Tag: hospital

Not Dead Day

Today marks nine years since my first public announcement of my surviving. I made that sound mildly hyperbolic, I assure you that I am downplaying for dramatic effect.

I will recap the day even though I think I did a decent job describing it in my book for those of you who have not read it yet.

Basically, as far as the world outside of my direct circles were concerned, I died on or around my 25th birthday. Imagine the confusion when I post on my FaceBook “Alive and kicking in Hamilton”.

What I don’t think I have discussed, that was a bit of black humour, on my part. I was already fit with a wheelchair. In fact, at that moment, I was still considered a quadriplegic. The simple message I sent to my friends and family took me almost an hour to construct. Yes, I had most of my arm functions back, but I was still sloppy and shaky as I acclimatized to the situation. There was still a fair amount of shell-shock, regardless of the fact that I had been conscious for the last four months.

After nine years, I have to thank my family and friends who have stuck by my side. I have to thank the few people who keep reading my updates. I have to thank the people who have bought my book and read it. I have to thank the people who haven’t given up on me.

I love you.

some sort of discrimination

I keep silent about certain topics because I am afraid the wrong people will read them. Or because of the social stigma. Or because I do not want to come off as an over-privileged-CIS-white-male who is just complaining because “people don’t get me” or whatever. This is that topic.

As I have bitched about on my social media accounts, and on this very blog, I am epileptic. I am so because of brain damage I received during the attempts to keep me alive. It is more of a nuisance than anything else. I am on meds, which without life becomes a series of snapshots as I pass out unexpectedly and lose about an hour at a time.

So, why do I bring this up?

My father is convinced that my seizures are brought on by poor diet. Yes, poor diet can cause seizures, but they are acute. By that, I mean they limit (if not go away entirely) once your diet corrects itself or you correct your diet. If that is all it takes to fix my brain, I would fix everything I could.

No, my seizures are due to scarring on my brain stem. This was pointed out to me during an EEG test where they examined what happened when I locked up in a controlled environment. Kind of scary in hind sight, but what’s done is done.

So, again: why bring this up?

I am basically bullied and mocked by my father who claims that my reasoning for my seizures is my doing. He claims that I should be able to recover, and there is no medical line of inquiry to back this claim of mine up. Except for that EEG, but that doesn’t count because he wasn’t in the room when it was administered.

My point is that if someone says that a thing is happening to them which you KNOW is happening to them, maybe give them the benefit of the doubt. Yes, there are exceptions that can be found, but when the person is giving valid, MEDICAL reasons for their condition, maybe don’t call them a liar.

It will just make them doubt their own sense of self.

Locked In {ANEWSIN VOL. 13 — Jason Garden}

Edited by Luka Riot

“Hello?!”

George screamed into the abyss in front of him. There was an echo, but it was very distant. There was no light; George could not even see his hands in front of his face.

He had no memory of how he ended up being in this place. He was not hurt, so he was not shoved violently down a hole. There was no noticeable smell, so he could not gather hints from that sense. There was only a faint breeze that seemed to come from everywhere.

It was like he was in total sensory isolation. He tried to scream again.

“Hello!”

There was no response. He was alone.

George was not sure how long he had been in that place, but he was starting to get more and more panicked as time went on. 

He did not even have a cell phone on him to check the time. He only guessed that he would not get signal in this place to use it for other reasons.

Suddenly, murmurs. Whispers and hushed voices seemed to be carried throughout the air around him.

“Hey!” George screamed. “Who’s there? Please notice me!”

He no longer cared where he was. He just wanted, or needed, to be noticed. He was alone: trapped in a void away from everything and everyone. A simple “hello” would raise his spirits high. He would then know that he was actually part of the reality around him.

George decided to do a body check, finally. He knew that his eyes, throat, and ears were all intact. He lifted what he was sure would have been an arm, and that felt right. Torso and legs seemed to be in a working order, of sorts. He was going off of feel. There was always a chance that he was impaled and just not feeling the pain for some reason.

The voices were getting louder. Regardless of how scared he was, at least he was warm. Kind of. He was actually more apathetic towards his body temperature, but he was convinced that was because he was a decent temperature.

Suddenly, everything happened.

A feeling of disorientation. There were no motion blurs or sudden visual jolts, just a feeling of complete disassociation with his body. He watched as his eyes opened, and was immediately blinded by the light. Then, figures stood all around him, looking down with faces of excitement and joy.

He was in a hospital. He had been stuck in his head, only mildly aware that there was a world around him. He could account for about an hour, voices made him aware that it had been weeks.

George was frightened. He hurt. His back and his head felt like they had been ripped open and sewn back together several times.

He was naked, but under several sheets. He was still having a hard time figuring out exactly who was around him, but he was sure there were at least five people above him. All the people-shaped outlines looming over his face. Drops of water caressed his brow.

Where was he? Where had he been? What happened to him just before he found himself in that cave?

Slowly, he put his hand on his head.
Slowly, he sat up in bed.
Slowly, he started to lose consciousness again.

Quickly, the shadows of people ran to his aid. Quickly, a code blue was announced overhead. Quickly, he stopped feeling any sort of discomfort.

Another figure was added to the pantheon. This figure was carrying two rectangular shapes in their hands. The figure slammed their might into George, forcing the two shapes into his chest. There was a loud sound, and George felt a surge flow into his chest.

Everything then came to focus. His vision, his hearing, and his breathing all coalesced into what would be described as normal. The figures were no longer just that, they were doctors, nurses, and friends. Sadly, George saw no family in the group. That is when he started to figure out what happened.

He had fallen over in pain almost a month ago. His chest was tight, and the pain caused him to lose conciseness. He could only assume, but he felt confident in assuming that it was a heart attack. He did not dare to assume what caused it, however certain he might think that he is.

The rectangles were defibrillators. His heart had started to palpitate again, and they were used to put everything back on an appropriate rhythm. George started to wonder who or what dictated “appropriate” but was also sure that now was not the time to ask those around him.

Now, George was back. Finally, he was back. He expected an onslaught of questions, but none were asked before everyone had left the room. Now, he was left alone with just one of the figures from earlier. Now, he could tell that it was a doctor. She was probably the doctor who had been with him since moment one.

His chest still hurt, and there was a distinct smell of burnt flesh and hair in the air. Probably due to the event that saved his life. Again.

George wondered if he had ever been pronounced dead during this whole ordeal. He had died once as a younger man: he had been struck by a car and doctors were very unsure if he would pull through. To say that he would get to the age of 30 would just be irresponsible of the medical community, but to say that he had no chance was just as arrogant. To dismiss the abilities of everyone who was trying to save his life the first time was naive. George and his family took great pride in him walking out of the hospital that day.

Even George, through his clouded judgement and uncertainty as to what exactly is going on, was not sure if today would have the same outcome as before. At least that time he still had his wits about him. He could feel himself forgetting his family, friends, and sense of self.

“alive and kicking it in hamilton”

Today marks the 6 year anniversary of me posting my survival to the world. I spent about an hour trying to compose exactly how I wanted this to be presented. Though the end result seems silly and juvenile, it was calculated.

It was both disarming and abrasive. I wanted people to see that I was here, but I wanted it to be as underwhelming as it could be. Simply for the fact that I didn’t see it as a big deal. I could never know the waves that it would have created.

271 likes and 95 comments. That doesn’t even include the reactions from the 7 shares that I received. That was all from my personal FaceBook, as well. I, for lack of a better definition, was a nobody. I had friends and family, sure. That doesn’t change the surprise I felt from the outpouring of notices that I received. It would still be another year before I wrote and released my blog explaining, somewhat, what happened. This would still be four years from the release of my book going further into detail about a more in depth explanation of all the events.

Do I regret not having everything in place for the inevitable reintroduction to the world? Of course. That’s why I am classifying my book as a “mostly fiction” from now on, and have been since I was told how my timeline was warped by my parents.

To be fair: they did give me a detailed outline. They had taken extensive note for the first five months of me being in hospital. They claim they were doing it for me, but I knew it was a kind of coping mechanism at the time. If it had really been for me, it would have continued until further in my recovery. More description would have been put into names, staff, places and specialists. Regardless, they did finally give it to me to read after the book had been out for two years, and I may have had flash-backs while my eyes crept between marks of graphite and ink.

Personal side-note: I wish I just put “kicking in hamilton” as opposed to “kicking IT in hamilton”. HINDSIGHT!

Rest In Peace, my friend

I hate posting “in memorial”s on this page. I always feel like it is just me saying “PITY ME, I’M SAD!” which could not be further from the truth. I feel like this is important because of how important Krista was, to me personally, as well as a fantastic person.

I met Krista in 2008. She worked at a local video game store that my store dealt quite a lot with due to our similar stock and interest. She seemed to be a quiet girl, very knowledgeable and well versed in the world of electronic media. At the time I really did not get to know her well, and I always regretted that.

Fast forward to mid 2019. As far as I knew, I was the only person alive who contracted Viral Meningoencephalitis. I say that with absolutely no pride, as I felt alone and absolutely isolated from everyone I have ever and could ever meet. I wanted to share with someone what experiences I had, and wanted to learn from someone what to expect. As far as my limited research goes, there was no one for me to reach out to.

Shortly after my first book, You’re Not Dead, was released, my friend Michelle reached out. She wanted to get a copy to read to her friend that, as far as I knew, went through a similar ordeal. Fast forward a year, and I finally was put back in touch with Krista. It tuns out that she went through a similar thing because we had similar diagnostics. We had both confounded the medical communities with symptoms that made no sense.

For the next year, we would talk over messengers about what we went through. She, daily, reminded me that what we went through was not a competition. At the time, I was completely confused what she could mean by that. It took me several weeks to realize that, inadvertently, I was trying to compare by competing. By that, I mean that I would say “I suffered more because I went through this” while trying to see if she did something similar.

I am not proud of many things, but I am extremely proud that I had ever met Krista. I will miss her.

The Effects of Long-Term Hospital Stays

*THIS IS ALL FIRST HAND. I DON’T HAVE REFERENCES*

Now that I have the disclaimer out of the way, I am going to warn about long-term hospital stays and the effect on the mental wellbeing of the person in question.

Someone who is in hospital for any amount of time may be misdiagnosed as having depression or, in my case, brain damage. The patient can seem distant, gullible, despondent, or just all around wrong. The symptoms can include (but are not limited to) an unbalanced appetite, uncontrollable sadness, anger, sadness, and unwarranted outbursts.

To be blunt, this is not the fault of the individual OR the hospital. That person is used to life being one way, then (in some cases) literally have their independence ripped away from them. They might be used to keeping to themselves, then they have to socialize with specialists, nurses, and other patients. They might have their own regiment, now they have their day dictated to the minuet.

How does one treat them? With delicate understanding and a firm stance. You cannot bully them back to being “themselves”. You have to let them accept what’s going on around them in the hospital, and help them create new neural pathways to accept their surroundings.

Be careful when introducing new meds. Be sure everything in place is necessary. Do NOT be afraid to say that time is all they need. Last thing someone needs in time of emergency is to be on several anti-depressants when they don’t need it.

Please, if you have additional insight or know of better guidlines in how to cope with institutional stays, leave them in the comments. I am sure other people need them, and I would love some additional reading.guidelinesPlease, if you have additional insight or know of better guidlines in how to cope with institutional stays, leave them in the comments. I am sure other people need them, and I would love some additional reading.

New Month

Hi! I hope you are doing well.

I had something huge happen on the first.

I had a seizure.

It was far from a huge deal: my mother-in-law was over and she knew exactly the steps to make sure everything went well.

My fiancee did what she had to, including getting the EMS and calling my parents.

I hate this I hate this I hate this.

Now I am on pills twice a day.

They make me sleepy.

I’m Back.

Hello hello hello everybody! I hope you have been well!

I’d be lying if I said I was. Natasha and I have looked at two apartments and were thwarted both times. They asked us for co-signers. I do not think it is hard to believe that we, at pushing 30, do not have the connections and ties to make those happen. Please do not fret: we will be fine. I am just freaking out a bit.

TO ADD TO THE FREAK-OUT! I got kicked out of the programme I was in. My average was considered too low, so I was “forcibly withdrawn.” The notification e-mail was obviously computer generated and impersonal.

WHAT AM I DOING TO FIX IT? I have a life here in Hamilton. As much as I bash this city, I do really like the connections I have here. No, I have not really explored the downtown in the condition I am in, but I was planning to venture out when I had my own space to populate with everything I amass.

I signed up with Mac Wheelers officially and have a physical on Friday, May sixth. What Mac Wheelers can be described as is “a gym for people in wheelchairs.”

I am aware it is more than that. It is just easier to put it that way.

Now, I have to apologize again: this was far from the large update I had promised. I have good news, however! My grandmother opened her eyes! She is still in hospital as I write this, but it’s a start!

BREAKING NEWS May 3rd, 2016
My grandmother is officially off of the vent!

Patreon.

Bladder Issues

I honestly cannot even say that without giggling like a young child.

HI AGAIN! I wanted to talk about something I have a really hard time talking about in hopes to make myself a little bit more accepting of it, and I hope for a little bit of direction.

So, as you MIGHT have heard, I’m in a wheelchair. SURPRISE! I know! Who saw that coming? I DIGRESS.

Like I stated in my second blog, no one is one hundred percent sure of what happened, what flu I caught, or whatever. One thing that is apparent, though, is what happened shortly before I went into hospital.

My legs went weak. I was throwing up. My muscles got very stiff. My neck swelled. I stopped being able to urinate.

Please tell me someone else finds me writing that hilarious to read?!

So, the medical response to someone not emptying their bladder for days on end is to insert an indwelling catheter. Its basically a tube placed in a urethra. It connects from ones bladder to a bag. They are quite common to receive during any extended hospital stay or as a result of any surgery.

The thought behind a neurogenic bladder (that I have put together from the little bit of reading I have performed) is that the nerves controlling the bladder have given out, and the individual will have to perform intermittent catheterization for an extended time until everything comes back.

Well. Fun little side bit of information. Someone fucked up. SURPRISE!

What happened is that a little bit of dirt or plastic (would probably have been microscopic) ended up in my bladder at some point last year (2014). The result is my body encased it in a compound, probably calcium, and it resulted in a stone. The stone in question is 4.5 CM in diameter. The stone takes up about 95% of my bladder. Is that not hilarious?

LAUGH WITH ME! PLEASE!

My eventual point is that I have to go back in for surgery to have it removed, which is scheduled for August 25th. I really do want it to happen earlier, but the medical system is all kinds of messed up in Canada thanks to our great political power that currently sits in the most important seat.

SO YEAH! That’s my attempted at talking about an embarrassing thing that has happened during this whole ordeal. There are many worse things, but MOST of those will never be brought up.

OH CANADA, OUR HOME AND NATIVE LAND…