For-Profit

Hello dear reader(s)!

Watch any sports lately?  How about a cooking show?  See any commercials?  Were any of them for alcohol?

In a few minutes, I am probably going to have a special (cannabis infused) brownie.  (Tomorrow I have shit to do, or else I might tomorrow too.)  Part of it will be for my chemotherapy-induced neuropathy pain that is acting up.  Part of it will be to help my anxiety that is so strong this month.  Part of it will be to give me the appetite I need to eat dinner tonight.  Part of it will be because it seems to (seems to because I have no actual studies that show causation) keep my blood counts a bit higher than they are when I have not had any in a while.  Part of it will be to try to prevent some of the nightmares I get this month from coming tonight.

But part of it?  Part of it will just be to help me relax a bit.

And yet, on the federal level, this is a crime.  Jeffy-boy and company do not care for it one bit.  That’s fine, they don’t have to have any.  More for us.

Why is this a problem?

Do you know what I have never seen?  I have never seen a person under the influence of marijuana (and only marijuana) hit their spouse.  I have never seen a person under the influence of marijuana start a bar fight.  I have never seen a person under the influence of marijuana think they are invincible and can drive one hundred miles per hour even though they are too drunk to stand.  And most importantly, I have never seen a person turn yellow and die a slow, horrible death from liver failure because of marijuana.

Guess what I’ve seen from people under the influence of legal, advertised alcohol?

I use cannabis for pain.  I use it to help me relax.  I use it for many reasons.  Because of that, I don’t feel like I need many prescription drugs I would have no problems getting legally.  I had a prescription for heavy opioids before I started realizing the full benefits of cannabis.  You will never catch me at a park with a needle in my arm.  You will never catch me with a brown bag over a bottle.  I have something much safer that is so much more effective with fewer side-effects.

I think it is hilarious that the supposed free-market loving Republicans are against legalizing marijuana.   Taking money from the alcohol lobby and the pharmaceutical lobby to keep it illegal in order to protect the inferior products that are marketed and pushed to us like all the processed crappy food was when I was growing up.

And let’s talk about that food.  Remember when people thought butter was horrible, and margarine was the healthy way to go?  Or the “Low Fat” food was a good thing?  Or avocados were bad because they were fatty fruits?

We are living in an age of capitalism out of control.  When the need for more money puts a large number of people, even entire societies at risk, maybe there needs to be a different way.

It’s no secret that I have considered myself a Democratic Socialist long before I knew who Bernie Sanders was.  But as I see the horrible things companies are doing with our food, our medicine, our healthcare, and housing all in the name of profit, I am digging in even more than ever.  I wonder how these fucking pieces of shit sleep at night.  Maybe on all those dangerous drugs they bribe your doctor into prescribing.

I am not anti-medicine.  I do not believe cannabis cures most things.  I do, based on my own experiences and the studies that have been able to be conducted, believe that it treats and can help prevent many things.  And I am certain that it is only being kept illegal at the federal level in order to protect the profits of industries that trade off of inferior substances.

I choose not to participate.  I will do my own research, and I will try what I choose.  And if something works better for me, that’s what I will do.

I will not eat the artificial everything plus preservatives if I can find fresh and real.  I will not take the synthetic, physically addictive, mildly effective, side-effect prone pill if I know my natural medicine would do a better job of treating the condition.

My life is not for the profit of others.

Headaches And Drugs And Bears, Oh My!

Regular bears, sadly not of the Hannah variety.

Hello dear reader(s)!

You have made it to Thursday!!!!  (Or whatever day it is when and where you are reading this.)  Congratulations!  Give yourselves a pat on the pat on the back.  Do it!  Now!  Or else the puppy dies.  Pat it!  Nice and slow.  Yeah….mmm…pat that back.  Pat…  yasssss.

For the last two weeks or so, (going on three), I have had massive headaches.  Today is no exception.  I am not certain as to why.  I am typically not the headache kind of person.  It isn’t as though am anti-headache…wait, yes it is.  I am decidedly anti-headache.

So, because I recently moved, am in need of referrals to specialists, and my head is fucking killing me, I decided to visit my brand spanking new (only without the spanking) primary care physician (henceforth known as PCP (not the drug)).  PCP was in a hurry, as most PCP’s usually are.  As a result, PCP did not really listen to my history.  Either that, or PCP decided that she didn’t need to listen to my history because the specialists would be handling the majority of my care.  (They will.)

However, because it will be a couple of weeks before the specialists can see me, I was hoping that PCP could help with my headaches.  Looking for the cause, not much of anything else.

PCP decided to order labs.  I understand why the PCP chose to do this, and went to the lab at the office of PCP so they could suck blood from my arm as my veins attempted to roll away from the needle of the phlebotomist (henceforth still known as phlebotomist).  Phlebotomist did a pretty good job of taking the three tubes of blood from my arm, and I was on my way to lunch and home.  Because the lab was in-house (not my actual house, but the office of PCP), I figured I might hear back on my results that day.  I did not.  I did not hear most of the next day either.  Until 8:15 pm, (15 minutes after the close of the office of PCP) I missed a call from the staff of PCP (not the PCP Staff, which is an ancient weapon that gives its user super-human strength, similar to someone on PCP).  The staff of PCP informed me that the doctor would like me to go to the ER.

Now, being who I am , I actually sort of assumed that the doctor was likely overreacting to what is my normal numbers.  I attempted to call back the staff of PCP to get my numbers.

I failed in my quest (to the dismay of the hobbits) and reached what was most likely an answering service, given how this person could not read labs.

I asked the questions important to me.  What was my creatinine?  (Not great, but not too far from my baseline, okay.)  What was my neutrophil count?  (And this is where the problem was.)  She answered in a percentage.

Uh….no.

Okay, what was the white count?  (If I had my white count, I could figure out my neutrophils by multiplying the percentage against it.)

She answered with the same percentage.

Now I’m not even trusting the creatinine number she gave me.

So off to the ER I went.  I chose the hospital that my doctor practices at.  It is actually a very nice hospital, with some competent people working there.  It is small, but the staff seemed pretty on top of things.

I was hoping (since my doctor was a part of that group), that they could just print me a copy of my labs without actually being admitted to the ER unless necessary.  But to the dismay of the hobbits, my hopes were dashed.  The doctor could access the hospital records, but not vice versa, apparently.

So in I go.  Which I guess is okay, because my head was pounding by this point, and they wanted to do more tests than just what the office did.  They put in an IV (which they got on the first try, something that hasn’t happened since 2012).  And that’s a good thing because when they did the next tests, my creatinine had climbed above my normal range.  Uh oh.

In addition, after taking the blood, my headache with annoying pain had become unbearable.  So in the ER room, they decided to stick some freaking fentanyl into my IV to help.  Not morphine.  Not dilaudid.  Fentanyl.  The big daddy.  King of the narcotics.

Holy shit.  These guys don’t fuck around.  The hobbits would have been grateful, but they were too busy trying to breathe and peel themselves from the inside of the thin ER bed mattress they had melted into.

So with my headache down a couple of pain scale points, they started me on IV fluids.  All the rest of my blood work, (while horrible), was MY horrible, and therefore okay.  I wasn’t even neutropenic (though I was right there).  They re-ran the creatinine and it had dropped back down into my baseline range.

The problem is that it didn’t drop that far.  I am not sure why it was so high, as I really didn’t think I was dehydrated.  My kidney disease wasn’t supposed to be progressive, and so I am very concerned.

They wrote me a prescription for what they said was something for pain.  I didn’t want it to be a narcotic, but knew it probably would be since I can’t take any kind of NSAID, and there is no sense in prescribing Tylenol (which is shit for headaches anyway).  I got this pill I never head of before, and figured it was more narcotics.  I took a couple, and was out like a light when I finally got home at 3 am.

Then I looked it up.  Fucking barbiturates.  They don’t kill the pain, but they sure as hell knock me out so I don’t feel it.  I spent most of yesterday asleep.  The hobbits are not amused.

I hope they figure out what is wrong soon.  It is getting hard to bear.  (See, told you there would be bears.)

Down

I can feel myself sinking back into the darkness.  The pressure is increasing as I fall.  I reach out for a hand from the surface that isn’t there.  My chest hurts from holding my breath for so long.  All I want to do is breathe, but I know I can’t without my insides being flooded by the dark waters surrounding me.

I look up, and see you at the surface.  The light surrounds your face in a beautiful glow.  You smile as I find the strength within to kick my feet and rise.  You reach your hand into the water.  I try to grasp it.  You latch onto my wrist, pulling me to you.  My head is close to the surface.

And that is when I feel your other hand on my head.  You let go of my wrist, and push me down. Your smile through the water is the last thing I see.

The Answer Is

No carefully crafted image of a perfect life is able to hide the decaying soul you carry within.

No amount of makeup or designer clothes will hide the decomposition.

No car can give you the means to escape yourself.

No smile can hide the contempt you feel.

No act of compassion can hide your ulterior motives.

No silence can keep your secrets.

No number times you call me a friend will ever make it true.

No manipulation will ever allow you to control me.

No smile will ever hide your self-inflicted pain.

No wounds will ever make me want to heal you.

No pleas for attention will ever make me forget how often you took advantage of me.

No amount of apologies will make me reconsider.

No declarations of love will stop me from leaving.

No excuses will be accepted.

No good feelings remain.

No wishing you the best in life.

No.

Bear

Dearest Sweetness,

I wish I could fall asleep and wake up when this month is over.  Things are actually going pretty well right now overall, and I am fairly happy in most aspects of life, but when I am still the memories of this month start to sneak their way in.  I miss you every single second.  No matter how much I love again, you will always be with me.

I am doing better at feeling less guilty for not knowing you had a problem.  You were crafty, and I was sick a lot.  I knew something was terribly wrong eventually, but you did a good job at keeping me in the dark.  Which brings the anger.

I can let it go sometimes.  I tell myself it wasn’t you, it was your addiction.  But I wouldn’t accept being lied to about anything else throughout our entire relationship if it were blamed on an addiction, so why should I accept this?  I do, because I love you unconditionally, and I can’t change anything now, but I have the right to my feelings of betrayal and anger.  Doesn’t change how much I love you.

Your friends (and mine, thanks to you) have pictures of you and them as their Facebook profiles.  I wonder if you understand why I can’t do that.  I wonder if you know that I couldn’t even see a picture of you without crying my eyes out until very recently.  I wonder if you know how it makes me feel knowing that so many people never even knew you.  I wonder if you know how it makes me feel to know that I thought you let me see the sides of you that you didn’t show anyone else, but how much it hurts knowing you still held something back.

I wouldn’t think the time of year would have gotten to me like it is.  I know when everything happened.  But why am I feeling it all right now like it just happened?  I’m on edge and it is probably coming through in all my interactions with everyone.  Hopefully I don’t fuck up the connections I have tried so hard to build since you died.

I think you’d be proud of me.  Things have been so hard.  I have felt very alone, very overwhelmed, very hopeless, very isolated, and yet I have kept going and walking into everything with as open of a heart and mind as I can.  I have made some really good friends and connections, and have even managed to have feelings for people again.  I know you wanted that for me.  I remember that stupid movie you loved, and how you told me that you wanted me to move on if anything ever happened to you.  I thought you were absolutely insane at the time, but I also thought that we wouldn’t have had such a short time together or even that I would outlive you.  I certainly didn’t think I would have so much of my life in front of me without you.  At any rate, I will never move on, but I am doing everything I can to move forward.

You helped me to know I was loved for me.  I’d never felt that before.  It has done wonders for who I am.  You have given me a bravery I never would have imagined having.  Some people have let me know I should be who I am and not care what anyone else thinks, but you are the one who let me know that even when I do, someone will love me.  I thank you for that.  You have shown me what I will and will not accept from people, and have made me know what I want out of life and how much I am willing to risk to have it.

You also changed the way I view love.  I thought you were the love of my life.  I realize that you are a love my life.  Not the love of my life.  That is a very different shift in the way I view I things, and I think it is probably a healthier to way see it.  It is actually somewhat freeing, knowing that there is all this space in my heart and knowing that just because someone is in it does not mean that someone can not have their own place in it.

So many people loved you so much.  Some of the people who never met you in person even.  One of our friends did a really touching tribute to you that I just think if you saw you’d do that thing where you are smiling so hard but trying not show it until you got home and cried happy tears like you used to do.  I miss that smile so much.

I know that if you could read this, you would already know these things.  I hope that in some way you do.  Somehow.  And even though I am writing this to you, I really think this is more for me to be able to put these feelings that all pop up randomly into words.  Maybe it is also a way to warn those closest to me that I am a basket case right now and probably will be through at least the remainder of this month.

Or maybe I just felt that if I send this out to the universe then it can find its way to you so that you know I will always love you, no matter how mad at you I may be some days, and no matter what happens during the rest of my life.

I will love you forever, and ever, and always.  You will always by my Sweetness, my Bear, and my Hannah Girl.

With all that I am,

Your Mister

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Forever, and ever, and always.