The More You Know…

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I’ve started substitute teaching. You probably remember crusty, old geezers teaching your class when one of your teachers was gone. These fossils were fond of telling students that they don’t know what hard work is, that they had to recite the pledge of allegiance in Greek and had to learn math with an abacus.

 

Whatever the case, there was always the assumption that, like teaching vampires who only came out during the school day, subs didn’t have an everyday normal life; when the school day was over they’d retreat to the school basement to read the textbooks for enjoyment before using them as a bed to sleep on until they were called to action again.

 

My point is that, with a single day substitute, there isn’t really a chance to get to know the sub.

 

I typically sub at the school where I once taught and assisted librarily, so I know most of the teachers and they know of my condition. Given enough notice, I’ll offer to give a presentation to the kiddos about me. This way the teacher doesn’t have to prepare as much and the students get first-hand knowledge of why I am the way I am. I’ve posted a version of this presentation before (LINK), but it was a raggedy old PowerPoint.

 

AND THEN…last summer – I went to a writer’s conference to pitch my memoir. I wanted to stand out, so I put together a presentation. I had just given the students a crash course in PowerPoint presentations and Prezi, so I thought I’d give that a try. I didn’t get a book deal >:(, but my presentation was pretty sweet. Find it HERE

 

AND THEN…a new school year started and the sub jobs came pouring in. So far, I’ve presented to about 250 seventh graders, most of the eighth graders saw it last year.

 

AND THEN…my younger sister, a Latin teacher (She teaches Latin, she’s not a teacher who is Latin, no one is or really has been since the Roman empire), asked me to come talk to one of her classes. I thought that this nexus of presentation opportunities called for a revamped presentation.

 

AND THEN…I combined the raggedy PowerPoint with the fresh, shiny Prezi to create a PreziPoint (PowerPrezi?). The svelte can be viewed in all its smoothly transitioning glory HERE. Or, for your convenience, I’ve reproduced the presentation here in slideshow form.

 

AND THEN…actually, ‘AND THEN…’ doesn’t work here, but I’m nothing if not consistent, the frames with a 🌟 in the lower right corner were adapted from the original PowerPoint. This means that the ones without a star make up the original Prezi.

 

AND THEN… If you don’t notice, apart from the book excerpts, it rhymes! Isn’t that delicious?

 

AND THEN…FIN

 

AND THEN…@JarrettLWilson

 

EUREKA! And some OT

Turns out, the pump was not to blame for my recent neuro woes (neurwoes?) I’m not totally convinced that the pump isn’t somehow involved, but it appears that I had a small bleed at my resection site in the Pons region of the brainstem.

some of the symptoms (the excruciating pain in my ass muscles, the temperature fluctuations on random areas of my body,  and the increase in spasticity…

ITEM! I’ve just now (unless you read this after 7:23 on Friday, February 13th. Then it’s the date/time you’re reading this minus the above mentioned date/time) found the cause of the hemorrhage, methinks.

You see, I was about to mention increase in blood pressure after “increase in spasticity”. My blood pressure shot way up.  This probably aggravated the small bit of cavernoma, causing it to bleed ever so slightly.

So let this be a lesson to you – if you do trunk rotations, DON’T let the catheter from your baclofen pump pop out of your spine. If it does, DON’T let your blood pressure spike. If that happens,  DON’T let the pressure get to your brainstem. If you DON’T heed any of these warnings, DO go to Zale Lipshy University Hospital,  ask for Dr.  Jonathan White and get on a low dose of ‘roids to reduce the swelling. Next, DO start with therapy exercises, because the ~18 month window of best recovery has officially opened.

You might try something like this –

Next,  be prepared to eat a LOT, because ‘roids make you ravenous!
FIN
@JarrettLWilson

Trunk Rotations can be Hazardous

…ln other news,  Jarrett Wilson managed to snap,  krinkle and/or pop the catheter of his baclofen pump at an intense workout on Monday.  He began to experience increased spasticity that night and ever more as the week went on. The initial suspicion was nuvigil withdrawal but after going bac…lofen  through the symptoms,  baclofen withdrawal seemed a more prudent diagnosis.  The first and most obvious sign of baclofen withdrawal is enhanced tremors and spasticity – the patient will shake as if his insides were some diabolical popcorn machine. Next,  the patient might start hallucinating. Our sources report that this symptom had been seen in Jarrett,. Let’s go to Chuck in the amusement park cafeteria for more details. Chuck: Thanks, Flo. The great and powerful writer of this blog wants me to tell the readers that he’s abandoning the news room bit – it started off pretty cute, but now is kinda like a turtle, slow with no discernible direction. I figure I’ll just be straight up, here are the facts –

As Flo mentioned, while doing some trunk rotations at the gym. I figured I’d add more weight that day, because that’s what you’re supposed to do at the gym and what’s the worst that can happen? As if the universe was listening, it replied by creating an unexpected pop in my abdomen and sending me into baclofen withdrawal. At work the next day, it was becoming harder and harder to control the tremors from my left leg. I started becoming concerned when having sudden temperatures changes in some isolated part of my body. I entertained the idea that the temperature and body part might symbolize someone’s attitude toward me. For instance, if my butt got really warm it’d mean somebody thought I was a hot piece of ass. If my shoulder went cold it was because someone thought I was unjustly ignoring him or her (i.e. getting the cold shoulder). I needed more period that something was amiss so I took my blood pressure. I’m glad I did, it was freakin high. I called my all things disability doctor, and she told me to go to the ER.

Within 20 minutes I’m in my principals hot rod headed to the ER. They got me in for a CT scan of my noodle and found nada – the ER doc prescribed something for anxiety and I was on my way.

The next day, PM/R doc and I puzzled over it – baclofen pump? Medication reaction? Another hemorrhage? Global warming? Not enough donuts in my diet? There were signs everywhere, but the answer was oh so elusive. Think of it like The DaVinci Code meets neurological disorders. In essence, we were looking for Da – Neuro Code. After that first meeting, there weren’t any dead bodies with clues written on them or ambiguous paintings to draw direction from, so we improvised, discussing symptoms and recent med changes. We decided that it was a complication caused by my skipping my nuvigil doses the weekend before. I would continue on nuvigil as usual and my hot ass wouldn’t be giving anymore cold shoulders.
After another day of tremors, temperature anomalies and high BP and a trip to the ER, it was back to the PM/R doc to reassess. The more we spoke on it, the more it pointed toward baclofen withdrawal, so she scheduled surgery the next day.

Turns out, we were right, the catheter leading from the pump to my spine had snapped. After replacing the catheter, my body decided to bleed a lot, there was concern that the blood would put too much pressure on my spine. Luckily, that fixed itself, however, I still had a leak – much the same as the great CSF flood of 2011 after the pump was first put in.

Listen, the brain and spinal cord are very particular about the amount of fluid they will sit in. If they sense that the amount of CSF is not just so, they demand that my head fill with an abundance of discomfort juice and that the discomfort juice should spread to my stomach and take the form of bile and partially digested food and exit out of my face portal with much heaving and dramatic bellowing.

To assuage all of these various fluids, a new fluid must be introduced as mediator, to “patch” things up if you will. Put simply, my blood is injected at the site of the leak and clots, sealing the leak.

A few hours after having this done, the discomfort juice was gone and the contents of my stomach would continue their course to exit out the correct portal. In fact, the improvement was so great that the Dr. decided to send me home that day.

That was two days ago, I’ve been holed up at my parents house resting since then. I hope to return to work later this week or early next week.

I’ll check back after I know more. FIN

@JarrettLWilson

How Standardized testing contributes to Global Warming and Other Curiosities

INSPIRATION! I found you! It was hiding in the vast tangled forest of the rules and regulations that is standardized testing.

You see, I work in a middle school and state testing days are quite an ordeal. The only comparison I can think to make is what a building would have to go through to prepare to receive the president (a lame comparison, I know. I’m still shaking the rust of my inspiration gland).

EVERYTHING is considered a threat (to test security), every corner is monitored by highly trained personnel (i.e. the next name on the alphabetized staff roster as duties are assigned), and the event is catered (insofar as you can say that school lunch is a catered affair).My duty was predetermined at conception.

Listen, I’m a dude. Society dictates that I potty in a room where only dudes are allowed. Rumor has it that there are similar rooms for chicks, but I’ve never been in one. During state testing, the restrooms have to be monitored. The students like have think tanks after going potty. Such a clandestine rendezvous might cause a student to score a little higher and help him or her land a job that he/she is not qualified for (before discussing it in the bathroom, he/she thought the square root of 64 was 116, or that George Washington discovered America, or something).

Such a forbidden meeting might go like this (it’s funnier if you imagine them speaking in British accents): “The answer to #4 is unequivocally option ‘C.'” Says George. Carl scoffs at this, replies “I’d put ‘C’ if I wanted to get it wrong!” Jim busts in and says, “Will one of you please hurry? I really need to go potty.” He then starts doing the potty hop on one leg. George and Carl, having agreed that the answer is actually ‘D’, have moved on to discussing the merits of multiple choice testing and are too engrossed in the subject to hear Jim’s urgent request to pee (peequest?). Just as they decide that short answer questions would be the best assessment tool, but too difficult to grade, Jim soils himself. Now Jim rushes to finish the test so he can go home to change his pants. He ends up failing the test, and repeats the grade. His self esteem is shot, he stops trying in school, and is forced to take a low paying job at an aerosol can factory. As we all know, aerosol cans deplete the ozone layer – contributing to global warming.

In effect, not monitoring the bathrooms during standardized testing contributes to global warming.

This brings us back to my conception. In order to prevent cheating, rousing discussions on testing methods, and global warming, the people who create and enforce standardized testing (Satan, Barbra Streisand, Rush Limbaugh, etc.) have decreed that all potties be monitored during standardized testing. As a male, it is altogether fitting and proper that I should do this.  Getting back to being I.N.S.P.I.R.E.D (part one HERE), ‘P’ will now stand for “potty monitor”.

In keeping with the topic of standardized testing, ‘I’ stands for “Irregularity”. This is a very common, yet much maligned term used for any aberration from testing procedures, which is pretty much everything.

For instance, I told a student to “knock it dead”, ‘it’ being the science test. Moments later an owl flew by and dropped a letter at my feet. It was addressed to “Test Defiler Wilson”. I opened it and it started screaming at me (sounded like Tom Cruise). It said, ” It was reported at 8:03:56am that you bade a student to ” knock it dead” in reference to a test. This is in direct violation of subsection ee of decree 17 of chapter 119 of section four of the third edition of the educator code, copied here for your convenience: Thou shalt not wish luck to any student the student to figuratively use violence between 8:02 and 8:07am. Examples: “knock it dead,” “kick it’s butt,” and “slay that puppy”. For this irregularity, we’re taking away your stapler. May God have mercy on your soul.”

I can’t give you a example of a real irregularity – that, in and of itself, would be an irregularity. However, I can tell you that ‘R’ stands for refill.

When I write the word ” refill”, you probably think of an icy cold beverage at your favorite local eatery. That is quite far from I’m talking about. I refer, of course, to going to the doctor to refill the pump in your abdomen with that sweet, sweet muscle relaxer called Baclofen – which is 1,000 times stronger than the oral stuff. If you’re unfamiliar with this process, I’ve provided some pictures for you. These shots capture the wide variety of emotions that surface during a refill (read the captions for more info).

Primary emotion - euphoria. I never learn, every time I go in for a refill, I think they're going fill it with Pepsi or something, so I'm very excited. But...
Reading the Pump. Primary emotion – euphoria. I never learn, every time I go in for a refill, I think they’re going fill it with Pepsi or something, so I’m very excited. But…
...then comes the dread of knowing that, even if they do fill it with Pepsi, I'm going to get poked. Primary emotion - dread
Dawning the Pump               …then comes the dread of knowing that, even if they do fill it with Pepsi, I’m going to get poked. Primary emotion – dread

 

Primary emotion - boredom. I've been stuck with A LOT of needles. I'm not bragging when I say that getting stuck with a needle is as routine as going potty.
Prepping for the Poke. Primary emotion – boredom. I’ve been stuck with A LOT of needles. I’m not bragging when I say that getting stuck with a needle is as routine as going potty.
The Stick. Primary emotion - rage. Like I said in the previous pic, getting poked doesn't bother me. If I recall, I was so upset on this particular occasion because they didn't have any "Where's Waldo" books in this exam room.
The Stick. Primary emotion – rage. Like I said in the previous pic, getting poked doesn’t bother me. If I recall, I was so upset on this particular occasion because they didn’t have any “Where’s Waldo” books in this exam room.
Sucking out the old stuff. Primary emotion - stunned sadness. The old Baclofen had been a part of me for a few months, now it's gone.
Sucking out the old stuff. Primary emotion – stunned sadness. The old Baclofen had been a part of me for a few months, now it’s gone.
Pumping in the new stuff. Primary emotion - contentment. I'm just about done and the medical assistant has gone to get the "Where's Waldo" books
Pumping in the new stuff. Primary emotion – contentment. I’m just about done and the medical assistant has gone to get the “Where’s Waldo” books

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

 

 

Presenting – My…Presentation

I work at a middle school.

I’ve been employed there in some fashion for a number of years.

My first two years I taught 8th grade US history and coached boys’ athletics. The next year I taught 8th grade English and coached girls’ athletics.

At the end of that school year some blood vessels in my brain leaked like so much kiddie pool left to rot in the sun.

I taught 8th grade English for half of the next two school years. I came back the next school year as the assistant librarian and have filled that role for going on three years now.

Assuming my math is correct (2+1+.5+.5+3), I’ve been working there for 21,553 years – this raises a few questions.

Firstly, I’m only 32 years old. Secondly, the school has only been there for 40ish years. Let’s round that figure down to eight school years.

I do so enjoy working there and continuing to work with students. Thing is, I’m not like any of the other teachers/professionals in the school.

When I returned to teaching after the hemorrhage, I created a PowerPoint presentation about my condition to show to my class to prepare them for my uniqueness.

Recently, I had the opportunity to speak to the new seventh graders. I modified the presentation to fit my condition today. I thought I’d share it with you, the internet –

1

This is the title slide – note that it has the title written (in English, no less!) on it.

2

This slide is for a handout. The students were given the same graphic, but with blanks. In essence, they started with an empty brain and ended with a full one (symbolic, no?)

3

In the same fashion as the previous slide, the students filled in the blanks on the same graphic.

4

This slide is a pictorial representation (pictoriational?) of the functions of each lobe. For instance, the temporal lobe (orange) controls the instinct to swat things away from your ear (actually, that represents hearing), and the frontal lobe controls the confusion that comes from staring at gibberish on a sign post (actually, that represents planning).

5

Now we get to my contribution – you see, the seventh grade reading classes at the school where I work are covering non-fiction. They are reading Gifted Hands by Dr. Ben Carson – the brain surgeon that removed half of a girl’s brain. One of the teachers is a friend of mine and asked me to present my experience as a primer. The image in the slide is my brain (isn’t it beautiful?). The white dot in the middle is my cavernoma isn’t it (or rather, wasn’t it) ugly?

6

Not much to say about this slide that isn’t in the slide. I’ll just add that the symptoms listed are enough to get you a 20 minute helicopter ride.

7

Much like the image in the “My Brain Issues” slide – the head pictured is my head. My head is perfectly round and my brain has many different colors. I know what you’re thinking, “But Jarrett, there weren’t no color in the other image and your head ain’t perfectly round.”

I’ve a twofold reply to this comment. First of all, I was joking – that’s not my head. Secondly, you need to work on your grammar. Moving on, this one has info about the surgery. That fact weighed heavily in my decision to title the slide “The Surgery 9/2009.”

8

A few summers ago I went on a tour of a Nair factory – this happened to be the day that Gillette planned to sabotage the Nair factory. They set explosives…I’m tired of this explanation. It started off with promise, but now I hate it!

Truthfully, a few summers ago I wanted to see the scar, so I shaved my head.

9

This slide is linked to a file with moving pictures and sound! This “video” is about *drumroll* neuro-plasticity! A fancy term denoting the brain’s ability to form new connections.

10

This is a visual representation of how your brain thinks. For instance, you see a donut with your occipital lobe. That info shoots to your frontal lobe and activates your happy gland. Your happy gland shoots a message to your parietal lobe “GO GET THAT F’N DONUT!” Someone gets it before you can, so your temporal lobe tells you to break out your megaphone and shout obscenities at this person and threaten to call the police. This guy dressed a nearby napkin dispenser and wangs you in the Temple…

11

…That blow to the Temple gives you a TBI. Your brain rewires itself and finds an alternate route to your happy gland.

12

I included this slide to give the students an explanation as to why I sometimes shake when I speak and why I walk with a limp and hike up my left arm like so much Bob Dole. It also helps explain the little girl in the moving picture mentioned earlier. It also gave me a chance to…

14

…mention the painful treatments. One thing I’ve learned from working in a middle school is that, as much as the kids want to be treated as adults, they still love to hear about people getting poked with needles and meeting a real life cyborg.

13

I like to pepper in some humor here and there to make sure the kids are awake. When this slide appears, it’s accompanied by a very loud, obnoxious laugh.

15

I don’t really do any of these anymore, but I mention it because I did it for so long, and it drives home the point that I’ve had a long road.

16

In my mind, all of these will someday be replaced with “Painfully normal”. For purposes of this presentation, it gives the students an idea of what to expect when they see me.

17

It can be difficult to work around young people with my disabilities. Instead of hiding or pretending that I’m no different, I encourage the students to come talk to me if they have a question. I want to think that I’m an ambassador for the disabled. Hopefully, these students will apply what I’ve tried to teach them to others with disabilities.

I included the last bullet because I’ve had some students speak very loudly and very slowly to me. You see, they have to tell me their student ID number to check out a book. In previous years, a student or two would speak to me as if I was unable to type and listen at the same time.

18

I’m a pretty smart dude and I can be pretty creative, but I didn’t discover any of this and I didn’t make this sh*t up.

If there’s one thing I learned in college, it’s that Keystone Light is super cheap and tastes like weedkiller. If there’s a second thing I learned in college, it’s that plagiarism is bad (I remember a syllabus that said there’s a special place in hell for those that plagiarize).

We try to instill that fear into the students, so I model the proper citing of sources.

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

The Magical Magic of Magic

The time has come for me to write another entry in my blog. If you are reading this then I’ve published this entry and you are reading it – you are probably aware of this, but I told you anyway.

In medical news, Jarrett has been scheduled to undergo a dye study. This is a simple procedure where the patient stares at a series of shirts that have been tie-dyed and describes them (similar to a Rorschach test). This could be as simple as describing the color (for instance, “blue”) to going into great detail about your feelings (for instance, “this shirt makes me feel blue”). Raise your hand if you believed that. Now put your hand down, no one can see you, weirdo. Here is what I understand a dye test to be – First, some background: in my abdomen lives a hockey puck. This hockey puck is connected to a tube that leads to my spine. The hockey puck, by some process that is best described as magic, transmits magic juice to my spine via that tube. The people that dress like doctors and use big doctor words (i.e. “magic tube”, “magic hockey puck” and “magic juice” and so on), they tell me that I might possibly have a kink in the magic tube that leads from the magic hockey puck to my spine, thereby obstructing the flow of magic juice. If this is the case, I blame that dark wizard I saw driving past me in a Daewoo the other day (I don’t know his name, for purposes of this blog I’ll call him “Stephen”. Aside: if your name is Stephen and I’ve offended you, I apologize, all the Stephens I’ve known have been good people with the exception of the Daewoo driving dark wizard). Back to the point, if there is a kink in the magic tube, they’ll have to use surgery magic to replace the magic tube with another more magical (magicaler?) tube. If no kink- I will continue to receive a dose of Baclofen that would turn an elephant’s legs to Jello.

In other news, Jarrett is going to get serious for a short time (not long, I promise). I make a lot of jokes, I like to laugh. I suppose I could let this condition defeat me – in many ways, it has. The one thing I can do to say “up yours” to my situation is to keep laughing and think happy thoughts. These aren’t easy to do. There are times when I want to crawl out of my own skin and, if only for one moment, experience life as I once did. The more I think about it, the more it seems to me that the “old Jarrett” is ready to emerge, but I’ve forgotten how to be that guy – I’ve been locked inside this stiff, clumsy body for three years now.
I do tend to dwell on the things I can’t do and get angry when I see a dad effortlessly tossing his kid into the pool. However, at the end of the day, I’m thankful to be alive to watch my daughter grow up and I’m hopeful that one day “old Jarrett” will emerge and I will know how to greet him.

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

Stuff and Junk

Hey there buckaroos and buckaroodettes! I’ll skip the usual “I haven’t posted recently because…” and just say “better late than never!” Much has transpired since last I “flogged” you –

Professionally: I am once again gainfully employed as a library assistant at the Piner library. I very much enjoy it – it’s quiet, I get to leave work at work, and I get to organize and categorize all day! My inner bureaucrat is taken care of 🙂

Medically: I am now part machine (that’s right, I was all man before). I wear a black helmet, breathe loudly and sound like James Earl Jones and enjoy pinching my fingers together to choke strangers (I’m a RIOT at restaurants! I make people think they’re choking on alfalfa sprouts!)… But seriously YOU DON’T KNOW THE POWER OF THE DARK SIDE!!! Sorry, that just sorta pops out every now and again. Long story longer and more convoluted – YOU DON’T KNOW THE POWER OF THE DARK SIDE!!! Err… Lets assume you do know the power of there dark side so we can move on (for the record, it’s eh).

Listen: I had a pump implanted in my abdomen (left side), connected to a tube leading to my spine. This pump releases Baclofen (muscle relaxer/ joy juice) directly into my spine. Take that blood brain barrier!… I’m back! You may continue reading. Bet you didn’t even know I was gone! Being away doing chores as I just was, I’ve decided that I’d like to address one or two things not related to my brain. I will call these reflections “Prosaic Musings and Stuff” or PMS for short. Firstly, why is it that when you (or maybe it only happens to me? Do comment.) take a full trashbag out of your trash can, another empty bag doesn’t magically appear in its place? I come back to throw some sh.. away but there aren’t no bag! As if that’s not bad enough I have to put a new one in! It’s like a gift that keeps on giving, only it’s bad. It’s an “ungift”.
I have to go to bed now, next topic – Sunchips and the weirdo that names them (i.e. “harvest cheddar” how does one harvest cheddar? Doesn’t that imply that you have to grow cheddar? Even if that were possible, where does one acquire cheddar seeds?)…to be continued.

Miclog #8 ("The Exorcist, part pee")

Happy 4th of July, Internet! I am slowing down on the Miclogs – sorry, so many video games, so little time. I’ll just jump right in: I had the baclofen trial and it was found not guilty by reason of it being an inanimate object. It was, therefore, set free to continue not doing anything. When I last checked, it wasn’t happy or sad about the decision, because pills don’t have emotions, or the means to express them if they did. You want more medicine humor? Or am I being a pill? The trial was deemed a success owing to the fact that my left leg was easier to relax and my left hamstring started to work (no more circumduction or hyperextension!). The “installation” is scheduled for July 28…coincidentally, Abraham Lincoln’s birthday – actually, I’m lying…chumps! Banks will be open that day, so your transactions should post just fine. I’ve gotta throw in one more wisecrack about the trial – the trial, a shot in the spine to inject baclofen, was done by a radiologist named Dr. Scott. After the injection, I shouted “Dr. Scotty, I need more medicine!” He abruptly replied, “I’ve given you all I got, captain!” Not sure why he called me captain, maybe it was the sailor hat they gave me so I’d stop crying.
In other news, I got a job as a sea captain; which is strange considering I’m nowhere close to an ocean. I’m that good, I guess. Jess and I finally exorcised the “poop in a diaper” demon from our daughter by *gasp*, not providing diapers. Listen, demons – like the “PiaD” demon – thrive on the inconsistency of humans. The SOB called a friend in to fill the void, though: the “pee in bed” demon. I’m pretty sure he’s a dude, so we call him “Mr. PiB”. Oh well, as I like to say, there are no problems, only solutions; we’ll figure this out, we can call the local priest – Jebidiah Pepper, Ph.D, or Dr. Pepper – to exorcise Mr. PiB.

I go now!

@JarrettLWilson

Miclog #567

Miclog #s 5, 6 & 7: I wrote 5 & 6 about a month ago 7 will be more updated, to simplify things, I will call this whole thing miclog #567, as I will probably never get that high. I am going to copy and paste 5, 6 & 7. Why? Because I can. Here we go –
Microg #5 (“Inception”) – After seeing the Hollywood feature with Leonardo Dicaprio, I thought to myself, “the landscape of my mind is a lot like Paris, and I would love to have Leo Dicaprio tinkering around in there.” Unfortunately, Leo was not available and dream invasion doesn’t exist *sigh*…guess I’ll keep dreaming of the day when Leo comes to sedate me and invade my dreams. The only alternative to that dream within a dream is to have a hypnotherapist “incept” the idea that it is no longer necessary for me to instruct my left arm to take action, the way you command your butt-cheeks to clinch when you need to abstain from flatulence at the dinner table. Listen, I waste an excessive amount of “CRAM” (Cognitive Random Access Memory), thinking about moving/manipulating my left arm/hand; resources that should be devoted to ending world hunger or pondering the age old question: Diamond Dave or Sammy Hagar? Actually, I have already found the answers to both – magic and Diamond Dave (period). I need more energy to anticipate the needs of my darling daughter and her tyrannical compulsions for juice and pancakes. To reprogram my noodle to devote a reasonable amount of “CRAM” to the critical tasks outlined above, I have enlisted the services of a hypnotist. At this point, I have done pretty much everything that modern medical science has to offer, why not try a little hocus pocus? To my surprise, the mind can overcome some daunting hurdles when properly channeled. I wrote this a month ago and like anybody (brain injured or knee injured or emotionally injured) I have lost my train of thought…more on my actual hypnosis is forthcoming, stay tuned!

Miclog #6 (“conception”): I am throwing out the name “Microg” because ‘blog’ is not fairly represented. Therefore, the ‘r’ is to be dropped in favor of an ‘l’, bringing it closer to the word ‘blog’. As a promoter of equal rights, the change makes me happy; I like to be happy : ) With that, I give you the first “Miclog”, Micro-blog #6 –
It seems that hypnosis works, at least for a little while; until my brain realizes it’s been hoodwinked, at which point the “CRAM” will again be dominated by my occupational therapist asking me, ”why aren’t you using your left hand?” I am by no means back to a point where I can puppeteer (as many of you know,I LOVE puppeteering, if you didn’t know that we’re not friends anymore, shame on you!), my left arm now acts more of its own accord, still clumsy and slow, but now my mind has more energy to devote to the important things, such as – birth certificate issues concerning our president and the royal wedding.

Miclog #7 (” No Country for Big Needles”): At this moment (5:25pm, Wednesday the 8th of June) – if you read it later, I’ll probably be getting Q a “happy juice”
or swinging her in the backyard – I am sitting up in a hospital bed at Zale Lipshy in Dallas. A little after the noon o’clock hour, a doctor jabbed me in the spine with two needles(!), the first to numb the area, and the second to pump in that sweet muscle relaxer known as baclofen. Other than fulfilling a lifelong desire to get not one, but two shots in my spine, the goal was to see how my left leg would react to a direct shot of baclofen. This ” baclofen trial” as it is called, was deemed a success in so far as it significantly reduced my tremors and improved my gait (no more circumduction or hyperextension, but I drag my foot). All this means I am eligible for pump surgery where they surgically implant a chair on my back where a doctor injects baclofen into my spine every 4-6 hours…I asked the doctor how I’m supposed to sleep, he shrugged and said, “not my problem.” and now…page 2.
Although you won’t have to wait to read this, I must wait to write more owing to the need to potty, you’ll never know I’m gone. I’m back, which is evident by the fact that you are reading…I don’t know that I have anything else of substance…go Mavs and keep fighting the good fight, Lynn! Ciao.

@JarrettLWilson