Piece By Piece

Trey Smith

When I try to explain to people that I like a certain order, a lot of these folks get a completely wrong idea. They think I must be some sort of neat freak! You know, the kind of person who blows a gasket if one stick of furniture is accidentally moved askance or goes ballistic if a wisp of dust is allowed to settle anywhere in sight.

That does not describe me in the least. I am a very cluttered person -- someone famous for making piles of who knows what. But though I am cluttered, I still crave order.

When we moved into this house in August 2007, I arranged the furniture in my computer room and bedroom just so. In all this time, NOTHING has moved. Unlike my wife, who has periodically rearranged her bedroom, once I decide where something goes, it stays put.

Now, unfortunately, I am at the stage of moving whereby I am compelled to move these items from their assigned spots. I have moved out the two bookcases from my computer room plus a shelf and chair from my bedroom. Each time I remove a piece of furniture from its "permanent" placement, it aggrieves me terribly. The room no longer looks "normal". As I sit here pecking out this post, I feel as if I am doing so in someone else's house!

And it's only going to get worse. By Sunday evening, I will completely dismantle these two rooms and move the combined furniture as well as my computer to the front bedroom downstairs. Sunday night will be weirder than weird as I [try to] sleep in a totally different room. The next morning I will load up the remaining furniture in the rental truck and head to Ocean Shores.

On Monday night, not only will my bed and computer be in yet another room, but they will be in a totally different structure in a different town. My sincere hope is that I will be so exhausted from the day's events that I will collapse in my new bedroom before the feelings of complete disorientation set in. My first few days up north will be fraught with overwhelming anxiety as I come to grips with my new normal. Yet, I know that, in short amount of time, I will forget the feel of my set-up here in South Bend and the new normal will no longer feel new.

The hard part is getting from where I am right now to there.

Over the Rivers and Through the Woods

Trey Smith

At the time of this writing (mid-day Friday), I am preparing to go to Ocean Shores for my first overnight in our new apartment. I am undertaking this trip with excitement and trepidation.

On the positive side of the ledger, I miss my wife and my little doggie. Though it has only been 3 days since I saw them last, it seems much longer. It will be good to get up there to help Della with the unpacking process and to cheer up both our dogs who miss each other terribly.

But there is much trepidation as well. I will sleep in a strange place and that tends to mean almost no sleep for me. But I realize I need to get my feet wet in this area because, in a month or so, that strange place will be my everyday reality! So, I might as well get the first night over with.

Now Comes the Hard Part

Trey Smith

The U-Haul has been rented and we've lined up some muscle to load and unload the truck. Our target day to get Della and one dog moved is this Friday. Now we're in the throes of the hard part -- particularly for me: dismantling the house! The furniture that is going in the first move is being stacked in the dining room.

I realize this needs to be done and I've thrown myself into the work, but the very fact that our stuff isn't in its proper place is very disorienting to me. Our antique jelly cabinet and the painting of the English pub on the wall above have not moved -- well, until today -- from that spot in over six years. Now the wall is bare!

I realize that a person does not need to be autistic to feel out of place in your own home during a move. A lot of people are used to the familiar and, when the familiar becomes the unfamiliar, it is not unnatural to feel a bit out of sorts. But imagine how devastating this scenario is for someone who thrives on routine! I am the kind of bloke who freaks out if the dishes aren't placed just so on the shelves. If the mugs, glasses or plates are just a wee bit out of place, I compulsively pull everything out of the cabinet and then put them all back where they are "supposed" to go.

Within a few days, over 2/3 of our furniture and a good deal of our belongings will be trucked up to Ocean Shores. Once we get everything moved into the apartment, I will head back here to begin the real work of preparing for a large moving sale and cleaning the house as I go. And I will be doing this in house that will, in many ways, feel very foreign to me. My only saving grace is that my bedroom and computer room will each retain the same feel until just before I rejoin Della. I can retreat upstairs for a time each day and feel almost normal.

Fire and Smoke

Trey Smith

Something happened last Sunday that every person who has ever served as a forest or wildland firefighter fears. A hotshot crew was overtaken by a rapidly spreading fire about 80 miles north of Phoenix, Arizona and all 19 members of the crew present perished.

I was a member of a US Forest Service initial attack firefighting crew (the Interagency Hotshot crews were formed a year or two later) during the summer of 1979.  I had just graduated from college -- I was the only member of my crew with a college degree -- and that's why my nickname became "The Professor."  Our crew often had to hike several miles in the backcountry of Northeastern Oregon to reach remote fires and we fought quite a few of them with little or no water.

To be honest, there weren't many occasions in which I experienced any fear of being burned alive.  Most of the fires we were dispatched to were small ones, less than an acre or two.  Naturally, our job was to keep the fires small and to put them out before they could blow up into raging infernos.  I am proud to say that not one of the small fires we were sent to put out ever became a large fire.

There were two occasions, however, when I WAS scared.  Most of the fires we fought were in forests, but one particular fire was in grassland near Phillips Lake outside of the tiny town of Sumpter.  We kept putting down fire lines and, because of high winds, the flames kept jumping them.  Several of us were pinned in by the racing fire with no escape route.  Before we knew it, the fire overtook us.

For a few moments, I was in full panic mode...until I realized that the grass itself wasn't all that high.  So, when the line of fire got to me, I simply jumped over the flames.  I was wearing your typical fire resistant pants and, with the exception of some singing of my leather boots, I came away unscathed.  In fact, once the fire passed us, my comrades and I shared some nervous laughter. 

Moments later, a forest service plane did a suppression dump on the fire and we spent the next hour or so mopping it up. 

The other occasion was a lot more terrifying.  Our crew was sent to the scene of a major fire near La Grande.  Thousands of acres of forests were burning and there were literally hundreds of firefighters working long shifts battling the blaze.  I was one of our crew's designated drivers and so I spent a lot of time ferrying people and supplies throughout the labyrinth of roads in the forests.

I was coming back from one such run -- navigating my way slowly down a rutted dirt road -- when several trees to my right began exploding.  What I mean by this is that the fire was rushing through the canopy level and it looked sort of like roman candles on the 4th of July.  

All of a sudden, a burning tree fell across the roadway ahead of me.  Shit!, I thought.  I couldn't find a suitable place to turn around which meant that I would need to back out several miles down the rutted road.  The fire was close enough that I could feel the searing heat and the smoke was so thick that I thought I would cough a lung up.  

I just sat there in my rig gagging and gasping for air and wondering if my number was up.  Little by little it dawned on me that I would become a fatality if I didn't get my ass in gear.  So, once the initial panic subsided, I did the only thing I could do: I slowly made my way in reverse down the rutted road.

I made an effort not to look at the raging fire.  No, I tried to concentrate solely on driving.  But I would be lying if I didn't admit that I snuck a few peeks here and there.  Each time I did, I would momentarily panic all over again because it seemed like the fire and smoke were closing in all around me.  

Needless to say, I was successful in backing down the road and chose a different route to meet up again with my crew.  That night I didn't sleep much because I kept replaying my harrowing experience in my mind.  It still makes me shudder a bit, even to this day.

When I heard about the deaths of the 19 in the hotshot crew, I instantaneously understood the horror they must have faced.   Fire can be beautiful and awe-inspiring, but it can also be an opponent that there is no escape from. 

And Then the Phone Rang

Trey Smith

Three weeks ago in the post, Waiting For the Call, I shared with readers our mixed feelings about both wanting and dreading the phone to ring with news we might have a new place to live. Well, a call of that nature came Wednesday morning. While we aren't a lock to get the now-vacant apartment, I'd say the chances are 3 in 4 that we will get it and be moving soon.

We have applications out all over Western Washington plus a few in the central and eastern parts of the state as well as some for coastal Oregon. Of the more than 20 places we've applied, the two we are most interested in are both less than 1 hour from South Bend: Ilwaco in South Pacific County and Westport in Grays Harbor County. As luck would have it, the call came from the apartment complex in Westport. Here's a description of this small town from Wikipedia.

Westport is a city in Grays Harbor County, Washington, United States. The city's population was 2,099 at the 2010 census.

Westport is located on a peninsula on the south side of the entrance to Grays Harbor from the Pacific Ocean. The public Westport Marina is the largest marina on the outer coast of the United States's Pacific Northwest. The marina is home to a large commercial fishing fleet and several recreational charter fishing vessels.

The apartment we looked at has 2 bedrooms, but is less than 750 sq. feet or about one-half the size of where we live now. The kitchen is a lot smaller. On the plus side, we would be allowed to bring our two dogs, though not the cat. The apartment complex is located only about 3 or so blocks from the city center, so getting to the one grocery store, pharmacy and city hall wouldn't be much of an issue.

We will probably know within one week if all the paperwork we submitted is up to snuff and that we have been approved. If so, I am guessing that we will make the initial move in mid-June and then spend the next several weeks coming back to South Bend to work on cleaning up the house and property. By around the end of July or early August, we would give up all rights to our house to become full-time residents of Westport.

The transition to living in Westport (or anywhere else, for that matter) will be very difficult on me. I don't handle changes in my routine very well and moving is a major change. I had really hoped that, when we came to South Bend 6 years ago, it would be our last move, but the situation is what it is. I simply must muddle through it because, in time, wherever it is that we land, it will become my new normal.

Gone and Done It

Trey Smith

Do you remember the feeling you had when mum and dad let you cross the street by yourself for the first time? How 'bout when you first rode your bicycle without training wheels? Under either scenario, you felt good about yourself because you had accomplished something like a big boy or girl. Yesterday evening, I had that same sort of feeling.

I completed my 400 mile round trip to White Salmon in a little less than 10 hours. I was back home before dark! I was able to get all of Della's stuff into the truck by myself without clumsily injuring myself. That right there is a major accomplishment!

I didn't have to deal with even one panic attack. I was my usual nervous wreck driving through Portland, but I didn't lose it. I kept my cool!

But here's probably the most amazing facet of my trip. I drove through 6 tunnels. I hate tunnels. Actually, that's putting it mildly. I loathe tunnels. Coming back from White Salmon, I took Washington State Highway 6. I had to drive through 5 tunnels in the space of about 7 miles. I grit my teeth and hummed very loudly, but I made it through each one without a meltdown.

How was I able to accomplish these things? I think it was because I am emotionally wrung out. This past week with Della in the hospital pretty much exhausted me. I simply didn't have any more emotional energy to expend. So, I just got in the truck and drove.

Wave Upon Wave

Trey Smith

In an earlier post, The Shifting Current, I wrote, "Change always is inevitable. You either come to understand the new direction the current is flowing or you bog down trying your damnedest to swim against it." While I stand by that sentiment, there is one thing I neglected to mention. It is sometimes hard to get a grip on the new direction of the current when you are being pummeled by wave upon wave.

That's how I feel right now. It seems as if each new day brings an additional problem or issue to the fore. We are being slammed by so many waves that I would be lying if I didn't say that I am feeling very overwhelmed. It's one thing to need to jump over a hurdle or two. It is quite another thing when you feel as if the hurdles are surrounding you and even throwing themselves in your path. I should write a movie: Attack of the Killer Hurdles!

To offer an example, the social worker at Good Samaritan Hospital had urged Della not to dally in applying for Medicaid, state services and Social Security disability. We took this to heart and went to our local Community Services office today. But what was the reaction that we received there? We were told that we were "jumping the gun." It was suggested that we wait a month or two for our situation to become ever more dire.

This response well illustrates one of my continuing frustrations with government bureaucracy. If you try to be proactive -- to deal with issues BEFORE they mushroom into major headaches -- you aren't provided with much assistance at all. Our system appears to be built on crisis and not on heading off crises. So, here we sit with little money coming in, dwindling funds in our checking account, mounting medical bills and facing foreclosure on our home and we're being told that it would be better to wait until all these issues converge into one humungous tidal wave!

It's like we are being told that we must be actively drowning before anyone even will consider throwing us a floatation device.

Damn Uncomfortable

Trey Smith

It seems that a good deal of my life right now is damn uncomfortable.

At the head of the list, of course, is the uncomfortableness of worrying about my wife's health situation. Everyday the doctors seem to switch from hopeful to not as hopeful and from worrisome to not as worrisome. It's like riding on a roller coaster.

But that is certainly NOT the only thing that is making me uncomfortable. Hopefully, the niece of my step-mother deposited me in White Salmon last night. While I am very, very appreciative of her selfless act, we all know that strangers or people I don't know that well make me very anxious. Just the idea of a social situation makes my hair stand on end. She and I have communicated via email before and spoken on the telephone, so that should calm my nerves a tad.

I will be doing A LOT of driving in the next week. Ten years ago, it wouldn't have been a big deal. When Della and I traveled together, I typically handled 90 percent of the driving. A decade or two ago, I drove solo round trip from Arkansas to Oregon. Twice! But as my anxiety levels have gone up in tandem with my physical issues, Della has become our main driver.

Not only must I handle all of the driving chores for the foreseeable future, but I'm going to have to drive into downtown Portland! I don't do well in urban areas because vehicles dart here and there at very high speeds. The main interstates into and through Portland feature multiple lanes with cars appearing suddenly out of nowhere (entry ramps) and then just as suddenly disappearing (exit ramps). It is a certain recipe for sensory overload!

And then I must go into a crowded hospital with people scurrying around everywhere. It's like my worst nightmare from hell!!!

I am sure I will be a nervous wreck, but I must face these things because my wife needs me. She's been there for me more times than I can count. She understands -- but she is fretting about it all -- that I must go far outside my comfort zone to come to her. I sure wish it wasn't this way, but it is. For my wife's sake, I MUST muddle through.

Hey, isn't that what true love is all about?

When It Rains, It Pours

Trey Smith

As I wrote earlier this afternoon, I feel helpless...and now I feel even more so. I learned about one hour ago that Della has been admitted to the hospital in White Salmon. She had gone to her doctor's office this afternoon and they discovered that her blood oxygen levels were far too low. Her doc said she could pass out at any moment.

I feel like I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. There is no way I can get to White Salmon tonight -- I have no car! My buddy Dan has already moved away and my other friend, Paul, is out of town until mid-day tomorrow. I also have our pets to worry about. Even if I had a car, I just can't go drive off into the sunset and leave them here to fend for themselves.

I have my fingers crossed that, once the doctors run a few tests, they will figure out what's wrong with my wife and she will be released tomorrow or the next day. If it goes that way, then I'll work something out with Paul to get me to the train station in Centralia or to the rent-a-car place in Astoria and then, once I arrive in White Salmon, I'll bring Della back here in our car. Hopefully, I can get this accomplished in one day, so the animals won't be left alone overnight.

However, if it doesn't go that way -- if the doctors determine Della's condition is far more serious -- then I'm not sure what I will do. For one thing, she most likely would be transported to a different hospital, possibly one in Vancouver or Portland. At this point, though, there is no point in getting all worked up about the various possibilities. I simply need to try to keep my anxiety levels down and wait to find out what the immediate future holds.

Electrodes and a Tube

Trey Smith

After listening to a description of my symptoms as well as my wife's assessment, my neurologist agrees that the episodes I infrequently encounter sure sound like psychomotor seizures. So, not surprisingly, I am going to undergo two tests to begin the process of trying to ascertain whether or not I may have epilepsy.

Next week I will return to the neurologist's office for an electroencephalography (EEG). It is a straightforward procedure. A bunch of electrodes will be attached to my predominantly bald head in order to record electrical activity in the vicinity of my scalp. I've had one of these before, though it was more than 10 years ago.

The procedure I will have the week following is a bit more anxiety-producing. Though it too is painless -- at least, the test itself -- I have had a great deal of trouble over the past year remaining perfectly still for an MRI. Because of the degeneration of discs in my lower back, I tend to develop back spasms when laying ON my back. To combat this situation, pill-avoidant me has been prescribed Valium in the hopes it basically will knock me out.

This gives me two things to fret about. Not only do I dislike MRIs because I'm very claustrophobic, but now I also get to worry about taking a sedative! I will have to work something out so that a friend can stay with me for, at least, an hour or two after I arrive back home. I certainly don't need a doped up me wandering around my house on my own. I am an accident waiting to happen normally. Imagine the klutz I could be while in a doped up state!!

What's Up, Doc?

Trey Smith

The question in the title of this post is what I will be asking a neurologist in about one and one-half hours. I am off to see if this neurologist can figure out whether or not I suffer from infrequent psychomotor seizures.

Since I no longer have a car and I'm a Medicaid recipient, a local paratransit company will ferry me to and from my appointment in Aberdeen. I have used this service before, though it has been a few years. To be honest, I probably am more anxious about riding in a vehicle with someone I have never met than I am about meeting a new doctor!

Needless to say, I am also a bit nervous about what kinds of tests will be administered and how many people I will come in contact with. As a person who keeps to myself -- now more so than ever -- I do not relish the opportunity to be around a lot of people. I just hope I can keep my nerves at bay and that I don't have to deal with a panic attack!

Expectations Are Funny Things

Trey Smith

On Wednesday, I was scheduled to have an MRI on my left knee. I hurt it back in January and it's still very painful and not as stable as it should be.

I've shared with you before that I have a lot of issues with anxiety. I get so worked up in anticipation of things yet to come that I often make myself literally sick with worry. Having had several MRIs in the past few years, this could have been one of those times to have a proverbial panic attack.

Though they are not painful, I dislike MRIs immensely. I am very claustrophobic and the MRI tube is very narrow. Being told to lie perfectly still for 30 - 60 minutes when experiencing a panicked mania is near impossible. I've managed to muddle through these experiences almost every time, but I'm usually on pins and needles for the 24 hour period leading up to it.

But I wasn't anxious at all this time around. I knew I was going into the tube feet first and that my head would not be confined to the narrow space. While I never look forward to lying on my back -- vertigo issues -- I knew this process should be over and done with in less than 30 minutes.

As I arrived at our local hospital, I wasn't a bundle of nerves like I typically am. I read while I waited to be called. When they came to get me, I casually strolled to the MRI facility. I talked easily with the MRI techs as I prepared for the procedure. In no time at all, my lower body went into the tube.

I'd be fibbing if I didn't say I was a tad bit nervous, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. I can do this, I said to myself as we completed the first set of pictures. But I didn't make it through the second phase!

I had to use the alarm button to stop the procedure. Had my anxiety flared up to blindside me, you ask. No, it wasn't that at all. I started having severe back spasms. In all my concern for my mental state, I had never thought about the degenerative disc issues in my lumbar spine! I had all but forgotten the difficulty I have these days in laying on my back for any length of time.

I have rescheduled the procedure for Monday. Before I go in, I will need to take some pain medication to try to ward off the spasms and I also plan to ice down my back (numbing factor) before going to the hospital.

For me, this whole episode was very ironic. I usually imagine the worst and yet I somehow soldier through. This time around I didn't expect the worst and yet I was unable to soldier through.

Expectations are funny things.

A Case of the Heebie Jeebies

Yesterday was one of those days!! A bunch of disparate variables intersected at an axis -- one unbeknownst to me -- to produce a circumstance that I wasn't at all pleased with. I weathered this internal tempest, but I'm abundantly happy that I again am safely ensconced in my upstairs cave.

It all started a few days ago when we discovered a leak in the radiator of our motor vehicle. As it tends to happen in the world of manufacturer's warranties, this problem emerged on the immediate heels of the warranty's expiration (12/31/10). Since our rural area doesn't have any automotive repair shops with sterling reputations, we decided to take our little Aveo to a GM service center.

As it would happen, the closest of these is in Aberdeen, about 35 miles to our north and, as it would happen, we couldn't wrangle an appointment for over one week. So, we looked the other direction -- south -- to the GM dealership in Astoria, Oregon. Ah, they had an opening only 2 days hence.

Of course, it unfortunately was not on Tuesday, the day I needed to travel south to Long Beach to visit my mental health counselor in his new digs. No, it was the next day which meant trips south on consecutive days -- twice the expenditure of fuel.

Another variable in play was that Della was off on Tuesday and so accompanied me to Long Beach. She had to work on Wednesday, so I had to make the trip to Astoria alone. Such a wondrous thing for a person with social anxiety to look forward to!!

Now we get to the crucial variable that interplays with the other ones. At some unknown time to me, a section of mud high above State Highway 401 decided to migrate downward; a mudslide. This mudslide made State Highway 401 impassable which necessitated the closure of the road. As it happens, State Highway 401 provides the shortest route between South Bend -- via Naselle -- to Astoria.

Fortunately, it is not the only route. One can also take scenic US Highway 101 that hugs the lower end of Willapa Bay. On Wednesday, this was the sole path to Astoria and, since I needed to get to Astoria, this was the path I took.

I have taken this route before, but have since avoided it for one reason -- you have to drive through a tunnel. I utterly loathe tunnels!

I had forgotten about the tunnel. As I approached it, the realization dawned on me WHY I avoided this route like the plague. Had Della accompanied me this day, I would have pulled the car over to the shoulder, so we could switch drivers. She could have been behind the wheel as we traversed the tunnel and I would have been seated on the passenger's side with my eyes closed and my ears covered up. (Not only do I dislike the closed in look of tunnels, but the echoing sounds drive me batty.)

But the option of switching drivers was not available to me. So, I was forced to drive post haste through the tunnel, screaming at the top of my lungs in my car every inch of the way. ;-)

Mind you, this is not a long tunnel. I'd guess it is no more than a few hundred yards long. You can easily see out the other end before even reaching it. In my world of tortured anxiety, the length is wholly immaterial. A tunnel of 100 feet is just as terrifying as one 2500 feet long.

And the worst part of this ordeal was the knowledge that I had to traverse the tunnel again to return home. I fretted over it the entire time I was in Astoria at the dealership and doing a little bit of grocery shopping. What a relief it was when I motored through the vile demon again and returned to my safe little cocoon of home.

It turns out we will need to have a new radiator installed next week. I hope State Highway 401 is reopened by that time. If not, I at least made sure our next appointment time was on a day that Della can go with me. If we must take the alternate route again, I take great solace in the knowledge that she will drive through the tunnel and I can sit beside her with my eyes and ears closed!

Avoiding the Dark Place

On Sunday, I mentioned that I was terrified of the idea of driving the 75 miles from Olympia to South Bend in the dark yesterday evening. The more I thought about it, the more I realized the issue wasn't simply that it made me anxious; I needed to think about the safety of others. When put into THAT context, I realized this was not a good plan at all.

So, as this entry is being posted this morning, I'm still in Olympia (hint: I wrote this post the day before)! My wife and I probably are having breakfast before heading back home. I ended up getting a motel room near the sleep center. My guess is that I probably didn't sleep much, but at least I wasn't out on the road making other drivers nervous. :-)

This still was a difficult decision because of our animals. They have never spent a night alone without either Della or I here. We ended up leaving the back door open -- not an uncommon occurrence -- so they could let themselves out and descended the steps from the deck to relieve themselves. Copious amounts of food and water were made available.

Still, I'm certain we will be mobbed when we arrive back home. Each of them will most likely follow us around the house all day determined not to let one or both or us out of their sight ever again.

Going to a Dark Place

I am more than a bit discombobulated today in regards to what tomorrow will bring. My wife, who doctors believe suffers from sleep apnea, will undergo a sleep study. As is almost always the case, there are no services of this kind in Pacific County or even the Aberdeen area, so we must travel to Olympia (75 miles away).

While the facility does offer a guest room that I could use tomorrow night, there is more than one reason I won't avail myself of that option. For starters, someone has to come home to take care of the "kids" (2 dogs & 1 cat). As we don't have any close friends in the area, we would only stay away from home for a night in an emergency situation.

For me, of course, there is a second reason that is stronger than the first. I don't sleep well -- or at all -- in strange places. If it deviates from my routine, it freaks me out to no end. In addition, since I don't typically hit the sack until 3 - 5 am, I would go stir crazy walking around in a little box in a strange place (i.e., panic attack)!!

Initially, we tried to figure out a way to get Della to Olympia via our transit system. There are several buses available, but the time frame, unfortunately, doesn't work out and the reason it doesn't work out is because this facility makes no allowances for people arriving early. She isn't to arrive at the sleep center until 6:30 p.m. and she is forewarned not to be early.

This prohibition scuttled another strategy. We had considered having me drive her to Olympia and dropping her off at around 4:00 p.m. That way, I could get back on the road before dark. But that too is a no-go.

So, I will take her to Olympia tomorrow and then turn around to come home between 6:30 - 7:00 p.m. This is the part that has me very uneasy. As I've aged, it's gotten to the point in which I do not like driving any substantial distance at night and 75 miles is a substantial distance!

I have always had a slow reaction time and, as my physical health has declined, my typical reaction time has deteriorated as well. When driving at night, things that one might see clearer and from much farther away in the light, sometimes necessitate quick decisions in the dark.

(Note: I putter around north Pacific County at night all the time. Short jaunts in areas that I know like the back of my hand don't bother me at all.)

Rationally, I understand that no amount of fretting today will change the reality of tomorrow night, but my OCD tends to kick in automatically. As it has already kicked in, I have been reduced to a fretting bundle of nerves.

I'm really, really, really not looking forward to tomorrow night's drive. :-(

No Excuses

There is this woman I know -- more an acquaintance than a friend -- who is Bi-Polar. I know that she's Bi-Polar because she has a penchant for telling everyone about her condition. She feels the need to tell everyone constantly because she's not a very nice person. She is rather crude and crass. Whenever she offends or upsets someone else -- happens quite frequently -- she announces that the other person can't be upset with HER because, of course, she's Bi-Polar and Bi-Polar people can't help but be crude and crass.

Bullshit!

Bi-Polar Disorder is no excuse. She happens to be crude and crass because she chooses to be so. She has chosen to be self-centered and not give a damn about other people's feelings.

But this post isn't about her -- it's about me. I don't want anyone to think that because I'm beset with anxiety disorders, Asperger's, Klinefelter's and Schizotypal Personality Disorder that I think any of these conditions provide me with a ready excuse to be an ugly person. While each of my maladies provides its own challenges to navigating life, not a single one of them can cause me to be rude, mean-spirited or nasty to other people.

The way I see it is that I simply have to work harder at social interaction than the average bloke. Many aspects of social communications -- like body language and typical social assumptions -- don't come easily to me and, when I try to guess what is being conveyed, I tend to guess incorrectly. So, while I hope that those close to me take into account much of my social awkwardness and difficulties, I still believe that the onus falls squarely on me.

If I appear to others in a manner that is not consistent with my intent, then it is MY responsibility to figure out how to alter the appearance so that the real me shines through. It's a misnomer to think that having a personality disorder or a neurological condition grants a person the license to be brutish towards others.

It doesn't.

A Bit of Progress

I managed to get myself to the hospital early yesterday evening for my tetanus booster shot. I would have preferred going earlier in the day, but had to wait for my wife to get home from work.

On the positive side, I didn't spend Saturday night and most of the day Sunday working myself up into an anxious frenzy. I followed my usual routines and kept to my typical schedule. I didn't toss and turn in bed either -- running over the "shot" sequence in my head. I arose Sunday and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, then spent a good deal of time checking out my favorite blogs.

While I AM making progress in trying to rein in my penchant for overarching anxiety, I don't want anyone to get the idea that the whole thing was smooth sailing.

Once I arrived at the hospital, my anxiety started to go into overdrive. I joked with the receptionist about my anxiety level -- when very anxious, I'm a chatterbox almost on par with comedian Robin Williams. By the time I was ushered back to the exam room, my usually low blood pressure was going through the roof. I felt so sick that I thought I might vomit.

Yet, as with most things I become anxious with, it was over and done with in seconds. The nurse was superb in her craft as I hardly felt the shot at all. I had gotten myself worked up over virtually nothing.

Now, if only I can keep my anxiety levels in check in terms of potential side effects of the shot... ;-)