It's all about me

"Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure only death can stop it." -Ernest Hemingway




Also by EH: "The first draft of everything is shit." He was right. Previous blog posts on HOME page under revision. Otherwise, scroll down or jump to the end and it’s bottoms up from there. Cheers!



Here begins the journal of my life, but only from January 2, 2008, forward. It’s not that the events of my 49 years prior are insignificant. Rather, my blogging takes place the day before my phone died, well, my ear. It was my ear that died.

My posts are random and so not chronological except by happenstance. When I say random I mean random as shet. Like my thought processes. Each story as I recall them is believe-it-or-not, if-I’m-lying-I’m-dying true. Some accounts may be a weeee bit questionable if, at the time it occurred I was, I don’t know, in the middle of a suspected thrombolytic event when the doctor repeatedly asked me for the name of our current United States President. I know you are but who am I? Or quite possibly it was the summer I tried to drink myself into extinction to escape what I thought was the anguish of sudden onset sensorineural deafness with tinnitus so severe I could “hear” the ringing in my ear over the roar of 43 engines at Charlotte Motor Speedway.

Every now and then I will reference the little town where I resided the majority of my 49 years prior. Not a great deal will I speak of Henderson, I claim as my hometown, other than to justify why I speak da-way I does. It is not a form of speech impairment nor am I from N’awlins or the Virginia Tidewater region. It is not a product of poor education as I had excellent English teachers and I could very well hold my own in class. It is a dialect exclusive to a tribe of 40,000 give or take, according to the most current census. (This is important information in the event I speak to you at a book signing provided you are not one of the 40,000 folks from my hometown dat speak my same accent most.) My birthplace I will mention so many times you will wonder what on earth you were thinking when you decided to get in a long-ass line for an autographed copy of my book in the first place. I mean, when it becomes a book. I was birfed at Camp Lejeune (http://www.tftptf.com/) in Jacksonville, North Carolina, at danaval hospital dare. (This is important information in the event YOU speak to me at a book signing because I won’t hear your ass.)

At some point in my education I learned most folks are born with five basic senses: sight, touch, sound, taste, and smell. On January 2, 2008, I lost the sense of sound leaving me with a mere four. Not fair, I thought, and ohshet did I struggle with my loss. That is when I became a green dot collector at the psychiatric facility. If the green stickers were square-shaped I could have easily filled enough S & H Green Stamp books to redeem for dozens of pink melamine place settings.

I compensated the best way I knew how with only four senses until I discovered I could replace the lost one with a new one, the sense of humor. I certainly don’t mean I turned into a stand-up comedian. I’m a wanna-be-writer not a speaker. Besides, one of my newer diagnoses of epilepsy further complicates my ability to communicate. Like a scene right out of 50 FIRST DATES starring Drew Barrymore:

Patient #1: Do you know who that guy is?
Patient #2: Dude, I don't even know who I am.

Unlike the deafness which is permanent (likes when you dies, it be permnet), the epilepsy can be treated with helmet meds, a well-known household expression in our home unfortunately.

The simplest tasks of an adult hearing person with sudden onset deafness became and continues to be surprisingly difficult and frustrating beyond words. Yet, at the same time,something as effortless as pulling up to a drive-thru for a burger and a shake became and, law has mercy, continues to be a fiasco worthy of late-night comedy material. Iffn you don’t belief me, axt my baby girl.


December 31, 2011

Why I Went to Savannah

It's bad when you need therapy to get over having had therapy; specifically my '28 Days' in rehab. I thought I was there to learn coping skills, face my demons, reveal the blocked memories, blah blah. I didn't know I'd end up going toe-to-toe with my deaf therapist, Betch, and have to seek further counseling because of her wickedness.

The fact she was a deaf psychologist and I was a deaf patient was purely coincidental. There are therapists who specifically work with hearing-impaired patients, particularly to help those who suffer from profound tinnitus, but she was not one of them. She just happened to be deaf, and I just happened to be unlucky.

One particular morning, she was our therapist for the first session of the day. The first session was usually spent going around the room giving each person a moment to explain their current level of anxiety, again, on a scale from 1 to 10 (10 being the worst). After we all did the little exercise with the results a collective 8 to 10 (excluding Sarg who was a bit giddy because she was nearing rehab graduation), Betch chimed in saying her level was a zero because she had wonderful news to share.

I'm sorry.  When did Betch become one of us? Is she paying out the ass like we are for green dot therapy? Does anybody give a shet what her anxiety level is? Besides, there is no zero on a scale from 1 to 10.

By break time that morning, after all was said and done, not only was there a zero on the anxiety scale, there was a Savannah* on there as well.

So while the rest of us were eff'd up on our new meds and merely existing in our respective anxiety zones, Betch elaborated on her "wonderful news."

First, a note about the medicine:  It's just like in the movies. One of the first orders of business when entering rehab is either they 1) Put you on med(s) for anxiety, depression, insomnia, mania, etc., or 2) If you're already on med(s), up the dosage, change med(s), or add med(s).  Anyhoooo, all of the above, for those who've never taken this shet, have very unpleasant side effects. The warning labels referencing side effects include, you may experience...WRONG.  Honey, you do experience. Anybody who says otherwise is blowing air up your butt. Furthermore, coming off the meds is equally unpleasant, if not worse.

Needless to say, most of us (depending on how many weeks we had been there) were pretty loopy first thing in the morning; mostly groggy as hell. AND irritable. AND anxious.

And, just like in the movies, some would take their meds and some would not;  and some would say they took their meds but would not. Bernice wouldn't take hers and made no bones about it. You know how bitchy one can be until they get that first cup of coffee in the morning? Whoa. Bernice really, really needed to take her meds. She was my rehab BFF so I wasn't afraid of her but, shetttttttt.

So, back to Betch's good news. She announced that Vocational Rehabilitation had approved her request to receive bilateral hearing aids. I think Betch even danced a little in her seat as she told us. The Sergeant-looking lady with the alcoholic wuss of a husband jumped up and hugged her because she was so happy for her. (Sarg was the only one who ever really liked Betch, but it was probably because she was such a loud mouth, know-it-all, like her twin, Betch.) Again, Sarg was almost ready to graduate so her anxiety level was in the lower range.

Never mind us, the rest of my rehab'rs were probably thinking, as Betch and Sarg celebrated together. Me? Not so much. I was about to hit the Savannah level on the anxiety scale.

"I'm sorry, did you say Vocational Rehab approved you for free hearing aids?"

"Yes!!"

Sarg butts in, "Isn't that great? She's been waiting so long for them to approve her hearing aids!" I guess that's what Sarg was saying; I never looked at her amazon-ian ass. Besides, I believe I was talking to Betch.

"So, you qualified to receive their services?"

"Yes!"

Wrong answer. I could feel Grandma W preparing to launch.

"With all due respect, I'm glad you're getting hearing aids, but I don't understand why you qualify for VR services and I don't. I applied, and they immediately turned me down."

Whoopsie. I think she thought maybe she shouldn't have shared how she was getting hearing aids by disclosing VR's involvement. But it was too late then. She knew the criteria one must meet to be eligible and she had none...zip...zero...just like me. (I had already shared that information in a previous session.) So how was she eligible?

So she started backtracking or lying; however you want to look at it. She asked me in what county I applied, and I told her Meck to which she said, "Well I applied in Cabarrus, that's probably the difference." So here's this woman with a PhD behind her name bullshitting me saying two counties in the same state had different eligibility criteria. She went on to tell me maybe I should apply in Cabarrus County.

Our conversation continued and others joined in, after all, this was a group thing, offering me advice, telling me to reapply but at the same place Betch did, blah blah. Now, I don't know everything that was said as I only heard bits of sentences, etc., but as everyone was talking, I picked up on something about a particular lady who worked at VR in Cabarrus County...a close, personal friend and colleague of Betch's. The same close, personal friend and colleague who pulled some strings for Betch.

Enter Grandma W...

"So that's how you are eligible for VR...it's who you know. You have a job making God knows what, but because you have an inside person you get hearing aids. It's all in who you know. I don't have an inside person. Do you think if I meet with your inside person, I can get free hearing aids? All I got was a goddamn headache when I met with my VR case worker. I'm going outside for a smoke."

 And Grandma W never smoked.

__________________________________

*Savannah:  (That thing) "went up my ass from here to Savannah, Georgia", i.e. a serious long-ass way; sets a person right off big time; generally cannot be ignored or explained away peacefully; fries your last nerve from from the git-go; often requires addressing immediately and mercilessly; is usually accompanied by unmistakable eyebrow raising and intense conversation between the pisser and the pissee; physical confrontation often follows. -JRG

ha...contributed by one of the wisest employers I have ever had the privilege to work for, taught me and continues to teach me the ways of the world, but most of all a dear friend who hails from Vance County, North Carolina.

5 comments:

  1. I would just like to say for what its worth, I think I woulda kicked her PhD flashin' ass! Since she's gotten her free hearing aids, she should have plenty of extra money for all the surgery she'd need to get my boot outta her arrogant butt.

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  2. argghh - as a former VR counselor myself, I feel your pain. no, really, I do. It happens to be a fact that the "criteria" and the goodies you can get from one VR counselor, office, or district CAN vary. When I was a working VR counselor, I heard of some deaf clients who actually got VR support for MEDICAL school. 8 years all the way through! that would have been unheard of in my district. I have also heard that if you pursue the grievance procedure, you can get what you asked for at the end because the people at the final step tend to say yes to everything. I know, working with a state bureaucrat can be one of the 9 levels of hell, but keep at it. The hearing aids can be a relatively inexpensive way of boosting one's numbers, FYI. just giving a client HAs can make it look like you opened a case, provided a service, and presto! your client is now gainfully employed. there's all kinds of ways the system can be tweaked.

    You didn't hear this from me, OK? ;)

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  3. blink blink ... I'll take any and all compliments and inclusions with great pride, considering the source, and without hesitation. ^5 I have more .. you need them in your repertoire for a snappy retort. Headed your way under separate cover. I can envision that look of "wtf did she just say?" Ha!

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  4. I mentioned this as one of my favorite blog postings of 2010 on my blog. :)

    http://www.ehwhathuh.com/2010/12/my-favorite-posts-from-other-dhh-blogs.html

    (e

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  5. Thanks everybody for the comments, advice, suggestions, borrowed quotes, and honor. I really, really need a Like button. I suck at accepting compliments, but I really do appreciate your comments <3

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