Above us, only sky

So, after literally not sleeping a wink during the night, I arose this morning to get to work for my regular 6-2 shift. Feeling exhausted and unsure how I would even get through the day, I drove off in the false night to do my best. Get to work, look at my schedule and realize that it was shifted on me, during my sick leave. I didn't work Mondays, and when I did work, it was from 8-4, traffic hours. Feeling like this pretty much was just one of those bad days where everything went wrong, I drove home to the sun slowly rising. Got into town, and decided to act on an impulse.

I have this spot, where after sleepless nights where I feel fucked up or psychotic, suicidal or depressed, I decide to collect my soul and pray. No, its not in a church, or anywhere near any religious spots. But I call this my secret spot, even though its open and used by the public. Its just no one shows up as early as I do. Its where I go after a dark night to remind me that there is still beauty in the world worth living to see. That the world is not all shit, despite what weve done to it. That there are places still where God's natural handiwork is still allowed to thrive and heal us, like it was meant to.

Lilypads and reed grass. You could clearly hear the bullfrog's clarion but the little buggers were well hidden.

Reflection.



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Morning dew was still quite present.

Secret little meadow.

Just before sunrise.

And then the light.



Wildflowers everywhere.

Wild apple tree, most probably crab apple, although the apples seemed a bit too large.



Morning glory, aptly named.

Road to nowhere and everywhere. Road to peace?

Le feuillage de nos arbres changent deja de couleur!

This little guy had an amazing clarion call.

Above us only skies.

Wake up sleepy head!

Tip of my toes

And this little guy sounded like a dying cat.

Although completely inedible, these berries are so beautiful.

Looks like ripening grapes.

Of mini bombs and salt

A mini bomb fell over our heads yesterday, a warning sign that I knew was coming straight at us. Except that I didn’t think it was going to hit J. He’s been experiencing heart pain lately, the kind where you feel like your heart is constricting. As if that wasn’t scary enough, he was always tired and sleeping everywhere. I though, diabetes, for sure. Brought on with the fact that diabetes is very present in the First Nations community, and that Jeff loves everything sugar, I thought, this is it, what we’ve been waiting for. I mean, let’s be honest here, were both overweight, not exercising enough, and even though the food we eat has tremendously improved in the last year or so, there is still vast  grounds for improvement.

But it wasn’t diabetes. It was high blood pressure. My husband had 160/120 bp, and now needs to go get some blood and stress tests done. Did I mention he’s 23? This is scary. As. Fuck. I’ve been reading up on what it means to have those numbers, and I’m honestly terrified. I mean out of the two of us, I’m much bigger and less in shape than he is, so why did he have that, instead of me? Life is stressful in general, but obviously he’s been feeling it more, and I’ve had a part to play in it as well, I’m not the most relaxing person to have around, sometimes. I feel very guilty, guilty for the stress that I may have caused, guilty for not forcing him/us to eat better, guilty for not putting my husband and my own health as a priority.

So before we know the results of those tests, we know how to help our situation. We need to watch the sodium levels of everything we intake, drink more water and less everything else, and exercise. This is like a major, nasty, brutal wake up call for me. My doctor’s always been honest and upfront, and straight up told me that if I didn’t change my ways, I’d be heading straight for blood and/or heart disease. I acknowledge that fact, and I also acknowledge that it didn’t scare me very much. My twisted lazy logic told me that I was already sick, and quite honestly, I’ve always been a bit on the extreme side of the live-for-the-moment movement, but that’s another story. But this, THIS, is different. This isn’t me, I can’t suffer through this in silent, this is J. Never in my craziest day-mares did I imagine him getting sick with anything more than what I have, and I can’t let this slide anymore. This being our lifestyle. Thank God, I have my sister Cat who just graduated her CEGEP in nutrition and heading to McGill to help us out with our food, and my older sister Amanda who is a nurse to help us out with what we can do NOW, and what all those medical references mean. Thank God for family.

This is our wake up call. This is what we knew was going to happen, but never really fully understood its consequences. We can’t play around with this, with our health anymore. Time has run out, and we need to get a move on.  If you know anything about HBP, lived through a similar situation, or have any tips that could help us, please don’t hesitate to comment and let me know! And for anyone up in God’s corner, remember us in your prayers please, were going to need all the help and courage we can get!

Im on the crazy shit

Post-Op, they would alternate needles of something (I dont remember what) with 3 crushed extra strenght Tylenol, and I would survive. and feel ok. The shots made me a little woozy, in the sense that I would often very slightly hallucinate by dreaming with my eyes open, but being alert enough to know I was not in my full capacity, if that makes sense. It would take the immediate pain away while leaving me able to respond to minimal recquirement (shake head, squeeze hand, go to the bathroom aided, drink water, etc).

Then, I made the ultimate mistake on my departure day to have a conversation with a nurse about the pros and cons of smoking MJ vs being on pain meds. The nurse asked me if I smoked regularly, and I said occasionally rather. She came back a few hours later with my papers for leaving, and explained to me my meds. She said the pills were about 1.5 to 2X stronger than the needle because of my drug use history (...) to which I replied that the needle had been plenty, I didnt need anything stronger. She said hospital procedure. Ok then.

So off I go, get the meds, start taking them. I didnt read the paper that comes with it because I honestly was not in a reading state of mind. Ayoye, if you get my drift. I start taking the prescribed dosage, 4mg of PMS-HYDROMORPHINE HYDROCHLORIDE


Explanation:

hydromorphone hydrochloride

[-môr′fōn]

an opioid analgesic. A synthetic derivative of morphine used as a respiratory sedative and analgesic that is more potent than morphine.

indication It is used to treat moderate to severe pain.

contraindications It is used with caution in many conditions, including head injuries, asthma, impaired renal or hepatic function, or unstable cardiovascular status. Known hypersensitivity to this drug prohibits its use.

adverse effects Among the most serious adverse effects are drowsiness, dizziness, nausea, constipation, respiratory and circulatory depression, bizarre dreams and hallucinations, and drug addiction.

 

 

Um, what the fuck is this shit they gave me? After  24hrs of taking it, I was tripping balls in a really bad way. I was paranoid to the psychotic point. I started randomly talking really fast, moving really fast only to feel dizzy and slide to the floor. My claustrophobia kicked in with a major Ass Kicking session, where I would cry there was no more air and shake (and I dont know if you know this but crying when you have your tonsils cut out is not fun. As well as hiccuping and yawning. Ouch.) A whole lot of other fun things. I remember sitting there, feeling my heartbeat jump, feeling like my skin was crawling and it was so important that I get up for some reason, but I couldnt move my body at all. I have never in my life felt like this before.

 

Then my mom mom made the decision for me, and took my pills away. Before that, we consulted my cousin and my older sister, both who are nurses with years of experience. They said the same thing, that that was way too much drugs, and if I could handle it, that it would be best if I switched immediately to Tylenol. Case in point.

 

So now Im in suffering nightmare, BUT Im not being all fucked up on some pills that seem to do worst than they do good. I dont understand docs. Out of all the possible meds out there, why prescribe something so harmful? Why is it better to give something like that over prescribing straight marijuana (except for inability to smoke for any reason)? Isnt there something more natural than synthetic morphine that could help me somehow without causing dependance??