A fine life for me, a sad time for CB

Well, lately I’ve been reading CB and have noticed that some of my bloggers aren’t doing so well, while others are thriving. In the next few days I’ll update you on one of them. She’s in critical condition right now and just a warning, if I have to give the dreadful news, get a box or ten of tissues ready. Pl’l’l’l’l’l’l’lease! I almost burst out crying the other day when I read this person’s journal (go back a few entries and click on the link). I’m so upset still. After finding out that she’s taking off as the doctors save her… Well I can’t bear to read CB anymore for a day or two. I’m happy that my life is going fine, that I can control my left eye irritation with artificial tears. But at the same time I’m so sad that some of CB’s best friends have died suddenly without warning, and because diseases have taken an unexpected turn, especially when some of the parents never expected the bad turn to be in their plan. For those that did expect the bad turn, well I can’t think of what to say because seriously, if I knew my kid was going to progress with his or her illness within the next week or month, I don’t know, but for me that would be worse. But then if the turn wasn’t expected, I guess it’d be even more worse if you think about it. I’d hate for a kid to die full-stop! I fucking hate it so much. I fucking hate that one of my CB friends, who I don’t even know, has died unexpectedly when all he was trying to do was put up a fight to hopefully recover from fluid buildup and pain. But instead he lay down and died while taking pain medicine to rest. And now, this other CB friend who’s link is not far below this entry, is either dying on us, or is taking her last climb up what hill she can run to, well before lying down for the last time… Is all I can say. My third scenario is that she starts the dying process, only to miraculously recover slowly over time. I hope this is the case, and not the other two scenarios.

The doctors had taken biopsies and now it’s a huge catastrophe, over one friggen surgery that was meant to save her life. Fuuuuuuuuuucken hell. I feel really, reeeeeeeeeally really really really really sorry for the parents, and the siblings! I soooooooo can’t imagine their grief. I’m frightened to death right now, even to the point of the life being drained out of me. Or is that me saying the same thing? And that’s saying too, that since my eye surgery to save my own life practically, I haven’t had that death feeling for a good while. Now I’m fucking freaking out over my uncle who’s medicine is really fucking him around lately. I admitted this past week, that I honestly felt scared of what his cancer was doing to him lately and I just hadn’t said so till now. This cancer life ain’t fun, and since my uncle got diagnosed with it last year, I know what all the fuss is about when I read CB! I’m insulted that Mum thinks Bill caused this illness by doing something wrong in his life. Let’s not get me started there. I really hate her for that. Other than that, let’s pray and hope and put some good thoughts to this CB friend who is losing her battle. She seriously needs to make it through this, and I’m so fed up reading devastating news on CB every month. When the fuck are researchers going to find a cure for cancer and other diseases?

In general my life is doing fine. I cook almost every day. For God’s sake I made mashed veges and chicken wings today! So that’s saying a lot. Since November last year, I’d only been cooking when I felt like it, getting tired all the time and relying on others to cook a feed for me most of the time. Now, I’m back to life and doing what I love to do like I used to do, before this fucking nightmare became part of my life. Now it’s over, but I’m left with the flashbacks which are equally as scary for me. Every flaming day, and it doesn’t matter whether it’s when I’m asleep, or at tea time, or if I’m playing computer games, I keep going back to the 4th of April. That fateful day, when the doctor decided that codeine was going from my life for good. I had no issues with that, knowing I was going to quit it eventually. My issues with the codeine was that he banned it forever, meaning that I’m not even allowed to take it once, not ever. That’s my issue I have with it. Me? I would have quit it for good, knowing that one day if I needed, I could take a dose or two once in a fit if I was in some serious pain, like a heart attack or some shit like that. Well, since that fateful day, I’m not allowed to take it ever again, not under any circumstances or for any fucking reason unless the doctors decide that I can take it again. And then, if I can take it, I can only have it for as long as they want, even if they decide that I’ll not touch it again from then on. That’s a nightmare for me. It means no nurofen plus, no Panadeine Extra, no codeine-based tablets, none of most flu medicines. Etc etc etc etc. Here’s the list of current medicines I’m allowed: Panadol, nurofen, Tramadol PRN, don’t know which others they give me by IV, but maybe one or two of those ones. Medicines I can’t have: Morphine, endone, codeine, anything else containing these drugs or are derived from these drugs. I refused morphine and endone because I didn’t like them. I didn’t refuse codeine because I did like it, just not some of what I considered to be mild side effects. They weren’t so pleasant, but I could make them manageable and even bearable, being that the rest of the whole experience if you exclude the few side effects, was lovely for me. It was more subtle than endone, a hundred times more gentler than morphine, although it cured my pain ninety percent of the time. So I didn’t refuse it. It took the fucken doctor to refuse to give me the codeine. I still don’t accept the ban. I tried to many times. But to this day I have not accepted that I’m not allowed to take codeine. I will never say I can’t have it. I took it for four friggen months without too much trouble. The doctor says I can’t have it, and to this day I’ve had nightmares about it. Sitting there spewing up, only to be told that codeine has done it to me this time, so better give it the flick. But wait, since this is the only one time that I’ve spewed up sooooooo bad, suddenly codeine gets the blame. It really freaks me out. How the hell am I going to handle my suffering one day if I’m so limited to what medicine I can take? I told myself today that my right eye has reminded me of this every single day. If it was still the way it used to be, and somehow the doctors could fix it, the pain would go and I’d forget it. Two normal eyes, forget the past. Now, I have one normal eye and one prosthetic eye. Beep beep! That’s the reminder of that fateful fucking day. How am I going to get over it? Don’t know, ask my friggen doctors. They’re the ones who refuse to give me codeine, over one small dramatic catastrophe, all over myself, and the floor of the pretty little eye exam room in the eye clinic.

I guess I’ll be waking up to a nice chilled out day tomorrow. Since Nan and Pop left for two weeks, I haven’t had one unpeaceful day here. I couldn’t be more chilled out, I couldn’t feel more rested after a good few days of not being hassled every five minutes over absolute shit. My family has had good times. We’re all freaked out over what will come of our peaceful lives when Nan and Pop come back to haunt us. Will they start arguments with us? Will they try to side people against each other? What will they fucking do next? My brain so can’t handle the shit. I don’t need to think about it tonight, but then again I do, because not being prepared will be worse than knowing what to expect. After the shit that Nan and Pop has put onto me and a few others, I don’t want to answer the door when they turn up. I don’t want to look back when they try to get my attention. All they do is cause dramas in people’s lives. They love dramas, so they expect the rest of us to be the same. I’m sure they don’t seem to remember, or don’t care to remember, that we hate dramas, especially the made-up ones. Normal people who have dramas will try to fix them. Nan and Pop ain’t very normal people. Don’t get me started down that track either. I have sooooooooo had it with their shit. The last straw for me was when I was at the doctors a couple of weeks ago, and Pop started talking out of his mind. Then my least last straw, when he went on some old story about a lady who found a dead frog flattened and dried, in her coffee cup. I don’t care about the details or what it came out of or whatever. I was making good progress in the hospital, slowly getting used to the eye exam room as a good place and not somewhere that is associated with chucking a fit or spewing up and having medicines taken from you. And that God-forsaken disinfectant smell was losing its bad trigger for me as the staff got me laughing and joking. But no, my fucking grandfather had to ruin that progress for me, and quite upset the staff who knowing me by now, could see that their encouragement for me to have a cuppa later wasn’t going to work. They were right. I made the cuppa and couldn’t drink it all. Actually, most of it was tipped out. It took till next morning to drink a cup of coffee without fear of spewing up. Poor doctors, now they have to re-do their little trick of getting me used to the eye clinic as a good place to be. Again, they’re gonna have it hard getting me there, because of some prick who cares about his feelings only. So yeah, Nan and Pop have used up all my straws. I have none left. The next thing to come will be hell to pay if they ruin one more thing in my life, be it physical or spiritual. Those doctors are having a hard enough time as it is getting me to appreciate them as good people without two fuckheads carelessly fucking things up on me. It’s not exactly their fault that I don’t like the hospital because of problems that have happened to me there. It is their fault when I start getting over the issues with the help of the staff, and suddenly Nan or Pop comes up with some sly or disgusting situation or story or scenario, which really sends me reeling backwards. Well, they’re not welcome in my life anymore.

I guess they love my blog so much. Good! They can read this then, since when I tell them the truth, they don’t want to hear it. Even when I SMS them. So maybe reading things in a bit more detail might do it for them. I hate talking to them. All I do is cause fucking arguments which they’re at fault for because I can’t get a word in but they’re allowed to interrupt whenever they want. The issues are more complex than that, but it’s funny how they claim they never start arguments. Maybe if they’d fucking well hear what people have to say instead of what they want to say all the time, maybe they’ll get two sides to the story and not just one. Ha ha ha. Anyway, now that I’ve written this, they might consider it a little. Even if they don’t, it’s not like they can shoot back a hundred arguments right away, because it’s in writing and not oral. I know writing doesn’t necessarily change people, and that’s not my idea of writing blogs. It’s more that if Nan and Pop love my blogs so much, they can read this and take it in better, regardless of what the effect may be. Maybe they will think about it a lot more. Maybe they won’t. All I know is that they’ll still be taking in what they read, since they want to know how I feel so much. How about they fucking listen a bit more so they mightn’t have to friggen well read these entries just to get a better picture of my feelings which they’d understand a lot more if they didn’t start arguments with me. Oh wait… I forgot that I always start the arguments. But hang on… If they shut their mouth a bit, they might see that talking to them isn’t always the start of an argument, unless of course they want to think for two seconds that when they argue at me when I speak, maybe they’re starting the whole thing? They seriously need to have a look at themselves. And they’re welcome to read this blog, just don’t blame me when they don’t like what they see. I didn’t say they had to read it. They chose to read it. And to reiterate for the six millionth time: It’s not a secret what I’ve written in here. If they’ve seen it in writing and hate me for what I write vaguely about them, although some details which don’t relate to the personal life history of the family are in here, then they damn well know that I’ve already told them in some way or another. It’s not as though what I say to them is different from my writing. They might notice different things, if they’d choose to fucking sit down and think about what is written because they can’t argue with me as soon as I open my mouth. I say things to them, and they don’t notice, until they read it here. So that’s their own problem. But somehow it’s mine… Again. Well no. It’s not. My straws have been used up, and now they’re blaming whoever they can because they know they can’t get to my heart anymore. In fact nobody gets to my heart anymore.

Let’s get to some more positive stuff. But then I guess I’m on another paradoxical track again. Ever since I brought Troy to Cairns, he has been a lot happier. I’ve had the occasional frustration with him, but we don’t put up with shit every day. Troy is doing a lot better, not having to put up with arguing every five minutes. He’s lively, he eats every meal because I don’t overfeed him. He hardly gets sick. He hardly stresses out a lot. Two nights ago I was talking on the phone to one of my friends and I was panicking a lot about a situation we went through in high school, where one of our friends died of a brain tumour. I and a few others wasn’t allowed to the funeral. Long story short, we hated the principal who was the overseer of the Visual Impairment Unit at this school, and we had big arguments with him over how he treated us unfairly. Anyway, for weeks after this friend’s death, I had nightmares about how she died, the brain tumour that I saw on a CT scan image etc. Honestly they were frightening! Anyway I’m going off track, so what I was trying to get to was that I lay down next to Troy and patted him till me and my friend hang up. I kept patting Troy, and the next thing I know, I was suddenly waking up realising I’d fallen asleep! I got up and went to my bed and slept there for the rest of the night, thankful that my best mate was there to help me get over that horrible panic attack. I’ve been there for Troy. Now that we’re in Cairns and mine and his life is happier, he is there for me when times get tough for me. It goes to show how much your friends give back to you when you love and respect them… Even if that friend is a dog! A dog is man’s best friend. Troy is definitely my best friend. Sometimes I sit next to the dog, having panic attacks over him dying in front of me. They’d be nightmares if I’m asleep, so lucky for me those horrible thoughts race through my head while I’m awake. I couldn’t bear them at all if I were asleep. Troy still manages to calm me down somehow.

I’m so glad I can wake up every morning knowing that Troy is a happy dog. Sometimes I’d have flashbacks over the way I used to treat animals as a kid. Then I thought of when I got Troy in 2007, and realise that he’s still alive and well! Wow! If I was a kid I would have probably caused so much trouble for the poor dog. Today, Troy seems to thrive with me being a more easy-going person with animals. It’s no wonder I haven’t been locked away in the mental ward by now, the doctors know what I’m like with going from living a fine life to being unhappy and panicky at times. Mind you, over the years I’ve told doctors that their medicines may sedate me, but they’ll never change my heart or my attitude. I guess I’m too hard to deal with, so they just haven’t tried to help me other than for what’s really necessary. And that’s how I want it to be, as harsh as this may seem to some. In saying all that, hopefully with time my panic attacks will get less and less. After my car accident I had horrible flashbacks for months, and I had nightmares forever. But they started going away months down the road. Geeze, I’ll be a lot happier when the day comes that I’m not reliving my experiences from the third to the fifth of April so much! I’m happy now, but when those flashbacks and panic attacks turn into plain old past memories, I’ll be a lot more happier. Since Troy is doing so well, he’ll be there every step of the way to help me through all the shit. He can’t change my attitude to life either. He just keeps me going when I’d usually consider killing myself. God help me when Troy retires and finds a new home.


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