The Geconauralic Crisis

 

INTERNET! Harken this, my tale of woe, that you would have the wherewithal to avoid such atrocities. It all started on Tuesday, July 12th – the day evil thrice struck and brought me to a nadir of sadness. Like so much Quentin Tarantino, I must begin in the middle, with the second obscenity. I speak, of course, of the aural assault of Calvin Harris and Rihanna’s “This is What You Came For.” I dare not direct you to a repository where this “song” can vomit in your ear. For purposes of this post I’ll simply summarize audio abomination (audiomination?) – “You, oh, oh”…for three minutes and forty one seconds. The subject of the song is the usual pop music dribble – fornication, orangutans, breakfast cereals, and so on…

Here’s the thing, MS Word tells me that that abysmal arrangement of noises is 267 words…As I’ve said, much of the “song” is “you, oh, oh”. By much, I mean 56% of the song. The word “you” occurs 48 times, while “oh” more than doubled that, bludgeoning my ear drums 98 #+@&I’m times. From another perspective, 1:46 of the 3:41 is Rihanna saying “you, oh, oh”, that’s 106 seconds out of 221 – that’s 48%.

Listen, this affront to decent music peaked at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100, so it was popular. Given that, I can only assume its success is based on the broken record quality of the lyrics. I’m going to apply this to my blog to see if it brings me fame and fortune. My chorus will be “donut, nut, nut”, inserted at intervals into this post, such that 56% will be “donut, nut, nut”. I’ll try to work it in naturally, like “happiness is a hot cup of coffee and a maple cake  

 

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut”

 

I’ve got my work cut out for me, good thing I like to talk about the

 

“donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut”

 

See, even there that’s only 120 words out of 430ish or roughly 28%.

 

Moving on, the second atrocity was being denied SSI and Medicaid. I’m reluctant to share this with you, the internet. This reluctance would be similar to my reluctance to share my chocolate old fashioned

 

“donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut”

 

I share it (my experience, not the donut) with you because there’s a misconception that it’s too easy to get on SSI/welfare, etc. Let me assure you, the critic of beneficent government programs, that getting government support is frustratingly difficult; when I went to the social security office to complete the application, I made sure that my belly matched my shoes, I’m sure that’s an automatic denial right there. Food and drink are not allowed in the office, so I didn’t bring in my chocolate sprinkle

 

“donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut”

 

Add to this that I waited patiently (4+ months) for my contact date (the date by which, if you haven’t heard anything, you may contact them). After holding a relatively short 35 minutes, a very terse representative of the esteemed US Social Security Administration told me that it was still pending, to call back in a few weeks. About THREE weeks go by, a period of time that I decided to cut back on sodas and sweets, such as my beloved maple bacon

 

“donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut”

 

…and I finally get a letter saying I’m not disabled enough to get benefits.

 

The last thing that day was inadvertently going through the intersection of highway 82 and highway 75, or as I call it, the nexasshole of the world.

 

Listen, never once have I gone through that junction of malign antipathy – I’m convinced that this intersection is alive and fully sentient – without stopping at BOTH red lights. I emphasize BOTH for two reasons – 1. typically, when one, say, the eastbound light turns green, the westbound light will turn green soon thereafter, and 2. The O in BOTH looks like a

 

“donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut”

 

Ok, I’m not going to reach 56% “donut, nut, nut”; I care too much about substance…

 The Geconauralic Man

…anyway, here represented are a geographic vexation, an economic transgression and an aural assault (auralt?). I will remember this period as the “geconauralic crisis”. “Crisis” vaguely sounds like “breakfast”, the best time to eat a

 

“donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut”

 

 

 

 

Not counting these words, there are a total of 1075 words. 420 of those are either “donut” or “nut”. That’s only 39%, a bit less, but you get the point. In case you don’t, have a round pastry usually with some confection on top; you know, a

 

“donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut,

donut, nut, nut, donut, nut, nut”

 

That bumped it up to 43%, with a try.

 

FIN

 

@JarrettLWilson

 

Jarrett = Four Years Old

Hello, Internet!

Welcome to a very special edition of this blog (I know I say that a lot, but this one is more specialer, I promise).

Today is my “rebirthday”; it was on this day in that foul year of our Lord, 2009, that I underwent brain surgery. According to my calculator, that makes me four years old.

To commemorate this day I thought I’d list four positives I’ve experienced in the last four years –

1. Parking: I’ve a handicapped placard – I’ve found that the real advantage to having this blue piece of plastic is not so much parking closer, but narrowing the selection of parking places.

You see, most of you chumps have to drive around the whole parking lot to find a space; I need only check the front few spots.

Moreover, you’re more likely to get stuck behind that assclown that plugs up a row to wait for a spot (if you’re one of these people, I hate you).

Occasionally, someone will swoop in and take a spot before me. I find myself sizing this person up – Are they really handicapped? I think he/she’s just using his/her grandma’s placard.

I’m starting to sound hateful, let’s move on…

2. Helpful people: I often get asked if I need help with this or that. Writing about this makes me want to redact my previous comment about “you chumps”. But I don’t want to change it, so just erase it from your mind like so much Men in Black flashing phallus thingy.

Speaking of Men in Black, a fella that looked just like Will Smith came to help me fight off some aliens that were trying to steal my cheese grater.

I jest. He actually looked more like Puff Daddy (or P. Diddy, whatever he goes by these days).

Back to the point, seeing a person hold up a row in a  parking lot gets me thinking that people are self-centered, then a nice young lady asks if I need help carrying a large box to my car and shatters that perception.

3. New friends: I’ve met some pretty awesome people that I wouldn’t otherwise know. I’ve been lucky to have very lucky to work with very knowledgeable, caring therapists – I feel so honored to have met these people, I’ll attempt to name them all –

  • Emily x2 (OT, PY)

  • Laura (OT)

  • Heidi (PT)

  • Steve (PT)

  • Samara (PT)

  • DJ (PT)

  • Jennifer x3 (OT, OT, speech therapist)

  • Elizabeth (OT)

  • Leslie x2 (PT, speech therapist)

  • Leslynn (speech therapist)

  • That red headed (OT) whose name I forgot

  • That blonde (speech therapist) whose name I forgot

  • Kenya (speech therapist)

  • Paula (counselor)

  • Joni (PT)

  • Bonnie (PT)

I can’t think of anymore. If I forgot someone, I’m truly sorry. Wait, I’d also like to mention Sandy, my driver from my days at Pate. A very heartfelt and genuine thank you to you all!

4. Continuous possibility for improvement: The medical community says the optimum window for recovery from a brain injury is 18 months or so.

That same community also endorsed the use of leeches to suck out sickness, I can and will continue to improve.

I don’t make improvements as quickly and dramatically (dramatiquickly?) as I once did, but I’m certain that one day I’ll be able to do many of the things I once did (if not, at least I’ll look good as I fail 🙂 ).

So, not only is the being alive a nice part of waking up, but I also get to face each day with the possibility that I will finally (insert activity) again.

There you have it, folks! Having a TBI is no bueno, but there are some perks.

 

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