Monday, October 18, 2010

just weather

i am the sky.

and the feelings
the huge feelings
that rattle in my heart
and shake the very roots from which i grow
mere thunderstorms passing through.

how easily we are fooled into believing
thoughts carelessly grafittied on the walls of our minds.

how carefully we must remember to remember.

Monday, October 4, 2010

What Were You Taught in Med School about CFS?

A dear friend just wrote me that she has been reading all of my facebook posts. She said that they really helped her understand more about the disease and made her a better doctor. She said she was disgusted with what she was taught in med school. So I asked, her,
"What were you taught?"
"You're not going to like it," she started out.
"We were (and I bet most med students still are) taught that people with CFS, fibro, vuvlodynia, interstitial cystitis, etc - are basically crazy people with a psych problem and some physical components."
(Chicago Medical School, circa 2005)

It all starts to make sense.

Friday, October 1, 2010

The most recent shockingly unsurprising, appalling visit to the emergency room

written on September 19, 2010 at 12:48pm
I'm weakened from the most recent episode at the ER where they treated me like crap as soon as they heard that I have CFS. They shot me up with all kinds of pain meds for my brain shattering 30+ hour migraine and bone cracking body pain. None of them worked, but only made me super drugged out and then they literally threw me out in less than ten minutes after giving me the last shot.

The ER doc told me that my health problems were not viral (Does anyone in the medical field read the science section of the frikkin news???!? CHRIST!) and needed to be "dealt with at home." Infuriating.

So my hope is I tell all of you about this and you tell everyone you know and maybe it leaks out to doctors so they treat all of these very sick and suffering people with some dignity.

Private pain -> public purpose.



written on June 22, 2008

it's sunday evening. i sit by the open window and i write. i write to drain my head of it's thoughts. to take cascade or what's the scrubby stuff in the green can called? to the insides of my pipes and my roots and my soul and cleanse. it's a cleanser i need. one that comes out in mini scrub brushes with blinky eyes and bristles that get up and in between. cleansers that go over the ugly and the painful and the filth and leave a trail of clean and pure.

i know i'm under here somewhere.