Blood pressure is out of control. The medication was keeping it a bit low but I've been taking it faithfully and now it's shot back up again. I doubled the medication and it's still not coming down. Things seem to be falling apart but that's to be expected. I didn't anticipate quite so soon, tho.
I'm going to skip disclaimers on whining as I'm now in the glorious World of Don't Give a Fuck. Judge me as you will, I'll do this in my own way.
I'm not irrational and I'm not even particularly stoned. My decision about the hospital is the right one as any mistake in there and then I'm at the mercy of the crazies and that's scary. My stuff is wobbling in a big way right now but that's not half as scary to me as the idea of being on a machine and there's no-one allowed to turn it off. They will argue and argue over what's right ... while I rot. NO.
This is not intellectualizing as a stroke is what bagged my ol' Dad. The heart attack croaked him but he had plenty of his manly stuff to handle that. He even sent my ol' Mother out of the room to get him a class of water so she wouldn't see it. Yah, he could handle the heart attack ... but the stroke destroyed him.
I'm in almost exactly the same circumstance and this is what I expected. To some extent I have been inner skiing toward it. However, I figured I'd vapor lock and I'd be out of it, there wouldn't be all this yak while my body decides what it will do.
In part I decide what I want to do. I can call out to my ol' Dad and say, hey, man. This is very confusing. He's the only one who can tell me and I'll listen for him. Would it have been better to just kick out than go through all that stroke stuff.
I wrote a program called "Webster" after my ol' Dad had the stroke. It ran on a Commodore 64 and used a Votrax speech synthesizer. I set it up to read files of word appropriate to a speech therapy drill and my sister, Alexis, did the work to get the files populated and sit with him as he learned how to do it. In retrospect, I'd say her part was the hardest as it likely would have broken me down seeing him so much like that. (I didn't live with them at the time.)
I wrote a letter to the family that said I appreciated the opportunity to do something useful and my ol' Dad said maybe you're just puffing yourself up. His mind was working fine, he just couldn't find the words. (I didn't send the letter.)
Webster became part of the family and my ol' Dad referred to him that way. Even quite a few years later he was still being kept around just in case he wanted to work with him again.
So, I know very well what a stroke does.
I am reviewing this situation as dispassionately as possible. One thing I like is that I'm not holding back any political punches on anything and I enjoy the freedom to say whatever I like. What's anyone going to do ... kill me (laughs).
I'm going to skip disclaimers on whining as I'm now in the glorious World of Don't Give a Fuck. Judge me as you will, I'll do this in my own way.
I'm not irrational and I'm not even particularly stoned. My decision about the hospital is the right one as any mistake in there and then I'm at the mercy of the crazies and that's scary. My stuff is wobbling in a big way right now but that's not half as scary to me as the idea of being on a machine and there's no-one allowed to turn it off. They will argue and argue over what's right ... while I rot. NO.
This is not intellectualizing as a stroke is what bagged my ol' Dad. The heart attack croaked him but he had plenty of his manly stuff to handle that. He even sent my ol' Mother out of the room to get him a class of water so she wouldn't see it. Yah, he could handle the heart attack ... but the stroke destroyed him.
I'm in almost exactly the same circumstance and this is what I expected. To some extent I have been inner skiing toward it. However, I figured I'd vapor lock and I'd be out of it, there wouldn't be all this yak while my body decides what it will do.
In part I decide what I want to do. I can call out to my ol' Dad and say, hey, man. This is very confusing. He's the only one who can tell me and I'll listen for him. Would it have been better to just kick out than go through all that stroke stuff.
I wrote a program called "Webster" after my ol' Dad had the stroke. It ran on a Commodore 64 and used a Votrax speech synthesizer. I set it up to read files of word appropriate to a speech therapy drill and my sister, Alexis, did the work to get the files populated and sit with him as he learned how to do it. In retrospect, I'd say her part was the hardest as it likely would have broken me down seeing him so much like that. (I didn't live with them at the time.)
I wrote a letter to the family that said I appreciated the opportunity to do something useful and my ol' Dad said maybe you're just puffing yourself up. His mind was working fine, he just couldn't find the words. (I didn't send the letter.)
Webster became part of the family and my ol' Dad referred to him that way. Even quite a few years later he was still being kept around just in case he wanted to work with him again.
So, I know very well what a stroke does.
I am reviewing this situation as dispassionately as possible. One thing I like is that I'm not holding back any political punches on anything and I enjoy the freedom to say whatever I like. What's anyone going to do ... kill me (laughs).
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