back on the couch and David was sitting on the opposite end. We were watching an episode of Station 19 on TV together and there was an intimate scene between a husband and wife. More tears … and no words to explain.
And that’s how the day has been. Little random things causing waves of tears. I was outside planting some things my therapist gave me, and tears were flowing. I accidentally bumped my leg, more tears. David called out and asked me to come outside so he could show me something and I cried while I walked out across the garden. Then just before I got in the shower I sat on the bench in the bathroom and cried even more. Like seriously. There was no end to the tears. And it all felt like it came from a gut-wrenching sadness that had tremendous force behind it. It could not, would not, be stifled.
The day is over now. It is late, or early, depending on how you see 3am. I’m reluctant to go to bed, as I sometimes find being in a horizontal position also heightens my emotions. And I’m feeling pretty raw as it is. But we are going out of town tomorrow, for the night. On Sunday our God-daughter has her very first communion and we’d like to be there with her. My face is swollen. My eyes are bloodshot and puffy. And my mood is all over the place. But the very least I can do is attempt to get a few hours of rest. Even if that means just lying still, with my eyes closed, while my brain continues trailing off.
Stillness is not effortless for me. It takes work sometimes. Wellness takes effort and I’m trying my best to do what I have to do, even when I don’t want to. Do what you have to do to make it to see one more sunrise. 🌻
o○o ..。o○○o 🦋 o○○o ..。o○o
Ive dealt with disordered eating for as long as I can remember. It’s like it functions by a dimmer switch. It’s always there to some degree. Sometimes the switch is turned down and, while never really on friendly terms with food, sometimes it’s not all-consuming. Purging is random and not an everyday occurrence during those times. Thoughts are not centered on food all day.
Then the switch gets turned up. Something will be particularly activating and the behaviors become prominent again. l have a few days or weeks where food is at the forefront of my mind and restricting, binging, and purging is what everything revolves around day and night.
Then the dimmer switch will turn down and I can pull myself out of the cycle again.
This time it’s proving to be much harder to pull myself out of it. There was no gradual onset. And I can almost pinpoint the exact moment the alarms started going off in my head. It was when I was in the hospital a few weeks ago …
I was in the bed connected to the various tubes and machines, with no clothes on, just several blankets wrapped around me, bags of glucose and potassium running into my neck, fluids, and calcium flowing in through an IV in my foot, I had a catheter…
2 nurses were at my bedside with juice, cookies, and cheese telling me I had to eat it and they weren’t going to leave until they watched me finish it because after all, that food was my ‘medicine’ …
I was severely hypo-glycemic and it was imperative that they grasp every possible solution, and that included food with simple sugars.
Since that moment my mind has become preoccupied with every single bite of food I take. The monster in my head has woken up and is on a vicious rampage. I gained a few lbs in those 2 weeks b/c of everything I had to eat. And drink. So many calories were consumed through fluids alone!
3 days before I was discharged they took the catheter out and I could get out of bed then. The first thing I did was go and throw up. The tubes in my neck complicated things a bit because the pressure of vomiting kept causing the alarms on the IV pole to go off. But once I figured out what the different buttons were for I was able to turn off the alarms by myself.
So here I am, spiraling. I’m mentally and physically unwell because of the sudden lack of medication in my system. So vulnerabilities are running high. I feel raw, trying to claw my way out of this mess.
And what a mess this is.
My mental health has been on a steady decline for a couple of months now. There’s been a lot that’s happened, in succession, and the stress of it all has been accumulating. Trying to manage both physical and mental illnesses why all this life stuff has been coming at me was too much and I crashed. As a result, every area of my life is now suffering.
A little over 2 weeks ago something inside of me just cracked and I attempted to end my life. In a moment of desperation, needing the mental anguish to just stop, I chose what I thought would be the solution.
After spending the past 2 weeks in the hospital, in the Intensive Care Unit, here I am sitting in the car with my husband, as we travel to his parents’ place for a 60th birthday celebration (tomorrow). I was discharged yesterday, after being cleared as well enough to leave. I feel a million miles away right now. Certainly not in the frame of mind for a party. I really don’t want to be around people.
Can I just say one more thing?
Our health care system here in Newfoundland, Canada is … I’m biting my tongue here because every word coming to mind could get me banned from WordPress … so I’m just going to say … it SUCKS.
It’s sad. Based on my own experiences my heart aches for those needing services. If it happened to me then I’m sure it’s happening to countless others.
In my opinion, if someone almost successfully takes their life and then sits in front of you and says they are not able to function because they are so mentally unwell, I don’t this it’s even sensible to suggest they develop a better sleep routine and that you’ll chat with them in 6 to 8 weeks.
Dude, if you ony knew the half of it ……
It is what it is. This entire situation. Right now, I need to calm down, take a breath, and stop striving to be the one in control of everything. Pain is inevitable but all of this suffering is optional! I’m always going to have various painful experiences. We all will.
But I am creating needless suffering for myself today by dwelling on my current situation and telling myself how unfair this all is. I’m in the hospital on a psyc ward and I don’t want to be. They say I’m a voluntary patient. But when I refused the new medication the dr wanted me to take and again when I requested to be discharged, I was threatened with a certification (where I would no longer be voluntary and would lose all freedom to have any say whatsoever in my treatment). I’m only creating more anger within myself and thus causing more suffering by letting this fester.
Its time I accept that I have no control over this situation right now. The facts are that i’m here in hospital, I’m not well, I don’t have a very good track record for making healthy decisions, the doctors are smarter than me and I am craving peace.
So I am just going to lie here, breathing deeply, while I simply accept that in this moment I am doing the best I can with what I’ve got. Lying quietly in this hospital bed is not easy for me but right now its exactly what I have to do. And that’s ok.
For the first time in weeks I feel a little bit like myself again. Its probably been more like months but the few weeks have been especially challenging. My mental health has been on a steady decline since the summer came to a close and then I took a nose dive and crashed head first into rock bottom.
There was no one single incident that took place to push me over the edge. I’d been fighting to hold on for a while and my rope just grew so thin that it broke. I’ve been so tired. Just the simple daily stuff has even been too much. Folding laundry had been leading to meltdowns. Once 2 then 3 baskets became filled with clean clothes I’d sit and cry because there was no basket for the dirty stuff. My husband walked in one day and found me sitting on the couch with a towel in my hand, sobbing. I had gotten out of the shower and our 3 laundry hampers were filled with clean clothes so there was nowhere to put my towel or dirty clothes. Folding it felt so far beyond what I was mentally able to process. I thank God for my incredible husband who stepped in and took it over, while I sat there crying and holding on to the towel.
Eating. Drinking. Walking. Talking. Even breathing felt pointless.
And sleep. I don’t know how long I had been without sleep but I know I was into night 3 at least because my husband was working his 3rd 12 hour shift that night and I hadn’t been to bed at all during that stretch of time. I had been purposely avoiding food and water because in the back of my mind I was thinking that the weaker I could make my physical self … the more tired and worn out and deprived I could become … the faster my body would give up at the end.
I had every aspect of my death planned out. How I was going to do it, where I would be, what I would be wearing, precise timing of everything, who would find me, details about my funeral wishes were written down and placed in my wallet with my ID and other important cards, etc
What I didn’t take into consideration was how weak and worn out I actually was. And the apathy … I didn’t care. I was completely shut down. I had been experiencing waves of emotion in between the numbness but for 3 days straight I was a zombie. I just gave up caring.
So those things paired with all the despair and brokeness I had been feeling resulted in a week long stay on the intensive care unit then a transfer to a different hospital an hour away, which is the only place that has a psychiatric inpatient unit in our district. And that’s where I’ve been for the past few weeks.
Being in the hospital is a challenge all by itself. But today I ventured out of my room and wandered into the main lounge where several staff members were putting up the Christmas tree. A security guard came with a guitar and began singing. After a while I joined in and for the first time since my Nan’s funeral 2 years ago, I sang in front of a group of people.
Today, I feel hope.
Her Complex Musings 
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