Culture Shock!

Pretty severe.  The hospital was so clean and bright and caring and organized and clean and DELICIOUS food and an easy and effective method allowing the patient to choose the right foods for a diabetic.

Right before the surgery my Blood Glucose (BG) tested by a test called an A1C.  The short version is this test somehow measures the average BG in the blood over a three-month period.  Which, is a lot easier than testing it every month then, averaging out the value to arrive at a number.  Who designs these tests and how to do them?  Do the people who research this stuff have a mean streak?  Telling me I have a problem I did not even know of or want to know was not a very nice thing to do.  Even if it turns out to be a life saver.   Imagine my four-year-old self feet firmly apart and hands planted on my waist with a scowl on my face.

I have been “pre-Diabetic” for several years.  I admit I eat too many carbohydrates (sugar).  Sugar and fats are so GOOD even if slightly too much can be bad for some of us. (Still pouting.)  Preparing for the surgery required a full “work up” to see what other problems or issues might impact the surgery itself and healing.

I don’t know if it was stress or what.  But, my A1C was scary high.  Surgery delaying high.  I worked the week prior to surgery with an Endocrinologist to get the BG down.  Which, worked.

I am five days post-surgery.  I was transferred into a Skilled Nursing Facility (SNF).  Not the top choice.  But, I had been told it was a good place.  WRONG!!!!  I was brought over from the hospital to the SNF.  The SNF was aware I was coming in sometime Wednesday.  A bed was waiting for me Thursday.  The ride over in a wheel chair transport was difficult.  Watching the road as we were driving triggered vertigo in a big way.  I breathed hard and deep hoping to prevent giving into the nausea in my stomach. [Note:  The following sentence was written in a state of exhaustion before, I realized how bad I felt]  I Îfdv

The food in here is made for those with no taste, nor taste buds.  I have requested no “tomato products.”  Unless, a tomato is hidden in a Five Guys Cheeseburger (or other equally good burger) I really do not like tomatoes.  However, in this SNF, Jane, the Registered Dietician, tried to convince me that the reason I get tomatoes on EVERY SALAD EVERY DAY is because, the kitchen staff may not consider a “tomato” as a “tomato product.”  HUH???

Apparently, she mistook my incredulity as acceptance.  She was wrong and I was very clear in telling her so.  The kitchen is run by a Dietician Tech.  Supposedly, they have a “Chef” not just a “Cook”.  I do not believe that either.  Proof is in the over cooked tasteless mush we are fed.

I asked Jane (real name. I refuse to use a false name in complicity to cover up the problems.) if it were possible to “Blanch” (not Golden Girl, Blanche Devereaux the self-aware openly sexual woman) vegetables so they are not mushy.  Jane said there are patients that have trouble swallowing so overcooking helps them.  As does, she says, the gravy on nearly everything they serve.  Except for the “scrambled” baked eggs.  Which, are actually acceptable.  Good?  No.  But, good enough.

If the dietary team here considers itself acceptable they are WRONG!

Breakfast went fine.  So little to look forward to.  Lunch was so-so and dinner a disaster.  Though, Jane did come back to visit me this afternoon and I was able to show her the problem.  A shitty kitchen.

Most of the staff are pretty good to wonderful.  That is HUGE.  There is no such thing as modesty in a hospital or a skilled nursing facility.  Just spoke to an RN who confirmed that “half this floor are diabetic.”  She agreed that there is “no Diabetic Diet here.”  I knew that.  I told her what Jane had said about tomatoes and she was incredulous.  We laughed.  You know one of those I cannot believe this insanity and yet, here I am in the middle of it becoming more insane from it situations.  We both shook our heads and harrumphed as she left offering me any help I might need.

My BCG after refusing the “Salmon Noodle Casserole” and the two so-called “fruit juices” which, are not allowed on my food trays was 98.  That was because, I ordered a cheese tray and ate the Chevre a friend had brought me several days ago.  This is when my blood sugars are good.

Hell, even I do not believe I can eat better in here feeding myself than I can at home.

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Day 3 Post-SSCD Surgery

Thursday.  Surgery was Monday.  I am in very little pain.  I am still taking minimal pain meds to insure the pain stays at a low-to-zero pain.  I have found out that I cannot open my mouth to allow a large bite of salad.  I cannot turn my head too far to the right or left which, still leaves me with quite a large range of motion considering these limitations.

I spoke to my doctor about the limitations and pains regarding the right side of my head.  My surgeon pointed out that the large chewing muscle, the Transmastoid, was pulled, held out-of-the-way and he had to make a “small cut” to it.  No wonder it hurts in certain circumstances.  I am grateful I am able to move at all considering how intrusive the surgery was.

I feel I am getting incredible care from all hospital staff.  The Case Manager began looking into finding me a placement into a Skilled Nursing Facility.  Apparently, my first choice is unavailable.  Frowny face.  They are still looking into the next option.  I have no clue when I could find out what is happening and where I am going.  Lack of solid information and timing is, I believe, understandable.  That was my way of validating my anxiety.

I have found out I am not allowed, for good reason, to sneeze, cough, blow my nose, bend over, lift.  I found out the hard way about not blowing my nose.  Because, I had to yesterday afternoon.  BLOWING was an automatic response to a full nose from having cried for a short time.

BIG MISTAKE!  I was immediately sorry I had and scared about the repercussion of negative impact on the surgical procedure.  I was absolutely certain the right side of my head had just split apart and was flying at a massive speed across the room.  I called in a nurse to take a look into my ear.  Right, like she could see through my eardrum into the very inner workings of my ear where the surgery site is.  She was very kind in humoring me and said she found nothing.  Which, did make me feel better

I reported this event to my surgeon later that day.  He strongly reiterated the importance of NOT doing that again.  No more crying for me, then.  I don’t know about you but, when I cry my nose flows like a lake having just breached the dam.  It ain’t pretty like just dabbing a small tear at the corner of an eye. I am a gusher.

I do still hear my heartbeat in my ear.  It is a lot like a doppler effect.  The sound is cyclically louder then, quieter as if it were moving away from me.  I am not sure this particular issue is better or worse than before.  Hmm.

My blood glucose levels are reducing.  Whew.  Apparently, taking steroids commonly raises blood glucose levels requiring insulin shots.  My fingers are all dotted with little red marks from the many, many finger pricks for blood testing over these few days.  I do like the fact that diabetes insulin needles are very fine and are nearly imperceptible.  Especially, since I am getting them three to four times a day.  As the level of steroids are being reduced so are the blood glucose numbers reducing.  Monday through Wednesday morning the BCG numbers hit 385 then, in the high 200’s.  This morning the BCG was a completely normal 120.  Still getting intermediate acting insulin as long as I am still on the steroids.  But, I am being tapered down from the higher dosages to nothing by Saturday.

I am still taking a minimum dose of Oxycontin to make sure I do not have pain break through.  I will be glad to feel my outer ear again at some point.  Maybe the doppler scream will stop soon, as well.  Until, then, here I am.

Surprised how tired writing this has made me.  Hmmm, maybe it has something to do with the drugs.

Posted in Balance Imbalance, Disease, Medical, Personal, SSCD, Superior Semi-Circular Canal Dehisence | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

Post-Operation SSCD +

Sunday my friend, E, arranged a pre-operation luncheon for me with a large group of friends.  At first, I thought maybe half a dozen people, at most, would show up.  E picked me up to take me to the luncheon.  On the way we were talking about who was invited.  She told me that TWENTY RSVP’d.  TWENTY???  Really, did you say TWENTY?  At this point I am crying.  No kleenex, no napkins, no paper towels.  Whose cars do not have ANY of these things?   Especially, since she has two young grandsons who are normally messy.   I must say that I tried not to sniff the snot back into my nose.  Because, it makes me profoundly dizzy.  But, I HAD to.

I was truly shocked.  I had no idea so many people cared about me.  I can be a very prickly and frustrating person.  I know this about myself.  Yet, I cannot seem to be completely non-prickly and frustrating.  I believe I am better than years past.  I was SO glad to see everyone there.  It was heartwarming.  I was very happy these special people showed up to express their support of me.  For example, one man in attendance had jumped to help me out on the last day of my 30th round of radiation in 2013 when my son called me tearful and upset that my car would not run.  I cannot recall but, I think he had been hit from behind.  I had a very short time to make my last appointment.  So called L’s house to ask L1 if she could drive me.  She was very sorry but, was already on her way to an appointment she could not miss.  She handed the phone to L2 who said he would, without hesitation, come and pick me up and drive me.  I know how much my son wanted to be there with me as he had been throughout that previous incredibly difficult period in my life.  It was L2 who came to both myself and my son’s rescue then, was there today, too.

So many of these people have been important to my life in one way or another over the past 6-ish years.  I suppose in many ways we have each been there for one another good and not-so-good.  A two way path of life.

Today is one day post-op.  According to the surgeon the surgery went well.  He drilled into my transmastoid.  It is a low part of the skull just behind the ear.  I am doing well.  The pain is minimal.  Mostly.  As long as I have minimal pain medications.  I still have tinnitus.  I hope it will ultimately go away.  There is no guarantee. I look forward to learning how to walk unaided again.  I need to learn how to negotiate stairs.  The up stairs and especially the down.

A cut was made behind my ear where the ear cup ends and the head begins.  It will be a scar that will be unseen by anyone who does not already know the situation.  Very little hair had to be shaved.  Even though, looking closely at the stitches today, my daughter did not even realize the hair had been shaved.  The doctor used the bone dust from drilling (too gross?) into the skull bone and cartilage and mixed it with some waxy substance to plug the hole.  They call it “Bone Pate‘”.  How tasty.  Then, he cut a little slice of cartilage from the inside of the same ear (the Tragus)  to use as “surfacing” over the ˆBone Pate to make a solid separation between the pate’ filled hole and the covering of the brain.  Weird.  So friggin’ weird. This human body.

My son arrived from out-of-state yesterday about 45 minutes prior to my going into the operating room.  Many thanks to E.  She drove me to the hospital to check in. She then, turned around to go to the airport to pick him up and take him to my house.  He put his stuff down, jumped into my car, and drove up to the hospital.  Only getting lost once.  It is a confusing set of multiple medical office buildings, institutes, children’s hospitals, and the main hospital creatively constructed one upon the other in a very confusing campus.  THEN, E RETURNED to the hosipal (purposely misspelled) to sit with my son through the surgery.  Another friend, EM, came up to sit with them throughout, as well.

My son told me this that next morning and I had no recollection.  He and E were able to talk with me in Recovery.  I have NO memory of it.  I was pretty funny.  At least, that is what I hear.

My daughter was not able to get here until, late the night of surgery.  That is because, the surgery was originally scheduled for Tuesday.  Rationally, she purchased her tickets to arrive Monday night in order to be with me Tuesday.  Neither of us imagined I would get a call after that moving my surgery one day earlier.  That being Monday.  AND her flight was delayed by a couple of hours.

The kids were both here the next morning.  Travel, time, and worry weary but, here with me all day.  I was teary.  Clearly, still drugged and a bit funny.  They went to dinner with friends of theirs.  They are trying to see as many as they can in the limited time they are here outside of keeping me company.

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Does this mean he NUKE AMERICANS he does not like?   If so, say good-bye to the New York Times, Washington Post, AP, all REAL news agencies.

Surely, he would nuke Russia.  Well, no.  tRUMP would rather denigrate and ignore the USA Intelligence angencies in FAVOR OF PUTIN/RUSSIA.

I am about to throw up.

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tRUMP is a Dangerous ASS! (Mike Pence, too)

I think the title is pretty self-explanatory.  However, if you need more let me add that the though of him being one of the most POWERFUL MEN IN THE WORLD is consistenly nauseating.

Nothing he says can be relied upon.  Because, everything that comes out of his mouth (interchangeable with his RUMP) he so easily contravenes with another statement on the same subject.  He is the biggest BULLY I have ever encountered.

I am confused how tRUMP

He claims he is a “germaphobe” therefore, Russia could not possibly have videoed him having a Golden Shower Party with hookers.  His claims as to why this is not possible is NOT that he LOVES his WIFE or has ANY ETHICS at all but, claims he is a “germaphobe”.  Right.  If that were true he wouldn’t have a looooonnnnggg history of “grabbing pussy” and kissing women he doesn’t even know and without their permission.  Yeah, you are a germaphobe of the least kind.

As to his claiming that he would not have done the whole hooker thing because, “you know” every hotel has cameras in “EVERY ROOM”.   THEN, EVERY ONE WHO HAS EVER STAYED AT ANY tRUMP PROPERTY CAN SUE HIM FOR INVASION OF PRIVACY.  He did just ADMIT TO INVASION OF PRIVACY IN ALL OF HIS HOTEL.  If and, I hope when, he gets sued for this he will have his own words as testimony against him.  (I can only hope.)

There are so many illegal and immoral actions and statements made by this Orange fake tanned white raccoon eyed weird mouthed megalomaniac tRUMP.  He refuses to live in the “PEOPLE’S HOUSE” THE WHITE HOUSE as a perfect way for him to hide even more of his business dealings.  He refuses to be transparent about anything.

tRUMP ran only to improve his business dealings and stuff his likely empty coffers.  What am I talking about?  Why his refusal to release his tax returns though, insisting it of others including, his own proposed Cabinet picks.


There are so many reasons this ASS must NOT serve as POTUS.  Don’t think Mike Pence is any better.  Between the two of these men the hatered for womBen and people of color, children, and health care is frighteningly nauseating.

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Check out @kharyp’s Tweet:

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Medical Whack-a-Mole

I always think that creating a Title for my posts is the most difficult part of creating any of my posts.  That is my thought each and every time I approach one of these ideas I want to write about.  Should the Title come from a sentence that presents itself within the body of the particular post I am writing?  Does the Title have to be unrelated to any specific sentence I write?  Somehow, I figure it out.  Whether my Titles are good, descriptive, silly, serious or whatever.

On to the real matter of this particular post.  My health.  Actually, my lack of it.  Yet, again. Gigantic sigh and sense of confused frustration.  There is no “Why me?”  There is plenty of “Again?!?”  

Just when I think I am doing relatively okay BANG it happens again.  It.  What is it.  The why is clear.  It just is.  I often talk to my friends about the fact that I should have been put on an ice floe and pushed out into the frozen salt seas of the North long, long ago.  I would have had we not, as a people, had and used the brains some power greater than ourselves set in motion for us to create.  Medicine is an incredibly wide and varied field of helping humans to stay alive long past when many of us should have been culled from the herd by the wolves of cancer, or the lions of the desert tracking the weak from the herd and taking them out of the gene pool.

Yet, again, I am at the back of the herd.  The scene in my head really is graphically vivid of how my human herd is moving from place to place being stealthily tracked by cancer wolves, heart disease lioness hunting for her pack, the yellowish white polar bear with huge paws flopping forward as her long claws grabbing crusted snow and hollow fur strands with her incredible senses of smell and of hearing the smallest sound of illness she pounces into the snow of my body, diving head first to attack and remove that creature from the deep snow with nothing more than her slavering jaws. Leaving blood and strands of muscle and sinew strewn about bright against the white pallet of crusted snow.

Weird,  I suppose I live in the appropriate place for “Keeping Portland Weird.”  My medical history is nothing if not filled with “weird” sets of poor health.  So far, lucky for me, doctors, therapists, mental health counselors, nurses, administrative staff have managed to keep me alive.

Q:  Why am I being kept alive and why do I fight so hard to be sure I am able to continue in this life?

A:  Dunno exactly.  But, it seems to be a requirement put upon me by society that I must seek out the diagnoses for the issues impacting my quality of life and take advantage of all medical applications to repair, correct, remove, replace those bits and shreds of my physical being to continue.  Continue.  Continue.

I emailed my Rabbi to tell her of my newest condition. Her response to me was sincere and supportive.  She expressed that she felt like I was playing a game of “medical Whack-A-Mole.”   So, true.

Getting back to “weird”.  When I was thirteen years-old I was afflicted by Slipped Capital Femoral Epiphysis, bi-laterally.  This was a disease that NO ONE I KNOW had ever known or heard of.  Even as I grew older and lived around the USA I only came across ONE person who had this same disease.  Weird, right?  Yeah. Weird.

I was attacked by Strep Throat, from as early as I can recall, a couple of times a year until, I was an adult and it slowed to once a year through my twenties waning over three more decades to every other year on to almost never.  Running a fever of 104 or 105 for days at a stretch was horrid!  My sisters and brother lived in the swimming pool every summer right along with me throughout our young lives.  I got “swimmer’s ear” a couple of times a summer.  That hurt my ears so much.  Finally, my pediatrician told Mom to have me put two drops of rubbing alcohol into each ear for a second or so then, tip my ear to allow it to drain out along with all the water to stop the growth of bacteria that caused sharp, constant, stabbing pin-point pain of Swimmer’s Ear.  It worked.  I continue do this today.  I do not recall my siblings ever getting this.  But, as a kid I was pretty self-involved and not more broadly aware of my siblings issues and problems.  So many things.

Anal Cancer.  Seriously, that was weird.  It was weird timing or maybe provident that my doctor happened to notice it had been a long time since I had a colonoscopy.  So, let’s get that done.  Ok.  FOUND – Anal Cancer.  Or was it Rectal?  It was right on the “Pectinate Line (also known as the Dentate or Mucocutaneous Line)” Line making it very hard for weeks to determine whether it was a “line foul” or inside the court of Anal.  Weird.

A week or so ago I was diagnosed with another really weird thing.  I went to the Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor because, I have been experiencing long-term hearing and pressure problems in my right ear.  I figured it was just collapsed eustachian tubes.  I have had this before.  As an adult.  Usually, it is children who need to have tubes installed into their eardrums.  The eardrum eventually grows closed and squeezes the tube out in about six months.  I should have gone back when the symptoms came on again.  But, I did not.

So, for the past decade or more I have continued to have hearing problems.  My sense of hearing has been reduced and I have am nearly always dizzy (which, I felt when my eustachian tubes had collapsed.).  Over the past decade or so, it has been getting worse.  The sound of my own voice resounds inside my head.  There are certain tones within my own voice that causes me to become so dizzy it instantaneously makes me nauseated.  Like motion sickness.  I NEVER experience motion sickness.  I would see my husband (now ex), my daughter especially, and sometimes my son contending with Motion Sickness.  But, not me.  NEVER.  Which, made this reaction to the sound of my own voice so much more completely weird.

I decided I had to do something about this.  I finally made the appointment to see the ENT.  Prior to seeing the Doctor I was given a hearing test.  You know, the test that requires you to be in a silent area or sound proofed room and they put headphones on your ears and instruct you, “Please, raise your hand every time you hear a tone.  No matter how low or soft the sound.”  I step into the booth and accept the headphones and agree to follow instructions.  The test starts and I hear a tone and raise my hand.  Another tone. Another hand raise.  At one point I heard a tone that made me so dizzy I called out, “Oh MY GOD!  That tone made me so dizzy and nauseated.”  The audiologist asked me over the speaker, “Are you ok?”  I responded, “Yes, it was just that tone that affected me.  It happens a lot.”  Then, I thought to myself how weird that was and said to her, “Was I not supposed to say that?”  She said, “No.  You were absolutely supposed to tell me that.”  So, we continued the test to its end.

After the audiologist I immediately saw the Doctor.  He asked me about the tone.  I explained to him some of my symptoms including, the response I had to that tone and to certain other tones and even my own voice affecting me so seriously.  He was very intent on the results of the audiologist’s test results.  The doctor was asking me questions about the rest of my body and whether I had other dizzy “spells” or did I feel my balance was good.  “No.  It has not been for YEARS.  I stumble, and trip, and loose my balance and fall to one side or the other.”  I can drive just fine.  I have become very capable of managing my dizziness while driving.  When I chew the sound is intense.  When I hear the sounds of emergency vehicles coming closer I have to put my hands over my ears.  Because, the sound actually hurts as well, as making me dizzy.  The Doctor explained that my symptoms could be indicative of either Meniere’s Disease or “something else.”  He wanted me to have a CT Scan of my “Orbits”.  I was familiar with Meunier’s Disease.  But, nothing else that has these same symptoms.

His office arranged the CT Scan and I attended.  I lay on the narrow table with my head tilted slightly back.  Trying not to move.  Kind of hard when you have ADD and restless body syndrome.  Even swallowing was to be kept to a minimum.  It took about 15 minutes and I was done.  I left not yet, knowing what was or was not found.

About four or five days later weekend included, the Doctor contacted me.  He received the results of the CT Scan.  He said it found that I have Superior Semi-Circular Dehiscence Disease. also, know as SSCD.  What the F!?!!?!!? is SSCD?  He explained to me it means that there are holes in my skull.  TWO HOLES IN MY HEAD!!!!!! WTF??!?????!? 

He explained that the CT Scan showed that bone is missing from part of the skull and bones of the ear structure above the Superior Semi-Circular Canal.  MyheartisracingandmybloodispoundinginmyearsandIamshakingandconfusedandstartingtoFREAKTHEFUCKOUT!!!!!

When he started going over my symptoms and the common symptoms of SSCD it was clear to me, as well, that this diagnosis made perfect sense.  The symptoms typically are as follows:

“***vertigo and oscillopsia (the apparent motion of objects that are known to be stationary) evoked by loud noises and/or by maneuvers that change middle-ear or intracranial pressure (such as coughing, sneezing, or straining). Auditory manifestations of the syndrome include autophony (increased resonance of one’s own voice), hypersensitivity to bone-conducted sounds, and an apparent conductive hearing loss revealed on audiometry. Some patients have exclusively vestibular symptoms and signs; some have both auditory and vestibular manifestations; and still other patients have exclusively auditory complaints.***” AND

I have developed nystagmus and become quite unbalanced, confused, unable to focus, or read (for about 7 years now), loss of brain function leading to inability to find the right word or make complete and often incomprehensible sentences.  Some people can hear their heartbeat loudly inside their ears, or the sound of every foot-fall.  Some even hear their eyes moving!  I hear my breath.  Every breath. All the time.  I have become use to these symptoms.  It has been going on so long I have learned to ignore or accept as normal these sounds within my daily life.  I have loss of hearing. And Tinnitus.

There was a time many years ago when I noticed I was losing the ability to find and speak the correct word.  It was more than it being, “on the tip of my tongue.”  It was running round inside my brain and no matter how fast or hard I chased it I could not catch up to it.  I could see the word or phrase but, was unable to grab and hold it.  Funny or let’s be honest, weirdly, I can describe the peripherals of the idea or word or phrase I want to speak.  The most recent and evident episode was my inability to find the word “Sasquatch”.  I was able to describe “hairy, human-like creature that lives in the woods or in the cold, but, no one has ever actually seen one.”  One of my friends was able to finally give me the word I was looking for.  “Sasquatch!  YES, THAT’S IT!”  I nearly cried.

Because, of these symptoms I went to my primary physician and told her I was afraid I was exhibiting symptoms of Alzheimer’s Disease.  We talked about what I thought were my symptoms.  Then, she drew a circle on a piece of white paper and a dot in the middle.  No numbers or dashes showing the hours.  She handed me the paper and asked me to create the hands of a clock showing the time of 10:25.  I drew the short hand pointing to the hour of ten and then, I drew the long minute-hand at 25.  She took back the paper and said somewhat reassuringly and emphatically to me, “You do NOT have Alzheimer’s.”  I thought that was an incredibly and far too easy test to be able to diagnose that I do NOT have Alzheimer’s Disease. So, I asked her to explain it to me.  She told me, “People with Alzheimer’s lose the ability to correctly place the hands of the clock.  Their spatial sense of the world has changed and they simply cannot correctly draw straight lines, nor place them correctly in correlation to the circle and the dot and the loss of knowing where the numbers go.”  I was so relieved I cried.  I realized, as I often do, I had been holding my breath throughout this episode and only exhaled when she said, “do not have.”  It was liberating and weird because, I was still at a loss to find the correct word to put into the spoken sentence or phrase when in conversation.

Why we both went no further with that I do not recall.  Maybe we just attributed it to my having one femur longer than the other.  Which ultimately turned out to be a proprioception problem revealing the femur’s were nearly exactly the same length.  Weird.  I told you I get all the weird medical problems.  Since 2005 I believed I needed to have a one-inch lift installed onto the sole of every left shoe I bought.  That was incredibly expensive.  I left feeling much better.  But, the symptoms only got worse with the addition of the rest of the vestibular problems.  This was finally determined to be a proprioception problem.  A WHAT!?!?!??  Never heard that word before.  Actually, nearly zero of my friends had a clue.  It felt quite strange to tell people what I thought I needed for a decade I only thought I needed.  But, did not.  Though, after a life-time of walking badly and incorrectly I developed scoliosis.  Weird.

I have been completely FREAKED OUT about the concept that I will require  two BRAIN SURGERIES!

I talked by phone with my oldest sister the other day.  I told her about this new diagnosis of SSCD which, I had never before knew existed.  She exclaimed to me, “You get THEE weirdest things.  I wonder why?”  Yeah.  Me, too.

Just when I think one mole in the game has been smacked down another pops its head up in another place or sometimes in the same place.  It is a game I cannot win.  But, I keep playing.

Posted in Balance Imbalance, Disease, Home, Medical, Personal, SSCD, Superior Semi-Circular Canal Dehisence, vestibular | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Drug Addiction Claims Another One

I do not understand how a person becomes addicted to drugs.  It seems like it is obvious how instantly damaging it is to yourself.  Then, I realize it is not unlike my addiction to food.  One huge difference is that I really MUST use food several times a day.  That same reality is not true of drug addiction.  At least, not in my reality.

Getting high in high school and college was fun.  It was only sporadic recreational use for me.  I never used any needle drug.  I did take things like “White Cross speed” which, quickly gave me an M80 of a headache.  I remember being sure my skull would split down the center letting my brains be exposed before the grey matter began to slide outside of the now broken brain case.  Within an hour of taking the speed I was exhausted and had to go to bed and sleep it off.  The friends I was trying speed with were all high and fast and loud and incredulous that I had a headache and WORSE had to go to sleep.  I have to admit I was rather shocked at my physical response to the drug.  It was not a lot, one pill maybe, two.  Either way, my expectation was to have the same experience as my friends.  Nope.  Just went to bed and slept it off.

This reaction was a HUGE surprise to all of us.  This made me sure I was not ever going to be a drug addict.  It just was not fun.  Now, I did take some other pills recreationally.  I had a friend, “J”, who was a dealer.  For the longest time I did not know that.  I just figured his was the safest place to be when experimenting with “uppers“and “downers”.  He had them.  I accepted them when offered.  We had none drug times we just hung out with a group of his friends and one cousin.  They were Morroccan Jews.  As I recall his cousin grew up there.  Only moving to America in his late teens.  I felt close to his girlfriend, “E”.  We talked about so many subjects.  There was only one time we were high that I was confused and seriously uncomfortable but, I did not know how to extricate myself from the situation.  So, I turned away until, it was over.  We never spoke of it.  Not one word.  Maybe we were all embarrassed.

It was at J’s I tried cocaine.  In my body it reacted very differently than everyone else I have EVER known.  Again, like the speed it just made me tired.  I tried coke a couple of times.  Once or twice by itself and once while high on weed.  STILL nothing.  They were all high and chatty and goofy and nonsensical much of the time.  I just wanted to go to sleep.  It wasn’t really just a “want” the drugs forced me to NEED sleep.

People would talk about how they felt on speed and cocaine.  I just did not understand it.  My friends were absolutely shocked that I would need to sleep off something that would, did, and was always reputed to make you happy and speedy (ergo “speed”) and able to stay up for two to three days at a go.  I could do the staying awake two to three days.  Without these drugs.

Since, the “uppers” did not work it seemed logical to try “downers”.  NOW, I understood how my friends felt on “uppers”.  My reaction to these drugs was completely antithetical to everyone’s understanding about the effect these drugs have on a person.

There was one time I went dancing my then, boyfriend, “G” and a group of friends and co-workers.  They were using or “doing” speed.  I however, decided to use Valium.  Blue.  If I recall correctly, blue Valium were 10 mg each.  I could not stop dancing all night.  I did not feel high enough (enough?) or as high as my group.  I took a couple more of the Valium.  Since, I wanted to stay awake and party all day and night I kept taking the Blues.  At some point my boyfriend asked me how many Blues I had taken.  I think we were on the dance floor at the time.  I had NO knowledge of the medicinal power and correct usage by official medical professionals.  I thought about it trying to recall how many Blue Valium I took that evening and night.  “8”.  That was my answer, eight.  He was, at first, shocked and then, he was afraid I would overdose.  In my happy, enjoyment, energetic response to him was, “What do you mean?”  He explained in a rather scared voice and worry on his face that I ought to be dead after taking that much.  That made me think “HOLY SHIT!  I ought to be dead???  But, it felt so fun. Ahhh, THAT is where the addiction would have started had I been that type of person.  Had that type of personality?  That just was not me.  I HEARD what G said.  I respected him and totally trusted him.  He wanted us to have fun augmented by our recreational pill-taking drugs.  G was only concerned for my LIFE!  My  LIFE??  What I heard from him was that I really could have DIED!?!?!?!  END.  STOP.  CEASE.  CONCLUDE.  DISCONTINUE.

Shortly thereafter recreational drugs stopped being, “Cool.  Hip.  Fun.” ” Besides, everyone is doing them.”  I got it.  I did not want to die.  NOTE:  Weed not included.  You cannot die from Marijuana.  Even children who have accidentally eaten weed infused foods we now, call “edibles” or for medical purposes, “MEDibles.”

I did not then, nor have I EVER used injectable drugs.  Well, unless you consider the medical requirement to have chemo-therapy drugs directly pumped into a “port” that had been implanted inside my left upper chest with a rubber tube inserted into my subclavian vein under my collarbone.  NOTE:  Cancer FREE since, December 2013.  YAY!

Moving on…  I suppose had the message of imminent death message having travelled along a different synaptic pathway or singular nerve impulse my brain might not have acknowledged and accepted that the pills I took that night and those before.  Maybe drug addiction really is that simple.  There may be another set of synapses, for example, different eye colors in siblings, those synapses are minute.  Maybe, impulse control sectors of an addicts brain does not exist or it is weaker or damaged in some way.  Is that a mental illness, a disease, like a cold, or cancer?

Addiction, I always hoped, was far from me and my family.  Unfortunately, that was not the case.  Even as a child I knew that over using prescription drugs could be deadly.  I know this because, those prescribed drugs my mother used were purposely over used.  She nearly died.  Had my little brother and I not found Mom on her back on the floor of her bedroom, wearing a thin cotton nightgown.  If my other sisters were there or Dad I have no recollection of.  I only recall myself and my brother screaming at Mom and trying to wake her up.  Hard.  I think Dad heard us crying and screaming and ran upstairs moved us away and tried himself to wake her.  Someone called for the ambulance.  They came.  Without regard to her privacy or modesty they put her on a gurney and carried her down the stairs.  Her nightgown had been pulled up to her waist by all the movement of her body.  She had no underwear on.  Like you or I do today, our neighbors heard the sirens, saw the emergency lights and came out to find out what happened.  They saw my Mom’s mons pubis and fat tummy.  I kept trying to follow mom on the gurney and pull her nightgown down.  I recall yelling at the EMT’s, “Pull her nightgown down.”  Many times.  I was maybe, eight.  That would not be the last time she would make that same failed attempt.

So, why was I surprised that my younger Brother, Daniel, became addicted to drugs.  It started in his early teens.  After our Father died when he was approximately nine.  Mom could not, in her state of pre-existing mental illness, act in his best interest.  Not that I did not try to get her to see what was going on.  That was my failure.  There is no way to know if Daniel might have been successful in reaching his personal goals had he not become addicted to stronger and stronger drugs.  Cocaine was his undoing.  Crack. Mix that with his own mental illness of Bi-Polar Disorder with some other kind of psychiatric aspect diagnosis.

Accepting one’s mental illness is really difficult.  But, after multiple stays at drug rehabilitation centers, he finally acknowledged he was not really fully in control of his life. I feel somewhat guilty about Daniel’s life because, there may have been something I could have done differently.  However, I was still a kid with plenty of emotional issues about loosing my Dad and Mom’s inability to function for quite a while.  Though, as an adult I never lived near my nuclear family.  In fact, I lived in Alaska.  Over the phone I would talk with mom and my sisters.  Often, I heard of Daniel’s drug addiction screwing up his life.  He had the most amazing intellect.  I believe his intellect was on par if not better than our Dad’s.  Dad had been an attorney.

I never questioned that Mom and my sister’s loved Daniel.  It is how they expressed that love.  I regularly advocated for Mom and my sister’s to stop rescuing him.  I believe that often their form of rescuing was enabling him.  Making it easier for him.  Easier to pay off his creditors, living with one sister, and with Mom.  I was in the other camp.  Let him fucking hit bottom already.  Maybe, that would make a positive difference in his life.  Daniel got very angry with me when I told him I would not enable him in any way.  No, he could not live with me.  He could not borrow money from me.  He could drive my kids.  Are you KIDDING ME!?!?!!!?!?  Why the fuck would I allow a drug addict, who may be high, on who knows what, to drive my two toddlers ANYWHERE!  Not even when they got into their early teens.  At some point the kids chose to go in the car with Uncle D.  Without my permission or knowledge.

That was part of the dichotomy of Daniel’s personality.  He was very loving with children.  And a lot of fun, too.  He could and would laugh with them and play with all of his nieces and nephews.  They LOVED their Uncle D.  My kids were not regularly exposed to him.

Because, we lived so far away it was only once every year or two their father and I would go home to visit families.  I always wanted to make sure my kids felt like they were a part of a larger family than just the four of us.  Yeah, I know:  If my family was so problematic why did I want my kids to know this?  I guess, because, it was where both their father and myself came from.  Might make more sense to them as they get older.  Or not.  Anyway, both myself and my ex-husband grew up not far from one another.

My kids did get to know their cousins and their Babba and their aunts and uncle.   Cousins most important of all.  I wanted my kids to have different (I hope better) relationships with my sisters and brother, our Mom and my aunts and uncles.  I was successful in this.  They do know and deeply love and are loved by their cousins.  Even with all of our mishegash.(Yiddish=problems, nutty)

Daniel graduated from college with a Bachelor’s in Economy.  He was so bright he applied to and attended Duke University to add a Juris Doctorate to his credit.  He started.  He made it through one maybe two semesters (Sister’s you may correct my timelines if wrong.)

Drugs did it again.  The multitude of drugs he would try and choose at any time always, seem to have been with the cocaine, in all its forms, as the base of it all.  Yet, another diversion fr0m his desired path.

At some point he lived in Berkeley.  Talk about an easy place to find any drug you want.  And he did.  He worked at some point at a cab driver.  Talk about the most convenient method of finding and buying drugs.  He was in Oakland when the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake hit.  His apartment building was ok.  He told me he was close enough to smell the deaths of so many caught on the Cypress Street Viaduct (Nimitz Freeway) when the upper level collapsed downward directly onto the lower level.  The tragedy was very difficult for the World but, so much more for those who lost their friends and loved ones there.  There was also an immediate and then, long term pain for those who lived nearest.  The scent of human bodies decaying in such numbers must have been the worst thing First Responders experienced approaching the bridge.  The damage and scent spread to the immediate neighborhoods becoming weaker as the wind dissipated it.  Not before my Brother decided to move.

Daniel then, was accepted into a program as Southern Illinois University, Edwardsville.  I believe he studied Bio-Chemistry here.  At least, until, he let the drugs push him off the rational path.  It was at SIU-E he successfully worked on a ground breaking study of frogs and how their physical ability to jump worked.  He joked he was named in the Credits.  Unfortunately, he was cited as “Others”.  The research paper was originally published in a highly regarded Nature magazine (see below), Landing in Basal Frogs: Evidence of Saltational Patterns in the Evolution of  Anuran Locomotion, appeared on the cover of a prominent nature magazine Natur Wissenschaften.  This research was republished in magazines and had TV segments devoted to the new research around the WORLD in some of the following magazines and several YouTube videos. (see below)


I think we all thought this was finally going to be THE thing that will put him straight.  We were all wrong again.  I believe he was living with our Mother at this time.

And then, he got high.  (Afroman)

He worked on and off in St. Louis.  He had many friends.  His dog Shimone was his Best Friend for the last 15 years.  Sadly, Shimone had a brain tumor.  Daniel fought to do everything possible to extend his life.  Until, there was nothing left he could do and Shimone was euthanized.  That shook him to the core.

My Brother, when I spoke to him just after our niece’s wedding in Austin, TX, not more than a few weeks after Shimone died, sounded depressed that he was unable to make it to her weddding.  I sent him photos and videos.

I have no idea how much more depressed Daniel was from Shimone’s death to be compounded by his inability to attend one of his niece’s wedding.  We all wish he had been there.  Sober.

Daniel worked as a Peer Counselor at a local hospital in their rehab center.  He used once while in this position.  Yet, they did not fire him.  This boggles my mind.  How can an active user be counseling other addicts as a Peer who made it through?  I will never know.

The next time he used was his last.

Daniel died June 20, 2016.  His heart stopped.  Next to him the police told my oldest sister was a very small plastic bag with “white powder” in it.  They declined to test it.

CPR was performed on him by his roommate and best friend and neighbor from the time he was found until, the EMT’s arrived.  The EMT’s then, took over.  After trying to resuscitate him for the ethical and regulated amount of time.

Daniel appeared to have had a massive heart attack. I remember being told that at some time we learned that Daniel had called another NA or AA person.  My recollection is that Daniel called because, he was too high and was considering getting or taking Heroin to come down.  His friend convinced Daniel to go home and go to bed.


Daniel had called because, he was “too high” is that code for overdosing??

If not it should be.  We do not know whether he actually did ger and use Heroin.  In my whole life with my brother it NEVER occurred to me he would use Heroin.  Or anything else.

Daniel  DIED!  

Daniel’s addiction won.  Daniel LOST HE DIED

His torment is over.  Our hearts broke.

His friend of 20 years and trusted Rabbi eulogized Daniel.  It was clearly difficult for Rabbi to eulogize someone he loved, alternately angry with and so much more.  Rabbi said so many true things.  Daniel could piss you off as fast as he could “insinuate himself back into your life without ever having to say he was sorry.”

Rabbi gave, IMHO, a true and honest and conflicted and violent and loving and dedicated and frightening about the man who was all of these things.

Goodbye, Daniel.
Drug addiction claims another one.

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January 21st Wrist

De Quervain’s syndrome.  Or is it a disorder.  Actually it is tendonsynovitis, tendonosis, tendonitis and just a completely painful thumb.  Oh, and longitudinal tears in those three tendons.  All of this just in my thumb.  And wrist and up my forearm.

Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.  Same damn wrist.

Deep Ganglion or Pully Cyst in the SAME wrist.   All of this per, at last, MRI.

I read the MRI report and actually highlighted the the parts of the report that state the specific problems.  I showed the report to my Chinese Doctor/Accupuncturist friend.  She helped me process the realities of tge report.  Validation.  Apparently, that is what I needed.  Validation.  You might have thought the MEI report alone would be valudating enough.  Or the surgeon discussing the results with me.  Nope I needed my friend to see it and talk with me about the problems.

I have been working throughout all of 2015 to determine the problems in my wrist and Hyperparathyroidism.  Funny this ailment is an “ism” and not a disorder or syndrome or itis or osis.  Took many tests to find the offending gland.  It was impossible to find.  At least, finding it where it belonged was impossible.  Because, the parathyroid gland was not in the neck where it belongs.  Oh, no, not me.  My offending parathyroid gland is no where near my neck.  My offending parathyroid gland is in my chest.  Seriously, my chest!  It was finally found snuggled up against my AORTA.  Fortunately, the cardio thoracic surgeon said it will not be a difficult surgery to remove.  Not for him anyway. He assured me there is, for now, no negative effect to my aorta.  Not even when the time comes for that surgery.

The most current surgery is on/in my right wrist.  Surgery is on the 21st.  Yep.  Tomorrow.  The surgeon said I will be in surgery for an hour.  If all goes well.

I will share that I have a recurring frightening vision.  I see myself laying on a cold surgery table with my arm spread out away from my body under stainless steel hooded bright light.  Lotsvif people standing around me wearing mushroom button top hair cap and comfy looking  ‘scrubs’.  I see my surgeon pressing a paring knife into my skin.  Suddenly, my thoughts are transpirted into the cartoon realm.  I see my hand pop off my arm.  Like a singular tiny explosion that makes no ucky shredded skin.  My hand pops off like a bullet and looks like Addams Family servant “Thing”.  AAAAHHHHHH!?!!!

I have friends driving me to and picking me up from surgical center to return my heavily drugged ass home.

The part of the surgery that concerns me most is the De Quervain’s release.  This surgery has a “cure” rate of 75%.  I totally hope I am in that larger group.  Because, having no hope but, to have to live with the intense pain in my thumb is scary.  It makes it hard/painful simply picking up a dinner (or breakfast or lunch or snack) plate.  The pain increase of that function causes me to rather, has cased me to drop plates or endure the pain.  I use two hands to pick things up.

So, cross your fingers for me tomorrow and say plenty of mishabayrakhs.  May my surgery be completely successful.

And thanks for your good wishes.

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Terrible Parent Award

(Should have been posted in 2014)

A friend and I had scheduled over a week ago to go to lunch today.  I picked her up at her house.  As usual we took her car.  I drove.  She does have a nicer car than I do.  It is also cleaner.  She has no little dog to shed on the seats. Dusty and cluttered with so many canvas and recyclable plastic bags used so many times and ready to be used so many times more.

We went to lunch.  I had a desire for Indian food.  So, that is what we did.  Agreed on a good Indian restaurant.  Better, it was an all you can eat buffet.  I figure with as much Palak Paneer as I ate I will be shitting easily for days.  We always enjoy each others companionship and experiences.  We talk about our children and her grand children, of friends now and past.

She needed some things from a store that carries some items that are found in no other.  A special brand of orange marmalade, and some PG Tips tea, and special Digestives.  She was born and raised in Great Brittain, married an Israeli, lived in Israel, and moved to America 50 years ago.  She has remarkable memories.  We talk easily and openly.  I am glad she is my friend.  Moreover, I am lucky to be included in her circles of friends.

While at lunch I confided that it has gotten increasingly difficult to even open a jug of milk.  She suggested we look for a certain tool she thought she had seen at the store she was getting her special items from.  So, we looked.  Nothing.  Not that I was too surprised.  I imagined we might be able to find something at the specialty kitchen store.  That is where we went next.  As we approached it I realized she was a bit tired.  There were two bright red chairs and matching table just outside the store.  We sat and talked regrouping from an incredibly filling lunch and long wander through the first store.

As we were sitting there a young woman got into a van and tried to pull out of the parallel parking space.  She backed up turning her tires to move the vehicle out of the spot.  She realized there was not quite enough room.  Something we have all done hundreds of time.  The vehicle was backed up again with the front tires not turned outward.  She slowly managed the vehicle out of the spot.  CRUNCH.  Her right front bumper crumbled.  It was clear the driver became flustered.  Instead of continuing out of the space or realigning the vehicle she pulled back into the space just as she went out.  The sounds of plastic and metal like a stiff wad of aluminum foil being compressed in your hands before throwing it into the recycle pile.

She sat in her car for a few moments in which I wondered whether she would try to drive away without leaving her info on the car she rubbed up hard against.  There were a couple of white haired men sitting directly in line of sight of the rear bumper and front bumper of the two vehicles.

The young woman got out of her car after a few moments.  I imagine had it been me I would have had so much adrenaline running through me I would be shaking and upbraiding myself for making such a tactical error.  Our eyes were all affixed to the damage.  Then, a very pretty young woman gets out of the driver side of the white offending vehicle.  It is funny, it only just occurred to me that the young woman’s vehicle was white and the other was black.

You would think the reverse would be more likely (putting aside the historical racial meaning of black vs. white.  Which, I was not at all aware of until, I was an old adult.  It is a reference to good and bad that is deeply ingrained in society.  I am not sure how else to put this metaphor.  Orange Blossoms vs. Purple Lavender just does not make the same ingrained impact on the public conscience.) It is not as if the vehicle that got hit had any culpability whatsoever.  Ultimately, you may see that the metaphor actually fits.

The young woman got out of her car.  She came around the back of her vehicle approached her own front bumper.  She surveyed the damage.  The entire right front quarter panel of her white vehicle was fully crumpled inward nearly onto the right front tire.  It appeared to me that as soon as she saw the damage to her own vehicle it overwhelmed her.  She took a step back.  Looked at it from a distance.  Shaking her head.  Stepped forward to see it a little closer, moved her head to one side to take another angle on the view.  Stepped back.  Walked to the back door of her vehicle and bashed her forhead against the rear right door window.  Hard.  Then, she did it again.  Looking a bit dazed (who wouldn’t be) she got into the right passenger seat.  She closed the door.  All the windows of her vehicle were darkly tinted.

It was hard to see her.  I became very concerned the first time she banged her head on the rear window.  Only more so the second.  Then, through the glass darkly I see her long wavy hair flying in a manner that frightened me.  It was clear to me she was banging her head on the dashboard.  I told my friend, “I have to do something.  I need to get her out of there.”  How did I know she needed more help?  Why didn’t the men and woman who were closer to her do nothing.  Nothing at all. I think they were so shocked that it essentially froze the.  Even my friend did not know how to react.  How then, did I know?

I went to her door, opened it, and asked her to please get out.  I told her, “I cannot let you hurt yourself.”  She insisted I let her.  I gently took hold of her hand.  I asked her to look at me which, when emotionally strained is very difficult, so my asking her to “Breath.  Slow your breathing.  Pay attention to your breath. S-l-o-w breath i-n and Come on you have to let that last one out.”  She did in a rush and just as quickly gasp, her next sob inward.  After a couple of minutes her breathing came a little more under her control.  I gently took hold of her right arm and asked her to get out of the car and come with me.  Like an infant who has cried itself exhausted, she limply came with me.  Her entire body was vibrating with anger and anxiety.  I put her in the red chair I was sitting in a moment ago.  She had the longest eyelashes I may have ever seen.  Natural.  She was crying so, hard her mascara and eye liner were being turned into nearly matching dark rivers running down on her cheeks.

The full-body-vibrating continued.  Her breathing and sobbing were ramping up again.  She was calling herself the most horrible person on the planet and wished she were dead.  She was clearly expressing such total and complete self-hatered it was painfully sad to hear.  I had to help.  What else could I do?  If I had let her alone it was even more clear to me now that she was very self-destructive. While walking her the short distance from her vehicle to the red chair I noticed her arm.  There, on her upper and lower arm, were long horizontal scars on the outside like the strands of a fashionable t-shirt whose fabric had been purposely sliced many times with a sharp razor horiztonally to allow strands of fabric to fall separately while, still fully attached at either side to to the t-shirt.  Only her arms were not fabric.  Yet, the blade edge that sliced her arm each time had been equally effective.  The strands of thick banded scars she will wear forever.

I observed or felt or just knew she was in deep emotional trouble.  After seating her I talked to her.  Countering her self-excoriations I try to help her realize she made a simple misjudgement.  “We have all done this at one time or another.”  She had such deep saddened eyes.  It was not terror.  It was shame and unbearable saddness.  She countered every one of my balancing messages with how terrible she was and shouldn’t be alive.  I persisted.  I did the breathing excercise with her.  This was tragically painful to hear such a beautiful young woman in her late teens speak that way of herself.  Still vibrating and gasping for breath I try calm her.  I look down and realize she is scratching one hand with the sharp long nails of the other.  An instant later and I took her hand in mine.  She only resisted a little.  Without a blade nearby to cut she was using her own body against itself.  I held her hand tight and continued to let her talk.  I realized she had to have a therapist.

I have been through something similar to this before.  Not with a stranger.  I am no stranger to myself.  Though, I am not a cutter.  I fully understand the depth of wanting to escape the pain.  I understood her.  I asked her if she had a therapist.  She confirmed she had.  I asked her if she could call her therapist.  She said she could.  I had to move this along in steps.  Too much for this already overwhelmed terrified child and I would push too far.  I asked her if she would please call her therapist.  It was either that or I call 9-1-1.  She chose to call her therapist.

She had called her parents to tell them.  She was TERRIFIED to call her parents.  But, they were going to have to know.  It was their car she was driving.  Someone was going to have to pick her up.

I could hear her mother S-C-R-E-A-M-I-N-G at this girl.  No hesitation, no “How are you?”  No, calmness at all.  Just a continuous harranging from her mother while this girl is clearly sobbing, and upset and with the knowledge of how fragile her daughter is not a care.  I really  began to understand why the girl was so afraid to call her folks.  The girl remained on the phone throughout her mother’s entire onslaught.  No amount or intensity or depth of apologies was going to calm this woman down even one little bit.

While my friend and I waited with her for her parents to come get her she reacted in horror and humiliation.  When her parents arrived her mother was yelling at her before she ever got out of the car.  Dad got into the public shaming, as well.  Neither of them cared about the girl.  The car – yes.  The girl – NO!

We watched this for a minute or so.  I felt horrible for this girl.  I tried to ask either parent if they could see how upset the girl was and if they could find just a moment to give her a hug.  I had hoped to change the character of the conflict.

HA!  Was I wrong.  Dad turned on me and started to yell at me.  He said, I did not know what had gone on and what a problem this girl was and the car she previously borrowed “last week!??” she had an accident in.  I replied that while that may be true it did not change the fact that THEY agreed to let her borrow the car today and she was terribly upset and one moment for a hug would be a really nice thing for his DAUGHTER.  NOPE.

All my friend and I could do at that point was to give the girl a hug and leave.  We both hated leaving the girl with these two WOLVES posing as parents.  There was no choice.  There was also, no way to follow up with the girl.

I am glad the girl spoke to her therapist before calling in the BEASTS in parent clothing.  Maybe she will help the girl find a way to care for herself.  Because, it was clear nobody else would.

One more thing:  If the (cough, wheeze, sputter) parents were upset about the borrowed car accident the week before then, WHY did they lend her the car THIS week?!?!?!

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