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On Monday I have to call, maybe even attempt calling tomorrow/today, now, and see if I can get my visit with the neurologist bumped up ASAP.
Yes, I was in the ER again. Yes, for lack of anything else safe to do, I'm about to dose myself up on a valium-related thingummy and a couple of vicodin and some nice cold water and some nice salty potato chips and hope that in an hour when the pills kick in, sleep will be good.
They put me in the section for 'people who come in looking very unstable and complain of hallucinations' - lots less medical equipment in the rooms, lots fewer sharp objects, and they won't let you close the curtain. Also, you get sent in DAMNquick instead of waiting around for long. Wonder why?
The doctor who talked with me is the same fellow who worked on Ryan, apparently.
The lady putting in the IV fucked up royally, let it FALL OUT, and then didn't put so much as a cotton ball over it for about six minutes, until I asked... then she handed me a plasti-coated band-aid and said that yes, it was too late to stop the bruising.
There's blood on the sleeve of the t-shirt now.
So yeah, if we'd still been in doubt, stress does bad things to a Jax. *twitches* There were things I mentioned, the streetlights all pulsing while none of the other lights such as storefront lights or sign lights were doing so, the twisted faces behind some of the darkened windows, the way everything got contrasted up too high - the brights were too bright, the darks were too dark, it was creeup.
THere were things I didn't mention, the voices that I recognize whenever I hear them screaming, pleasing, arguing... the utter certainty, every time my eyes caught a few different groups of shadows, that there was a boy kneeling there... the brief, but overwhelmingly intense belief that most of the hospital staff were minions of the Pope, possibly ninjas, sent to punish me for being 'unnatural'... the sight of little tiny insects skittering all over the outside of the car as we were in it, driving hime... things appearing in the pools of light on streetcorners, a tangled, stiff little ball of fur, a bear turning around to walk off, away, my kitten... *shivers*
The fault of a seizure-tendant brain poked at by a migrane headache.
They'll fade, soon... and then tomorrow around 10:00 it'll start to get bad, again. As it's done every night since the Monday night when I was headed for the coast. As it may continue to do.
If there's no stress, if I can stay calm, if I've gotten sleep and food and am reasonably well-balanced, I can ignore most of it. Pop a couple excedrin and alieve, have some soda, lose myself in the computer or a movie or something until it goes away.
In other words? *shrugs*
I freak, I tweak, I flip, or I worry...
...and suddenly, my life is an acid trip during a hangover.
This, incidentally, is why I may seem a bit off from about 10:00 to 3:00 or so. I'm trying to keep hold of 'reality', of normal life and normal tasks, trying to ensure that everything goes ok. Sometimes I slip. *shrugs again*
I really hope the neurologist can figure this out - I don't feel quite like taking anti-seizure, anti-psychotic, and anti-migrane pills every damn day. I've never even BEEN on antypsychotics, that I know of.
Maybe I can get some sleep.
*sighs* Wish someone were awake to talk with. The world still spooks me a bit too much to allow sleep.
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Gonna go post in livejournal, read a few entries there, try to relax.
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