A Picture is Worth a Thousand…Pictures…

All Done

All Done…or 93 pictures if you’re the GIF above. By that count, if a picture is truly worth 1,000 words, that GIF is a tidy package of 93,000 words. Add to that the words you’re reading, and you have the world’s longest blog post. Honestly, I almost could’ve written 93,000 words in the time it took to make this GIF.

While I explain what it is, I’ll explain how it was made. I have the MRI images for most of my scans, in total I found/used eight sets of scans. Then, I made some pictures with my webcam of my profile and the top of my freakishly large head. If my math is correct, that makes 8+1 = 9 sets of images. Each set has roughly 10 pictures – including multiples of the original and duplicates of the fading shots. The sequence of the scans is chronological (For instance, a scan from 2010 would come after a scan from 2009, a scan done in May of some year will come before a scan…scanned in September of that same year…And so on).

The images are labeled with the reason for and date of the scan. I’d only point out the first scan from May, 2009 showing a big blob of white stuff just below the very center of my brain profile and slightly off center looking at the top. It’s almost as if someone tried to white it out. Really, it’s blood, the doctor injects you with the air from inside a blacklight, then your blood glows white.

The magnetic manipulation of the various cells and particles that form a mass called “Jarrett” (Magnetic), and the clicking and knocking noises (Resonance) labored to produce the this Image a few days after the hemorrhage.

The magnets and sounds continued their unlikely coupling through my skull on August 15, 2016, one day before my appointment with my neurosurgeon (I verbally sparred with both the doctor’s office and the insurance company for a month and had to reschedule twice, but that’s a different story altogether).

On the last MRI image, notice all the white out has been removed. When looking down from the top of my head, the “cavern” that the cavernous malformation called home is still a dark hole. I can only speculate that this is why I forget stuff almost as quickly as it pops into my head, it gets sucked into this vortex of blackest black, of darkest dark, of ebon opacity, of obsidian obscurity, etc.

Anyway, this GIF sums up seven years of the physiological side of brain injury recovery. I’ll stop writing now as this post has now reached a staggering 93,443 words.

This is all to say that my latest scans show no activity, and my recovery continues.

FIN (93,460 words if counting the number)

@JarrettLWilson (93,468)

Jarrett Gets Political

Breaking news from Ardmore, Ok – my mother (who lives there) stumbled onto a way for me to be ABLE (that’ll make more sense in a minute) to get government assistance AND have money to pay my substantial medical bills. In 2014, a program called ABLE (Achieving a Better Life for Experience) was initiated. This program allows disabled folks to put money into a tax free account that won’t count against them when they apply for benefits (SSI, Medicaid, etc.)
You see, you have to be on the brink of poverty to qualify for programs like SSI and Medicaid (no investments, no more than $2,000 in the bank). This is kinda backwards considering the folks that need these services (like me) probably have ginormous medical bills (like me).
Thing is, I don’t qualify because I was 28 when I became disabled. To qualify for this program you need to have been 26 or younger when the disability started. Does this two years make my situation any less urgent? Should I go back in time and cause my brain hemorrhage to occur two years earlier?
No and no. The answer is to appeal to the powers that be, which I’ve done with this letter to John Ratcliffe, my congressional representative –
Dear Representative Ratcliffe,
I write to you as a disabled man disillusioned by methodical rejection and neglect by our country’s social welfare system.
In mid 2009, at the age of 28, I had a massive brain hemorrhage in my brainstem (I’ve a blog with more info. here it is from the beginning – https://braininjourney.com/2009/07/01/how-it-began/). I now live with a weakened left side, a limp, and slurred speech.

The 6+ years since have been a struggle, most notably with medical bills. It’s coming down to the nitty-gritty, my checking account is dwindling and I have no savings. I do, however, have a 403b. I’d like to take the funds from this account and put them into an ABLE account: (http://www.ndss.org/Advocacy/Legislative-Agenda/Creating-an-Economic-Future-for-Individuals-with-Down-Syndrome/Achieving-a-Better-of-Life-Experience-ABLE-Act/#sthash.38UVpv5f.MmKqVt7q.dpuf), so that I can get SSI and Medicaid.
This way I’ll be able to use that money for medical expenses and avoid “meeting a means or resource test that limits eligibility to individuals who report no more than $2,000 in cash savings, retirement funds and other items of significant value [and] remain poor” to continue to receive public assistance.

This matter is all the more urgent because, having recently lost my job, I’m unemployed. This means I’ll have to pay out of pocket for health insurance.

One of the eligibility requirements is that an individual must’ve been 26 or younger when he/she became disabled. As I mentioned earlier, I was 28. Can this legislation be amended in such a way that it doesn’t discriminate by age?

Please consider my case for your valuable attention. Getting into this program would ease a heavy burden upon my family and me.

Sincerely,

Jarrett Wilson
—–
Problem is, my message will be a proverbial drop in the bucket full of other constituents’ missives. It is for this reason that I’m calling on you (yes you, with the shirt on!) to help my plea get noticed by those with the power to affect change and end this egregious discrminAGEion! I ask that you post this on the social media platform of your choice or favorite it here on WordPress – simple actions that might mean big, positive changes for me!
Here is a LINK to more information about ABLE – it’s on the National Down Syndrome Society’s website – it has the best explanation.

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

IN THE YEAR 105(ish) and The Varsity TBI Squad

This one turned out to be pretty long; it’s a blog and it’s long – it’s a blong.

I’m going to skip over the entries from July 7thJuly 13th and July 22nd, each of these talk about my time at Pate, which I have already discussed. Instead we will skip to August 5th. Coincidentally, that was 4 years ago today minus 105 days. What is the significance of 105? IDK, so I’ll Google it! Besides the Wikipedia entry for the year 105, I see mostly radio stations (105x BAM! The future of rock and roll). Reading through the Wikipedia article gets me thinking – why is there an entire article about the year 105? Put briefly, people died and a three month old was given the throne of China. Perhaps the most interesting part of the article is the fact that the year 105 started on a Wednesday. Coincidentally, tomorrow is Wednesday, small world.

Here is the original entry for August 5th (which, coincidentally is 105 words long. It would be if I took out 34 words. According to Google 34 is the number of…:D).

Oops, as I’m writing this on Monday, the number of days should be 104. I don’t wanna change it – I don’t think a three month old became emperor in 104 – they weren’t nearly as progressive with the age/potty training of potential rulers in 104. Either way, I think I’ll make a joke out of it later.

Ok, here is the entry from August 5th, I promise –
The (Near) End of Phase Three
My time at Pate and away from home is coming to a close. This Friday, I will go outpatient. As far as I know, I will be picked up and brought to Pate every weekday at first and gradually taper off.

I walk with a cane or independently now. Without a cane, I would look like a mummy if I stuck my arms out…but it’s walking. I do mostly physical therapy as cognitively I haven’t lost much if anything. Physical therapy consists of whatever my therapist cooks up (lately its been lunges), leg biking, treadmilling and what I can best describe as yoga (contorting my legs and midsection into various uncomfortable positions).

The thing that really sticks out from this entry is the first sentence – I was soooo glad to be done with the walker. Not only do people stare, but it makes it more difficult to carry stuff when both of your hands are holding the walker.

I still try to exercise the…uh, exercises learned during PT – I still get on the treadmill twice a week, instead of lunges I do squats; my balance is still a little wonky, lunging across a room = Jarrett fall down. As for yoga, I stretch my left quad and both hamstrings everyday and do a nerve stretch in my arms/necks (that’s right, I have more than one neck), then I vogue – I flail my arms about in front of a mirror to monitor/improve (monimprove?) my posture/coordination (coordinature?).

I continue to work out because I want to be more prettier; I grew accustomed to the easy to identify benchmarks (not sitting up in bed to sitting up in bed, taking 17 minutes to tie my shoes to taking 11 minutes, etc.) I’m not seeing these types of gains anymore, which is a bit disheartening. Thing is, what else am I gonna do? I don’t need to add overweight diabetic to my lot. At this point, I think of a quote I heard long ago, something like, “He/she who moves a mountain, starts by moving small stones.” I added the he/she because I’m pretty sure my daughter could move a mountain through sheer tyranny of will. It seems to me that I’m at a point now where I won’t really sense improvements as much as they’ll just become a part of what I do all the time. That is, I’ll keep chipping away at this “mountain” (disability) and, perhaps soon, I will realize the mountain has moved (no more disability).

Here is the next entry (August 20th) –

Home and Inpatient
Sorry for the delay…if I don’t think people are reading this blog much so I am more reluctant to post on it, holla if you wit me!

Everything has gone according to schedule so far, I couldn’t have asked for a more punctual rare brain disorder. I came home to stay on Aug. 7th and have been riding in a Pate provided transport (a Chevy Venture) to therapy everyday.

I have moved to the ILS (independent living skills) area for more distraction and “real world” type setting. I spend my day preparing lessons, being psychoanalyzed or working out. We also have a once daily education group, where we learn about brain injuries (and promptly forget, because we all have brain injuries :D). What was I talking about? Oh yeah; every Thursday I give a movie synopsis and review…I already forgot the films I reviewed. Okay, I have really beaten the “brain injury forgetfulness” act to death. Last Thursday I did Julie & Julia and this week I reviewed The Watchmen. Both are great, go watch them, dammit.

To answer everyone’s yet-to-be-asked question the answer is “yes, if you fight for me you get to kill Englishmen.” Oh wait, I mean, yes, I am happy to be home. I do what I can to help out, such as eat up all the food and flush the toilet when I’m done…you know, but there is a lot to be done. Jessica has been very gracious and supportive through this ordeal and is always thankful for the things I do manage to do.

At this time, I get around using a cane. I can walk without it, but need it for those gusts of wind that only I seem to feel…strange. I still have double vision. I wear a patch most of the time to single everything out. Lastly, my voice sounds like I just ran a marathon; I sound winded and tired. The latter two are the most bothersome.

Next up, surgery. I have brain surgery scheduled for Sept. 3rd…I will blog more about it shortly (preferrably before surgery, b/c my brain seems to have a profound effect on thinking and typing).


Otherwise, I make preparations for the coming school year or test my reaction time on the computer on a program called VMR to earn driving privileges back (this way I don’t run into the little yellow block).

I have another MRI and appointment with Dr. White on August 18th.Hopefully, I’ll be ready for surgery at that point and can get it scheduled ASAP. After that, more rehab (yippee!)
There’s quite a bit of content in the short passage above. Like a word flavored buffet (tastes like chicken), I’m going to talk about this & that and leave the rest to get sneezed on.

As it says, ILS = Independent Living Skills. Before my “promotion” to ILS, I was assigned to TRILS -Transition To Independent Living Skills. I remember feeling insulted that I wasn’t automatically assigned to ILS. I have this thing for hierarchies and rank. Listen, in the world of brain injury, there is no hierarchy. All the same, I saw ILS as the varsity squad to the junior varsity of TRILS. When I finally got moved up, I was thinking, IT’S ABOUT TIME! In actuality, ILS and TRILS operate in much the same way. The biggest differences are the radio and location. You see, ILS was right by one of the main thoroughfares of the rehab facility, so there was the constant distraction of people coming and going. Also, the radio was always on playing ear garbage – I was more distracted by contemplating how this “music” got on the air than the constant noise. The reason for the distraction is that people with brain injury have more difficulty concentrating, all the distraction is meant to train your brain to filter out the distractions of work/home (hork?).

Much of the entry deals with setting up surgery. Allow me to go into more detail – I didn’t have to have surgery. I was told that I could leave the cavernoma and recover more better BUT risk having another leak(s) and going through a whole new “injourney” or having surgery and sustaining what damage that might cause and not worry about more leaks. For me, this was a no-brainer (actually it was a “brainer” because I had to have a brain to be operated on). Anyway, because of my situation, I strongly advocate for surgery. If you are reading this and contemplating surgery, let me say this (if you’re not contemplating surgery please skip to the ***paragraph), you need to consider the expertise of the doctor (base this on what others have said and you’re gut feeling of the guy/gal), severity of symptoms (mine were pretty bad, some people’s are less severe, others are far worse), post op support (after having brain surgery, you might need help doing everyday things), and the quality of food at the hospital where the surgery is to be performed (not so much because you’ll be eating a lot of it, more so because you’ll want your upchuck to not taste so bad when the food comes back up – which it will, often).

***I’m going to skip to “TBI is…”

TBI is…Thanks Be To the Internet! I think we all know how awesome the interwebs is. For me, I can’t go a single day without looking up synonyms on thesaurus.com. In fact, I just got on there (unless you read this way after 12:43 on Tuesday 4/23, in which case I got on there a long time ago), to look up a synonym for thesaurus. Turns out, thesaurus doesn’t have that many synonyms. Ironic, much? I could give a lot more reasons for the awesomeness of the internet, but I’ll just give you a synonym for “end”

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

Pating to Go and Motorized Dairy

How many shots in the foot this time? I’m sitting in the lobby of the doctor’s office contemplating how many new holes my foot will have. I can’t say I’m terribly upset about it, the last round of Botox wore off long ago.

Two. I got two shots in the foot. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again – it.

I jest. You’d think that the first shot would prepare you for the next one so it won’t hurt as bad, but it don’t work that way. My advice to you is this – don’t get a shot in your foot, but if you have to, just get one.

Let’s continue revisiting the early entries on this blog. We pick up at the “bridge”. I’ve not been told otherwise, so I’ll assume that my…uh…assumption is correct regarding the Pons as a silly doorman.

I’m going to skip over the entry entitled  Thank You”– my divorce is still a sore spot for me. Which gives me more time to write about a place that I hold very close to my heart (and my brain)…
.
The Next Step
 On Monday, July 7th, I am going to another rehab facility in Anna, TX (closer to home WOO!) called Pate, which specializes in brain matters (pun intended). The projection is 6-12 weeks…then (hopefully) home!!!

After my bridge done flooded I went to an acute rehab center. After that, I started rehab designed for people with brain injuries at Brinlee Creek Ranch – the Anna, TX arm of the Pate rehab racket.

Despite the circumstance, I think back to my time at Pate with great fondness. I don’t want to say that I am an outcast or something like that, but sometimes people don’t understand why I’m peculiar and they’ll treat me differently (i.e. the guy at the oil change place that I no longer go to who would speak AT me very loudly and very slowly). At Pate, I didn’t have to worry about that – I was surrounded by people just like me.

We were all there for different reasons, but we all shared the same battle – trying to get along in the world with our newfound disability.

I have some very fond memories of that place such as: clicking at dots on the VMR like so much Pavlov’s dog – TWICE! Tyrant therapist (tyrapist?) made me do it before surgery and after. Another sad yet funny memory is having to tell this dude that had a brain tumor removed my name EVERYDAY! I can’t seem to remember his name now, how poetic. Please know that I’m not laughing at this guy, he’d laugh about it too, but I’d never slight a fella in his shoes.

The most useful, yet still frustrating thing is the way everything is so regimented. Useful = No surprises. Frustrating = When a surprise does arise (surparise?), I feel like I’ve gotta rearrange my entire schedule. For instance, when I have to shave (I do this in the evenings), I feel like my entire evening is shot. You see, I usually make an evening to-do list during the day, I never add shaving to that list. I’ve heard that a neat appearance helps one attain/keep a job. Knowing this, I occasionally shave. You’d think that, having shaved since I was 13ish, it wouldn’t (side note: we have a contraction for it would – ‘it’d’ and a contraction for would not – ‘wouldn’t’. I propose a contraction for it would not – it’d’nt. Wait a minute, what about ‘twouldn’t’?) Starting over – You’d think that, having shaved since I was 13ish, ‘twouldn’t’ come as a surprise, but it does. I’m not sure why this is the case, but it is.

All this is to say that Pate has turned me into Rainman – I have to have things just so or I’ll flip out and start banging my head against stuff.
Allow me to quote Rainman in this very contrived segue – “I’m an excellent driver” when I drive…

TBI is…The Buick Ice-milk: my car, a Buick Lucerne, shares its name with Safeway’s own brand of dairy products.

This one actually does very loosely connect to my TBI. I don’t care to elaborate, but about a year ago I needed a car. Serendipitously, my pater got a promotion that included a company car. Neither my mother or my father can drive two cars at the same time (amateurs!), so they sold the dairy product/motorized conveyance to me.

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

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

Micro- blog #3 -"Airing of Grievances"

*COWBELL!* I’ve decided that the term “Micro-blog” is too long and cumbersome; therefore, I have taken such liberties with the English language as is my right as an American (freedom of speech includes fabricating new words, right? Webster be damned, this is the land of the free!) to invent a new word. Henceforth, my short blogs will be called will be called ”microgs”. *COWBELL!*
*COWBELL!* So, without further ado, I present microg #3 (“The Airing of Grievances”) –
*COWBELL!* Being both handicapped and highly learned, I tend to overanalyze the way others perceive me. One very clear indication that I have an affliction is my leg brace; therefore, I get asked “what happened to your leg?”. Let me overanalyze this common exchange for you: The scar from my BRAIN SURGERY is clearly visible on my head, which, you might think would lead to a more interesting conversation. Alas, no. It’s always ”what happened to your leg?”. I don’t expect people to look at my leg, then my head and conclude ”oh, stroke/hemorrhage and surgery”. But it seems to me that the scar on my head would warrant more curiosity. This social anachronism has led me to postulate the “Proximity of Outrageous Ouchies to Prime Operation Organs” hypothesis (hereafter to be referred to as the “POOPOO” hypothesis). The main premise of the “POOPOO” hypothesis is, as your injury approaches an organ responsible for some vital function (i.e. The heart, the brain, the butt, etc.), the chance for it to get introduced into conversation by anyone other than the afflicted goes down. As such, there is a much greater chance that a conversee will ask about My leg than my head (my head is closer to my brain than my leg is to my butt, you might even say that my brain is inside my head, if modern science is to be believed). *COWBELL!*
*COWBELL!* As I am “airing grievances” in this microg, I must air the grievance with myself that I have spent so many words on “POOPOO”. To that end, I will move on to another grievance. *COWBELL!*
*COWBELL!* My next grievance is something that literally “rattles” me – spasticity. You see, after my surgery my brain rewired itself in such a way that it constantly tells the muscles in my left arm and left leg to contract. This results in tremors up and down my left side and arm/leg muscles flexing without end; I have to concentrate on relaxing them the way anyone else would have to concentrate to tighten said muscles. As you can imagine, with all the shiny objects out there, I get distracted pretty easily. Therefore, the constant shaking and contracting has led to some very sore joints and appendages, it also puts me at risk for arthritis. And as a guy who doesn’t have or like arthritis, that grieves me! *COWBELL!*
*COWBELL!* I have many other grievances, but if this gets much longer, I wouldn’t be able to call it a “microg”, and that would grieve me! *COWBELL!*

@JarrettLWilson

Holding Nothing

I am sitting at Panera bread right now, where I’ve had several delusions of normalcy. Yesterday, my physical therapist took me off the cane, so when I am just standing or sitting I tend to forget my deficits without the cane to remind me.

Anyway, my left leg twitches, and my left arm hangs as if I’m holding something (but I don’t hold stuff in my left hand unless I want to drop it). I’ve asked several people if they would just cut off my left side, I’ve even offered cash! Alas, no takers, my left leg lives to twitch another day and my left arm continues to hold nothing.

Quinn and I went to a pumpkin patch outside Chandler, Ok Saturday. We both had a good time. Q got to ride a pony and pet lots of animals. There was a corn maze that could’ve been very traumatic for some kids had I not had the cane. My left arm up carrying nothing, my short, punctuated steps, I looked like a zombie! I refrained from eating brains though (Ryan’s looked tasty).

Hands hurt,see ya!