Prisoner A prisoner to no man. To no woman. My body is my sadistic captor. It thrives on my humiliation. It writhes in ecstasy as I languish with pain. It forces me to acknowledge the chains it binds me with. … Continue reading
He wasn’t very athletic, nor one of those “bad boy” types who seemed to always be sneaking around with a cigarette or a girl.
The fact that girls seemed to go for guys like that, was almost enough to bring him back to the “girls are stupid” phase, except for her. Julie.
She had everything a 14 year old boy could long for and more. The only problem was that Julie was popular, aka blind to the rest of humanity, especially nobodies like him.
So Tod daydreamed about doing something amazing.
When the news segment was about a school shooting in Florida, he fantasized about being the kid who took the gunman down and saved the class.
If the weatherman mentioned the possibility of strong storms, he fantasized about leading Julie’s class out of a damaged school.
Even his dreams were about giving Julie the Heimleich maneuver or saving her from a distracted driver at the crosswalk.
He’d be the hero somehow. It felt like his destiny.
In one year he’d gone from being unpopular to the most popular kid in school, and now, here he was reading a note from Julie, and she’s calling him her hero.
One year of tests, diagnoses, medications and hospitals was all it took to be a hero. Well, that and his life.
He’d never imagined dying in a hospital bed before he turned 16, but he could feel it coming. Funny, he thought to himself.
You just couldn’t help yourself? Fine, but don’t whine and cry and call me nasty or anything like that. I warned you.
I’m a woman. As a woman I have a monthly subscription to Satan’s river. Through the miracle of modern science and engineering, we women have a selective array of products to facilitate or rather hide the rivers’ flow when it comes.
Okay, last chance guys. Believe me, you don’t want to read more.
One of these ingenious products is a plug, otherwise known as a tampon.
Now, I’ve been off my period for a week or so, but several days ago I became disturbed by a rather offensive odor which seemed to be coming from my lady parts. I did what I could, frequent showers, etc, but the odor persisted and seemed to be getting worse.
I assumed I was dying of some horrible and humiliating disease or something, and began preparing my last will and testament, when I thought “maybe it’s a yeast infection”, so I put some ointment on my finger and it began its trek into the depths of my…well, me.
Suddenly I felt something that didn’t feel like me, and I realized “ahhhhh!!! it’s a tampon! Gross! Gross! Gross! Etc.” for about 10 minutes as I fished the disgusting thing out. It was horrible. Traumatizing. Nasty.
So I looked it up and apparently it happens a lot. Women see their doctor and stuff to have it taken out, so I didn’t feel like as much of a sicko. So that’s it. Told you it was gross.
I’m smelling better now, and it can actually be dangerous to leave a tampon in, so I guess I’m fortunate in that regard that it wasn’t life threatening.
In the future, I’m going to have to make tally marks for tampon insertion and retrieval or something, because this was one experience I don’t want a repeat of.
In the darkest corners of the most damaged minds there lives a dangerous beast. It paces back and forth waiting for the three little words which will set it free: I see you.
I wrote this post a few days ago. My sister wrote the most beautiful response, which I’ve included here. Please read and watch the video and go to dyingwithstyle.org to find ways that you can help me change the world. … Continue reading
I did it. Made a website, Facebook, and twitter. Find me before I go viral!
Robin Williams recently passed away. More accurately, Robin Williams recently killed himself in a manner which would be considered “cruel and unusual” punishment for criminals.
Why, with all the resources, human rights, medications, etc.? Why does a person with plenty of money, resources, etc have to resort to something like that? Why do people with terminal, excruciating and humiliating illnesses have to watch helplessly as they deteriorate?
Why does everyone talk about how suicide is a tragedy? Because it is, even though it doesn’t have to be.
There are millions of self-help books which reference proactive living. Planning ahead is considered wise when planning for kids college, or preparing a will, or buying insurance, yet planning ahead for your own death means you’re unstable, in need of counseling or psychiatric care.
This, my dear readers, is absolute bullshit. We can buy burial plots, we can sign advance directives, we can even pick out our caskets long before we pass away. Why then can we not also determine the time, place, and method of our departure? Oh, that’s right, we can determine that…
As long as we do it in a secret, cruel and unusual sort of way.
We can plan our retirement, but we have to wait as long as possible before some terminal condition takes our independence, bladder control, sanity, and dignity.
I don’t get it. There is no way I can do this alone people. I am more than willing to be the first person to proactively “pass away”, but there are lots of people who need/want/deserve it sooner than I do. Please help me!
I’m wanting to get legislation advocating for the freedom to choose when/how to die. Human rights, pro-choice, senior citizen, disability, and many other advocates should be all over this. Please, reblogging this post or the prior one will help. Social media, news outlets, something, please. I can’t do this alone.
They cancelled my surgery Friday because my insurance will pay for the surgery, but not the required inpatient rehab. Imagine that.
In other news, I went to the store today, but I avoided eye contact with people. Was it the wheelchair? Not today, although I’m not in an “ignore the pity” mood. It’s the monstrous zit I have forming on my chin.
Why? I’m already disabled and broken and atrophied and everything else. Why can’t life just give me a break and let me have clear skin? If I had a magic wand today, I’d make everyone in wheelchairs drop-dead gorgeous. Have people stare for a good reason.
Alright, enough bitching, guess what day it is? Taco Tuesday! Everything is awesome…
I broke my foot yesterday. Long story, but basically I ran over it with my power chair. How can a person do that? Me and my crazy life. Sorry, back to tornado story soon.
Today I get to start the real drug with the clinical trial. I’m excited because I think I’ve been on a placebo for the past few years. Guess I’ll find out soon if I feel any different.
So, as part of this trial every few months I have the full work up, 2 neurologists, like 12 vials of blood taken, my 2 hour infusion, etc. I also have to walk…
So, I’m supposed to walk 20 feet (with a walker), and then I’m supposed to walk any distance for 6 minutes. I couldn’t do either today. Not even 20 feet! It sucks. I tried, but only made it about 13 feet before I had to sit.
I think I’m just having a weak day, in general, but the other part of the problem is spasticity. If you aren’t familiar with that term, it is basically when the muscles override the brain.
A medicine which helps this is called Baclofen. So, I take this in pill form, but today they talked to me about a baclofen pump. It would be surgically implanted in my lower abdomen/side, and a catheter connects it directly to the spinal cord.
It is programmable, so it could deliver more medicine at night, or in the morning, or whatever. Since it goes directly to the spinal cord, drowsiness, and some of the other side effects are minimized.
Anyway, all that to ask:
I already use wheels for legs.
I work out by shocking my muscles with my ems.
I use braces/splints to stretch.
My hip is metal, plastic, and bone.
At what point do I become more machine than human, and doesn’t that make me some kind of superhero?
I’ve got to think of a catchy hero name…