More me than you, but still.
Had an appointment at the Wound Care Clinic today. The first thing the nurse did with me was this completely bonkers blood circulation test which involved slapping something a lot like blood pressure cuffs on both upper arms and both ankles.
The machine then sort of kneaded and squeezed me like I was a piece of fresh fruit it was examining for ripeness. This tickled my claustrophobia a little, seeing as i was tied to the machine and all.
But I kept it under control by choosing to reimagine the experience as some kind of bizarre luxury spa treatment.
At an even more bizarre remote luxury spa which may or may not just be a front to let s mad scientist experiment on people.
My imagination is not just fertile, it’s downright fecund.
The machine printed off my result via what looked like a printer from a printing calculator and which made a noise like an angry robot insect ranting in bug language about a serious personal grievance.
See remarks about imagination above.
The nurse looked at the results and become very worried looking.
Oh crap, here it comes, I thought.
She asked me if I had any heart problems in the past. I laughed in relief that it was not something new and told her about my three 90 percent blockages and one 80 percent.
She nodded and said, “OK, because that’s what this says. ”
Ya know, I bet if she had just looked in my file, she would have learned that without hooking me into Doctor Weird’s Cuffs of Doom.
But nobody does. I think the problem is that we now generate more medical data on people than a busy medical professional can take in all at once. And so they have to inhale the bits they think are relevant and go on that.
What we need is medical case workers who follow the patient through the system and keep track of the big picture and let all the specialists take care of their little slice.
Theoretically, your GP is suppose to do that, but they are way too busy too.
Honestly, the whole system needs way more people. More doctors, nurses, techs, orderlies, medical transporters, the works.
But whatcha gonna do.
After the circulation test came the actual wound care part of the visit. The wound looked depressingly the same as the last three or four times the dressing was changed.
Really got to get the blood flowing better in that region.
Unfortunately the nurse also noticed the lesions on my left leg and so she put dresses on those too.
I am very bandaged right now.
And I call it unfortunate but that is dangerously wrongheaded of me. Someone should have been taking the lesions seriously this whole time. The fact that my profound psychological issues made me stop caring about them does not mean they do not matter and are not a problem.
I get the feeling that a full report on all that is wrong with me would shock most medical professionals right to their core because there would be so many serious issues that would prompt them to ask, voice cracking with hysteria, why I didn’t tell anyone about these things until now??
And all I could say would be, “Because depression, man. ”
Followed by : “I’m not saying that I shouldn’t take care of myself better. Obviously I should. I am just telling you why I don’t.
It’s not that I hate flying or don’t want to fly or haven’t seen how awesome flying is yet.
It’s that I don’t have wings. And I need you to understand that. “
More after the break.
What’s the point of all this misery?
Catharsis, I suppose. That’s what it all boils down to in the end.
That’s why I go through these negative phases where I just blast out all the pain and darkness and negativity I can find and clear out some space in my head for me to think and feel like a real human being for a while.
It’s the only way I know of to deal with all the darkness and bitterness and pain inside me. To let it all out, without worrying that my demons are going to destroy everyone who reads my words.
People can take care of themselves. And I am beyond worrying about that kind of thjing very much anyhow.
If my road to sanity costs some people some of their, so be it. I have to do whatever it takes to get myself to a saner place and in some circumstances, that might mean just taking what I need without worrying about the consequences to others.
Self-actualization requires selfishness and even foolishness sometimes. You do what you have to do to become more of who you truly are and evolve as a person and to hell with what logic, common sense, or even compassion tells you.
I’m not saying abandon morality and be a selfish asshole 24/7. Perish the thought.
But the route to redemption might lead closer to that outcome than you are comfortable with, and therefore sometimes, you have to be at least a little selfish.
And trust that the world and those you care about can handle it. They are not made of spun glass. They, like you, can take a shock or disruption or two and be just fine.
And they won’t hate you forever for upsetting their applecarts. There are far worse crimes than rocking someone’s boat.
But even if it is going to do actual lasting harm to people if you do what you nee to o in order to actualize yourself, you have to do it anyway, and apologize later.
Normal people who act on their emotions at least some of the time get this. They do things because they feel right. Because a little voice tells them it’s what they need to do.
I wonder what my little voice will have to say when I find him.
Sorry I’ve ignored you and all my other instincts as well, little buddy.
I honestly thought I knew better.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.