Reality and boredom: "cult of continuous stimulation"

Saturday night my husband and I watched part of Ron Howard's documentary "The Beatles: Eight Days a Week - The Touring Years" on PBS. It contains film footage from those years.

I'm intrigued and attracted to vintage film of live events. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it gives me perspective on the way things were and the way things are, and how people differed in their interpretations at the time of what was and how we differ in our interpretations in the present of what is. And what would I have thought and felt had I been present at the past events?

I do recall what I thought when I, as a young child around seven years old, witnessed on TV girls fainting and screaming and the hysteria when the Beatles toured. I thought, "Why do they act like that?" It was foreign to me. My sister is seven years older than I, so she would have been an early teen. I don't recall her going into a frenzy over The Beatles.

Last night, as Hubby and I watched the documentary, I was again fascinated at the crowds' responses to the Beatles' presence. It reminded me of the religious frenzy I eye-witnessed in the Pentecostal and Charismatic movements in the late 1970s and things I've read about religious hysteria from earlier movements. I think of other group "rallies," such as business and political, but people aren't fainting and screaming at those events.

I'm currently reading the book, The Dangerous Case of Donald Trump compiled and edited by Brandy Lee, M.D. One of the main things I'm finding beneficial, maybe more so than how the presented theories relate to Trump, is how those theories relate to my personal experiences with The Way and group-think, with my sociopathic ex-mental health therapist, with my own self deceptions, and with my own coping mechanism of denial which I continue to use in regard to my chronic illness. (Maybe it's not full denial, because I am aware of it. Maybe it's ambiguous denial.)

Just so happened, after watching the documentary, that my next chapter in the book was Trump and the American Collective Psyche, in Part Three: The Trump Effect, contributed by Thomas Singer, M.D. The chapter doesn't focus on Trump's "psychopathology," but rather on "the interface between Trump and the American collective psyche." Or, in my words, how the two (a leader and a group) dance. An interesting chapter after viewing Beatle-mania.

Singer makes some confrontational statements (including to me) regarding one side of America. To me, it's an unhealthy side. And it's not limited to America.

From page 283 (in my book) Singer writes:

What is it about Trump that acts as an irresistible magnet with ferocious attraction or repulsion? Is Trump the end product of our culture of narcissism? Is he what we get and deserve because he epitomizes the god or gods we currently worship in our mindless, consumerist, hyperindulged cult of continuous stimulation and entertainment?

To me, that last sentence describes well what seems so predominant in current modern culture. I too am guilty, though I'm not into consumerism. But it takes conscious, deliberate effort for me to not imbibe in the continuous stimulation of the internet.

Directly after the above paragraph, Singer quotes the following from the book Empire of Illusion written by Christopher Hedges.

An image-based culture communicates through narratives, pictures, and pseudo-dramas. Scandalous affairs, hurricanes, untimely deaths, train wrecks - these events play well on computer screens and television. International diplomacy, labor union negotiations and convoluted bailout packages do not yield exciting personal narratives or stimulating images...Reality is complicated. Reality is boring. We are incapable or unwilling to handle its confusion...We become trapped in the linguistic prison of incessant repetition. We are fed words and phrases like war of terror or pro-life or change, and within these narrow parameters, all complex thought, ambiguity, and self-criticism vanish. (Hedges 2009)

"Trapped in the linguistic prison of incessant repetition." I've been there too often. And I don't agree with Hedges that reality is boring. One's personal experiences (reality) can be stressful and, on the flip side, exhilarating. But I get his gist.

On the flip side to the above, there is the healthy America. The down-to-earth America seen in people going to work everyday (whether paid or not) and caring for their own and others. The beautiful America, seen in everyday generosity to help a fellow human in need. Everyday 'small' kindnesses that never make the news on electronic screens. Though some of these good deeds to go viral online, I have mixed feelings about that too. It can inspire and remind us of the goodness in humanity, or perhaps can promote more unhealthy narcissism; ie: people doing supposed good with the goal of viral online recognition (though I typically don't assign such motive).

I am of the opinion that the internet is like a mirror of who we are as humans. Our good traits and our dark traits have always been in us. Before the internet, we expressed them via venues that weren't so readily accessible. Even though I don't think the internet creates our darker traits, I think it can catalyze them to boil over. Kind of like the immune system. A person may be born with a predisposition toward allergies or other diseases, but those will only manifest under the right environment and stressors.

I've read that the information age of the internet is unprecedented, and my novice opinion agrees. But wouldn't folks have thought similarly of the printing press? To think that something could be typeset and then multiple exact copies could speedily roll out the end of a wheel to be distributed to the masses? Must have baffled their minds.

I often endeavor to recall my life before the internet. Life before 300 channels on the TV. Life when I was a teen. What did I do without internet or 300 channels or accessible constant contact?

I'm not anti-technology. I use it everyday and I'm thankful for all it provides us. I am pro-margin. As humans we need space. Too much information can fill in the margin and squeeze our own creativity and spontaneous thoughts to the thin edges.

We are surrounded by information overload, choice overload, opinion overload. Just one of those can produce fatigue; times three equals over-fatigue. Maybe we need more boredom which can lead to more daydreaming and perhaps more creativity, and less fatigue.

A couple weeks ago someone asked what my Twitter handle is. I told them and added, "But I seldom opine or get in discussions on Twitter. And I'm boring."

#thingsicando

Oftentimes my mind veers in the direction of what I can't do since living with widespread nerve damage.

That's understandable. I'm surrounded with reminders everywhere - on TV, internet, conversations, my eyes witnessing people's limbs and bodies moving at regular paces and not having to concentrate on things like grasping the dollar bills the clerk hands me when I am due money back after a transaction ...

Everywhere, I am reminded.

Except...
...when I ride my bike along rail-trails and greenways.
...or when I drive along country and mountain roads where traffic is sparse and the wheeled tin cans aren't tailing each other at 70 mph. That interstate traffic takes all my focus; wears me out.

And there are the multiple, serendipitous encounters when I'm reminded just how much I can do...
...the man, biking the greenway, who's had a stroke - it's obvious by his slowness and how his legs are awkwardly positioned and how his feet are placed on the pedals, one pointing out and one pointing in, unlike me, who looks "normal" while biking. The elderly man and I talk and share a bit of our stories. Biking is his freedom too. We are both thankful that we are still mobile.
...or a day I went to the mall to walker. With my usual slowness and concentration I get out of my Explorer and get out the walker and set everything up for my mall-walkering. I tell myself, "Good job," as people pass me by walking at their normal paces to go shopping. Shopping wears me out; too much to think about. I'm here to walker, not shop. And then, there appears the mother pushing her 10-year old son in a wheelchair that is leaning back so that her son is in a reclining position. His head droops to one side, his right arm is drawn up and his right hand hand drawn in. Maybe he has cerebral palsy. Mom and Son enter the mall in front of me and take am immediate right into the small post office branch. I think of how much work the mother had to go through to bring her son along on this errand. I think of the day-in-and-day-out toil she expends to care for her son. She probably gets little thanks or acknowledgement. After all, it's been like this since he was born. I don't confirm any of this with the mom who maybe isn't even his mom. But even if she's not, there are moms who live that life. That is love.
...and other such serendipitous encounters, at moments when I'm bemoaning what I can't do or feeling envious and ungrateful, to remind me of how good my life is.

I tell myself how much I have to be grateful for - healthy children, loving husband, clothing, comfortable shelter, food, no significant material needs, not living in a war zone, not housebound, that I can drive, that I'm mobile, and more. But telling myself the facts and feeling grateful are two different things. Ingratitude is magnified when I'm fatigued, which is most of the time these days.

But almost everyday, if not everyday, I acknowledge what I can do compared to what it took a Herculean feat when the nerve damage was at it's worst from Spring, 2013, through Summer, 2015.

Unload the dishwasher. Cut up food. Lift a glass. Unscrew a lid. Comb my hair. Use a towel to dry off instead of air-drying. Roll over in bed. Dress. Press buttons or flip switches. Walk a dog (except since surgery in 2016). Scoop kitty litter. Anything that involves lifting my legs or arms, or reaching.

When I perform those type tasks now, I often say to my self in a cheerful, job-well-done tone, "You did that!"

I have a personal Twitter account. In a couple recent tweets I've used the hashtag #thingsicando. I like that. I've only used it twice. Once about a biking excursion. Another about walkering across the mile-high, swinging (though it barely swings), foot bridge on Grandfather Mountain. I visited Grandfather on Monday, 11/20/17. A grand day it was...

this side of the bridge

mile-high swinging bridge

marker on bridge

that side of the bridge

looking southwest(?) from bridge

descent from the top

sunset

had to stop and eat here, due to the name

Wanting to believe...

The trauma I experienced at the hands of John Knapp ran, and still runs, deep.

Some may wonder, Why ain't she over that yet?  If so, they'll have to keep wondering.

It was beyond difficult for me to wrap my head around Knapp's lies and manipulations. The experience silenced me and caused me to doubt my reality. It was similar to leaving behind a belief system on which a person based their reality. 

When Trump was elected, it stirred up the Knapp-trauma. Why? Because of the similarities in the way Knapp and Trump manipulate, traits that are standard for antisocial and extreme narcissistic personality disorders. Traits that are standard for sociopathic/psychopathic personalities. 

I am not alone in my response. I've read and heard of multiple accounts of others who experienced sociopathic trauma in the past who have had a similar response as I to Trump. So maybe it's a normal response to an abnormal situation.

Prior to Knapp's harm, even while coming to terms with abuses and lies of top leaders in The Way, I believed that people were born on a level playing field in regard to morality. That each person is born with a sinful nature but also with a hunger for God and goodness. That, if in an evil-doer's shoes and similar circumstances (birth, family of origin, genetic package, culture, etc.), I may have fared no better. That there but for the grace of God, go I. That I am not inherently better than those who manipulate others as pawns in a game to promote the manipulator's appearance and advantage. I would recall my own sins, considering my own hypocrisy, to try and help balance my own "righteous" judgment (or misjudgment) toward those who were, or at least appeared to be, chronic abusers and evil-doers.

But maybe my judgement didn't need balancing? Maybe it needed to recognize evil for what it is and that some people are incapable of behaving otherwise. Perhaps they cannot change. Easy enough, right?

A couple days ago I was pondering all this (along with other life experiences and the many sexual abuse/harassment allegations in recent news), when I recalled a poem I'd written in 2007 while I was studying different scriptural interpretations outside of Way doctrine, at the time wanting to maintain my belief in a personal God of "unconditional love" that aligned with biblical scripture. In my quest I learned about Christian Universalism and landed in that camp for awhile. When I wrote the poem I had Hitler in mind, from a Christian Universalist perspective.

As of this writing I no longer subscribe to biblical beliefs, but if I were to again enter that realm I would lean toward Christian Universalism. 

Every person has had at least one person that loved them.

At least, I want to believe that is the case.

~*~

Will There Be?

Every individual
that ever drew a breath
had someone who loved them.

No matter the committed crime,
no matter any grave atrocity,
no matter which unpardonable sin...
someone, somewhere
loved her, loved him.

As naive as it may be
as childish as it seems
my great hope is
that somehow, someway
even the heinous soul
shall one day be redeemed.

Will there be an hour
with every soul united
to a mother's love?

Will there be a time
with every soul united
to a father's hope?

Whether right or wrong,
I want to believe 'tis so.
For now I'll continue to dream;
for now I'll continue to hope.


september 16, 2oo7


Inspired by Tom Talbott, specifically some of his thoughts regarding Hitler.

~*~

Another shooting. But it was California, not Texas, Mr. President....

Another shooting. Last I read, at least five dead including the gunman. At least ten injured. The weapon of choice, or at least one of the weapons? Semi-automatic rifle. A spraying of bullets hitting whatever they came in contact with, including an elementary school.

When is enough enough to outlaw these combat tools? If we outlaw them, is there anyway to confiscate what's out there? What about responsible gun owners who have already legally purchased these weapons of broad destruction? Should there be an exception made for those individuals? If so, shouldn't there be something like a yearly license renewal with some sort of ongoing vetting? I imagine those type questions have been tossed around in the gun debate.(I read later, on 11/16, that the California gunman built his own weapons of rapid destruction. Still doesn't change my mind that they should be banned.)

Early this morning, around 6:30 AM, I checked Trump's tweets. And I read this: "“May God be with the people of Sutherland Springs, Texas. The FBI and Law Enforcement has arrived.” He tweeted it at 11:34 PM on November 14.

My response was big eyes, a mouth drop, and "oh my god." Followed by, "Why has no one in the White House caught this and had him apologize and correct his mistake?"

I could hear Trump's defenders in my head, "Well, he's tired. He's been on the long tour in Asia and just got back. And he's 70 years old. It was just a simple error."

That's all fine and dandy. But, he never apologized and corrected his error, or at least hasn't as of when I'm writing this blog piece. The tweet was deleted sometime after 6:30ish AM. (I later learned it was deleted around 8:30 AM, nine hours after it was posted.) He has, as of this writing, not tweeted about the California shooting. Crickets.

The other Trump-defender response I hear in my head is the standard or a rendition of, "What about Hillary?" An asinine response, in my opinion. She's a different subject. Trump is responsible for Trump. Hillary is responsible for Hillary. And she ain't the president. She's currently not serving in any political office. That doesn't excuse any wrong doings of her past. If those need to be investigated (some of them, again), so be it. And let the chips land where they will. But that what-about-Hillary type response is a deflection.

Trump has also tweeted about his wonderful trip to Asia (multiple times), the fake news, polls that show his approval rating is going up, and he tweeted this at 10:11 this morning: "Do you think the three UCLA Basketball Players will say thank you President Trump? They were headed for 10 years in jail!" He's referring to this: 3 UCLA basketball players, accused of shoplifting, back home from China

WTF? But it's typical Trump, displaying his full blown ultra-narcissistic, feed me-feed me, disordered mentality.

Would most decent people do that? They do a good deed and then manipulate to get a thank you?

Trump is all about Trump, even when he lends a helping hand.

I have tried to see good in the man. The only thing I have come up with is that he appears to take care of his family.

Gadget Neanderthals

"Bored."
It's not a word I use regularly.
It was seldom used when I grew up.
It was seldom heard with my children as they grew up.

I did a lot of things wrong in raising my children. How does one measure "a lot?" Maybe it wasn't "a lot." Maybe a better quantity would be "enough" or "plenty." Plenty enough for them to know I am human and make mistakes. Plenty enough for them to learn about family dynamics and the genetics that are in their packages. Plenty enough to learn what not to do and what to do, if they ever decide to rear children.

I've never been a technology buff. Through the 90s and early aughts, I often said, "I'll never have a cell phone." I didn't like the idea of accessible constant contact.

Of course I ate those words. I bought my first cell phone, a flip phone, in 2005. And that only because I was giving a go with a network marketing business, and I needed a cell phone in order to be successful. My children and husband got their first flip cell phones either at that time, or within a year.

I didn't buy a smartphone until 2011. Again, because of work - a pet sitting/dog walking business. I needed to be able to text easily, quickly look up directions between stops, and access email on the go. My children probably got their first smartphones within a year. My daughter would have been 23 and my son 21. My daughter, son, and I upgraded our smart phones twice since our original purchases. Hubby got his first smart phone this past summer, 2017; he upgraded from a flip phone.

We sound like Neanderthals!

When our children were growing up, we had one computer in the home. We all shared that computer. I got my first laptop in 2008. My daughter got her first one around 2008 maybe. My son, I don't know; he may have waited until 2010.  Hubby didn't get one until around 2015.

Hubby, Son, and I still have those same laptops. We haven't bought new ones. My daughter may have bought one new one since her original used laptop purchase around 2008ish.

Hubby, Son, nor I own tablets or iPads (are those the same thing?). I'm not sure about my daughter.

When the kids were growing up and we would go on car trips - whether errand running or to the mountains or somewhere farther - as a general rule, I didn't allow them, or their friends, to wear head phones hooked into one of those portable CD  or cassette players.

Why would I have that as a rule? Because I had a real problem with the children being cut off from their present surroundings and the "boredom" of the drive.

We would listen, together over the vehicle speakers, to music or stories/books on tape. We'd sometimes sing songs. We would play license plate games or make-up stories (in a round) based on road signs, surroundings, and cities and towns we were passing. We would talk, or just sit quietly watching the scene speed by, daydreaming. And, of course there were arguments, and sometimes my son would pick on my daughter.

But we were present with each other in the moment.

One of my concerns with constant, virtual contact that technology provides, especially when it comes to child development, is the absence of presence. And the absence of "boredom" and daydreaming and imagining. Just a click away with access 24/7, one can escape into a 2-D screen with little to no awareness of their 3-D environment. I have other concerns too.

I asked my self this morning, "If you had young children now, at what point would you buy them a smart phone?" I'm not sure. But I think I'd have them wait until they were at least 12. They could have a flip phone though. I realize they'd probably need a laptop for school before they turned 12. But I'd hold off as long as I could for that too.

At least, that's what I think I'd do. But, I can't say for sure.

And of course we'd have the tech talk, just like the sex talk. Multiple times.

Replacing our electronic devices brings to mind Gadget Mountain. More pollution, as we "upgrade."

~*~

I read about Gadget Mountain a few years ago. I googled it this morning, but couldn't locate the photo or articles from what I read back then. But two articles came up that look interesting. I've only perused them. I'll read them later.

1) From Associated Press, January, 2017: The astonishing 'gadget mountains' of Asia: UN warns of impending health and environmental disaster due to dumped technology

2) From The Atlantic, September, 2016: The Global Cost of Electronic Waste

~*~

Meandering...

Salem Creek Greenway is the approach to Salem Lake Trail. It is asphalt, wide enough for a pick up truck to drive. But the only motorized vehicles allowed are service vehicles. That's true for all Greenways, everywhere in the USA.

I am a Greenway lover. Tax dollars well spent for the health and wellness of the community. Nestled in nature in the middle of the city. A respite from a florescent, gadgeted life. An environmental buffer to help insects, plants, birds and critters flourish in the midst of urban America.

The first Greenway I ever experienced was when I lived in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1982-83. Seems it stretched for over 100 miles out into the county and back into the city. But that probably included some off trail connectors via regular roadways.

When our family lived in Charlotte in 1997, my escape was McAlpine Park located about a mile from our home. McApline was a few hundred acres big with enough Greenway and trails and space to get away from the city while in the city.

I didn't like living in Charlotte. I'd say it's the least favorite big city I've lived in. I've lived in three: Milwaukee, Cleveland, and Charlotte.

Charlotte felt stuffy, kind of conceited. But I did like my part-time job there. I worked at Discovery Place as an educational presenter in the rain forest and marine areas. I handled reptiles, hissing cock roaches, and sea critters.

I also hosted birthday parties. One of the main party features was Checkers, the corn snake, who would wrap himself around my arm and sometimes put his head in my pocket.

After we moved from Charlotte to Greensboro in 1998, I continued working at Discovery Place, but in a different position. The drive was almost two hours so I wasn't going to drive that far to work a few hours. Instead, I was offered a position as an on-site Camp-in director. In that position, I worked an 18-to-20-hour shift, which included sleep - as well as one can sleep on the floor of a museum with up to 400 other people. I'd drive in on Friday afternoon and work through Saturday late morning, and sometimes through Sunday late morning. So I could get up to 40-hours work over a weekend. It was worth the drive.

It was a fun job. Never a dull moment. We had a skeleton staff so stayed busy, and we were tight. Such a great crew it was. My daughter accompanied me on many occasions. She worked as a volunteer Sci-teen. We knew every nook and cranny of that museum. Well, except for the projector room in the IMAX.

Camp-ins were eliminated in 2001(?). I can't remember the exact date, and I don't know why the program got axed. I guess it was money.

Well, I hadn't planned to write about that. I was gonna write about Salem Creek Greenway and add some pics. Later, maybe.

Massacre

The Sutherland Springs, Texas, massacre happened yesterday. Not sure if "massacre" is technically the right term, but I think it fits.

The definition for massacre is to violently kill a large number of people. It's a slaughter. How many people constitute a large number? If I recall correctly, four people and above constitutes a mass shooting in the USA.

From what I've read, a mass murder or shooting is only terrorism if the motive is political. I really don't care what one calls it. Regardless of the motive, the outcome is the same.

This morning I looked up how to buy a gun in the USA. There is a national standard application form which takes a matter of minutes to fill out and a few minutes to approve via computer, if the person passes the muster. Depending on where and how one buys a gun, the application may not be required.

A few fucking minutes for approval. It took Paddock what...fifteen minutes to produce his carnage in Las Vegas? It took I don't know how many minutes for Devin Patrick Kelley.

If I understand correctly, there isn't a national registration procedure for tracking the number of weapons and ammunition a person purchases, at least across state lines. A crazed person can amass an arsenal in a short amount of time, like Steve Paddock did.

These mass shootings that kill a large number of people are carried out with weapons that can shoot many rounds in quick succession. Or, in Paddock's case, again if I recall correctly, he adapted his weapons to shoot rapidly.

Why oh why does someone need these rapid-fire rifles? Though I lean toward outlawing them for civilians, which probably won't happen, it seems that at least laws could be enacted to vet buyers better. Make sales more strict. And track a purchaser's number of guns and ammunition purchased. And a two-week (or something) wait time wouldn't be a bad idea.

Is that too much government interference? When will it not be too much? At what point is too much, too much?

With stricter laws would the bad guys still get their hands on these killing machines? Yes, some would. But maybe allowing a period of time before a person can get their fingers on the triggers will allow space to catch them before they exact their terror and carnage.

I think of it like door locks. Will a burglar still find a way in if he really wants in? Yes, probably so. But it takes longer with a lock. In that time space, the burglar might get caught or at least scared away.

Like the rest of the US, I'm beyond fed up with these killings. I'm also fed up with the hypocritical standard "thoughts and prayers and condolences" from the powers that be who then do not seriously consider and pass legislation to help and try to curb this horrific trend.

I watched Trump's speech in response to the Texas slaughter. No emotion. He could at least have shown a hint of sadness or outrage. But then again, he's probably not capable, at least with empathy

Some might say, "Well, he shouldn't show emotion because he needs to show strength for the nation."

So showing emotions is the opposite of strength?  I disagree.

However Trump did display outrage (at least via his Tweets) with the NYC car killer, an Islamic extremist, who killed at least eight people last week. What about Vegas? What about Texas? Where is the outrage?

And what about Puerto Rico? When I watched his response to that tragic natural disaster, it was like watching a person void of heart.

~*~

On 11/07 I posted the following as a response comment on this blog entry.

I know hardly anything about guns. And I'm not up to speed on the gun debate. But these rifles that can fire off hundreds of rounds per minute...it just makes no sense to me that they are legal.

And yes, I realize that criminals will get their hands on them illegally. That's what criminals do.

I wonder how many of these mass murderers bought their killing machines legally or illegally?
I wonder how many resources the FBI, etc, has to keep watch on illegal fire arm sales?
I wonder how often they intercept and catch illegal dealers?

I did read this morning [11/07] that, at least in some states, there is a wait time to buy guns like AK-47s which can fire 600(!) rounds per minute.

I read that Kelley fired at least 450 rounds and had 15 clips. 450 rounds! I just don't get why these killing machines are legal. What purpose do they serve other than combat?

I read this article later in the morning on 11/07: What Explains U.S. Mass Shootings? International Comparisons Suggest an Answer

I read this article in the evening on 11/07: Gun Rights: Former U.S. Serviceman Calls for Ban on Semi-automatic Weapons

Breathing denial

I'm irritable and I'm tired.
The two go hand-in-hand.
"Wearied" is probably a better description than "tired."

I'm tired of the continual battle for my body and mind to function "normally."

I'm tired of not being able to set long-term goals.
Well, I could set them.
But then I set myself up for disappointment and feelings of failure.
Not a healthy place for me.
So I set short-term goals of daily simple tasks that most would not think of as "goals."

I'm tired of living in this incessant hamster wheel.
Yet reminding myself to be thankful for all the good I have.

I'm tired of my home being in disarray.
Of not being able to organize so very much that needs attention.
Of not being able to do household chores.
Of not... on and on.

My tired-of list could go on.
It's a lengthy one.
All those tireds added together equal weary.

Why do I find it so hard to accept my disability?
I know why, at least some of the reasons.
One of the biggest is probably just plain, old denial.

~*~

I hang on with a thread of hope that someday I can backpack again.

I envision the trail.
I feel the struggle to hike with forty pounds on my back, a good struggle, a struggle with reward at the end.
The reward of accomplishment.
I set up my tent and make my supper.
I hang my food bag in a limb high enough to be away from bears.
I sit, a lone human on a log, and think about the eyes that see me, eyes of forest critters.

And then I remind myself,

There's no way you'll ever be able to backpack again. Right now you envision that hope because you feel relief from your epidural. Because you are comfortable, at the moment, driving, nestled within the Blue Ridge Mountains. But you know damn well this relief is temporary. You know what awaits as the relief subsides. Even with the current relief, the reality of your disability will be evident today once you stop and get out of the vehicle.

And then I remember the eighteen years I suffered with severe asthma.
The years I suffered with sinus polyps and complete blockage; literally.
I could not breathe through my nose, for years.
And I had no sense of smell for over a decade.
There were lots of other symptoms too, which subsided in the following years after the asthma and polyps retreated.

And I tell myself,

In those days you envisioned yourself as a deer, able to run. Envisioning, even as you wheezed, gasping for air. And, eventually, you got well from all those symptoms. Some might say it's a miracle that you gained wellness. Not to mention that you were able to get your high levels of mercury down and able to get off long-term steroids. 

But it wasn't a miracle.
It was hard damn work, involving study, various medical and wellness approaches, soul searching, lots of journaling, endurance, science, a good integrative medical doctor, and more.

And I say to myself,

But you had youth on your side then. You got sick at 22. You were 39 when you suffered your last series of asthma attacks and your last hospitalization for asthma. You're now less than 2 years shy of 60. And you've added lots of wear and tear in the last seven years, probably accelerating the aging process. 

And I counter with,

When you got your high mercury levels down, the asthma abated. Maybe, maybe as you get your cobalt and chromium levels down, nerve damage will abate. But it will probably take years to gain back the muscle you've lost, if you can regain it. You don't have youth on your side now. 

~*~

Yes, there is denial.
Along with a dose of hopeful reality.

I'll probably breathe denial until my last breath, when I'll exhale the hopeful reality.

I wonder,

Is one's last breath an inhale, or an exhale?

I wrote a poem...

I posted it on my poetry blog, here: Tunnels.

At the time I penned the poem I was going through my "rougher" days that are typical before my routine neck injections or epidurals. I say "rougher" because most of my days are pretty rough compared to the average life of a relatively healthy 58-year old.

Does that make me sound like a "victim?"
Well so what.
I really don't care.

If I had cameras set up around my house I think folks would be astounded at the struggle it's been to live with widespread nerve damage.

There were a couple years where I literally couldn't lift my arms to comb my hair, except when I'd get relief for a few weeks after my epidurals and a couple weeks after my neck shots. Even then, I was limited and had to calculate my moves so as not to exasperate my biceps causing them to become more lame.

So how did I comb my hair? I would take my left arm and hand and place it under my right elbow. Using my left arm I'd lift my right arm and prop my right elbow on the bathroom counter. I'd bend at my waist and lean right to get low enough to prop my right elbow. Then I'd lean my head over to the right and clumsily comb my hair on the right side of my head. I'd then repeat similar (but with a slightly different procedure) for the left side.

And that was just combing my damn hair. Imagine all the other tasks one does in a day - bathing, dressing, feeding oneself, drinking from a glass (I always had to use a straw), etc. But, I could drive because there was no lifting involved. I could care for pets because, typically, minimal lifting was involved.

I could go on about more limitations, inabilities, and symptoms and how I barely managed the dysfunction in my legs, feet, ankles, fingers, hands, wrists, arms, neck, back, jaws, and swallowing - the pain, heaviness, weakness, slowness, tingling, numbness, bizarre sensations, lumps, fatigue, dizziness, brain-fog, gut issues, migraines, and blah, blah, blah. Not to mention the emotional turmoil.

Does that again make me sound like a victim?
Or that I think my suffering is unique among mammals?
If so, again, I really don't care.

Even though steroids (especially the injections) have provided significant temporary relief, lasting improvement didn't begin until after I added Charlotte's Web Hemp Extract to my daily regimen. That improvement has happened incrementally and plateaued at times, but it has been significant in comparison with the terrifying (and it was terrifying) direction I was headed prior to the Charlotte's Web.

I am well aware that others have it worse than I.
I helped care for my quadriplegic father for almost thirteen years.
Nerve damage doesn't get much worse than that.

~*~

Anyway, I wrote Tunnels on Monday, October 30th. I received my routine neck shots late that afternoon and got some relief by Monday night and into Tuesday. I was down again on Wednesday.

At my appointment on Monday, the neurologist and I discussed trying a new pattern with my daily maintenance prednisone to see if that will help with the almost constant fatigue and weakness since my August 30, 2016, revision hip replacement surgery [to replace my faulty hip implant that was leeching cobalt and chromium (which can contribute and even cause nerve damage)]. So I started that new prednisone pattern on Thursday, November 2nd. We'll see how it works for the long run in the coming weeks.

I realized in some recent communication with a good friend, that some folks may not realize that my neck shots are not for my neck, specifically. The steroid neck shots work systemically, similar to the steroid lumbar epidurals. But the neck shots don't work as deeply and don't last as long as the epidurals. [My nerve roots are swollen in my spinal lumbar and cervical (neck) regions causing symptoms in my upper and lower body, and in between. Because the nerve root inflammation is at my neck and lumbar regions, those are the points where I get my injections.]

The neurologist added the neck shots at some point after I began receiving epidurals in December, 2013. I would receive my neck injections the same day as my lumbar epidural. Then, later within a year or so, we added neck shots at the half-way point between my every twelve-week epidurals. We added the half-way neck shots to provide a steroid boost so I wouldn't have to increase my daily prednisone milligram dosage as high or for as long between epidurals. Since steroid injections have less side effects than oral steroids, the thinking is I can maybe hold at bay some of the prednisone side effects.

Since epidurals give more relief than the neck injections, why not just get another epidural at the half-way point? Because medical protocol/insurance only allows epidurals every twelve weeks, which is probably a good thing. I doubt puncturing the outer layer of the spinal cord every six weeks is good for a body. Not that every twelve weeks is "healthy" either, but it keeps me mobile.

My hands, neck, arms, jaws, widespread pain, and dizziness have improved since my August, 2016, surgery indicating that metal levels are coming down and that they may be playing a role in contributing to the nerve damage. The levels will be checked at the end of November. Then we'll know how much they have decreased since explanting the defective hip implant and replacing it with a (supposedly and hopefully) non-faulty one.

Maybe that's too much information.
I know it's repetitive of what I've already written about so many times.
But perhaps the few details above provide another glimpse in living with and managing polyradiculitis and widespread nerve damage, for any readers interested in such.

And to some, maybe it sounds like I'm stuck in a type of victimhood.
But I really don't care, at this point.
I get tired of bottling it up.
I get tired of trying to put my best foot forward.

My next epidural is December 11. It will be my 19th epidural since December, 2013.