A story, but it's about the Disabled Guy- and a convo at the end...

This story was brought on by this article about epilepsy on Cracked-dot-com. I started to share the link on Facebook, but the story about the Disabled Guy became kind of long and I thought, "Hey, dumbass, why don't you update his blog because you suck at that lately..." so, I did...

The Disabled Guy doesn't have epilepsy, but he's had (at least) two seizures related to his stroke. (he's very well-maintained on daily seizure meds). I've witnessed two of his seizures, one in our home in the middle of the night and the other in the ER. The first was very movie-worthy with all the flailing and noises. The second was in the middle of the day and I'd called an ambulance because the way he was behaving pre-seizure made me think he was having another stroke.

At the ER, he was both combative and incoherent. I had to leave his side to call in to work and let them know I couldn't go in that night (I was a night shift security guard, and to complicate things- it was a holiday weekend and I was a shift supervisor). When I got back, he was shouting and grasping at the door frame and swearing at the nurses because they were trying to take him for a cat scan. I grabbed his hand and said: "What the hell are you doing?" (or something similar) and he replied: "Where the hell have you been!?" Before I could reply, he started seizing. I immediately let go of his hand and took three giant steps away from his bedside as the doctor and nurses swooped in. They were getting ready to sedate him and the doctor told the nurse to go ahead with it.

So, that second seizure wasn't quite as violent. After they took him to run the tests, the doctor told me that was the first time he'd seen any family member react "so perfectly" to a seizure. "You let go, you got out of the way..." sort of thing. I just shrugged and said something along the lines of: "You guys deal with this thing, I was just trying to get out of the way", except not nearly as clever, I'm sure.

And a few months ago, he decided to say "fuck you" to reason and cut his seizure meds in half.

But, if you read that article, it talks about the driving restrictions and such. In Georgia, he had to wait a full year, so he never actually got his license back in Georgia. In Wisconsin, it was six months. Since he's been seizure-free for so long, he doesn't even have to have followups related to his license. It's been since 1997, so my memory is fuzzy on the followups, but I seem to recall having to go in every few months to make sure things were all fine and dandy.

Anyway, go on and read that article. It was funny and informative. And here's a little conversation we had last night, shortly before I gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. I went to bed at 1030 PM, DG came to bed around midnight and I was still wide freakin' awake. (I wrote a blog post about it on my fibro blog).

So, first a little explanation- we don't really have "a favorite movie" because, as you may know, DG is a bit of a collector. (we have well over a thousand DVDs). But, we do have movies we love and will watch over and over. The list is long and it changes from time to time. Right now, one of my favorites is a ridiculous and silly action flick called "The Baytown Outlaws" starring Clayne Crawford, Travis Fimmel (from "Vikings"), and Daniel Cudmore (he played "Felix" in the Twilight flicks, apparently). In smaller roles- there's one of the Evas (Longoria) and Billy Bob Thornton. Now, I love me some Billy Bob and the fact that Clayne Crawford was in it too? Well, I knew I'd enjoy this flick. The movie is hilarious and violent and ridiculous and Crawford is awesome and Billy Bob is at his evil drug-lord best. And it is one of the few movies I will watch when I catch it on cable (plus, of course, I own the DVD).

Last night, when DG came to bed to find me wide-ass awake, it was on TV. Crawford's character is named "Brick" and as I was getting out of bed, I said: "Who the hell names their son 'Brick'?"

DG said: "Block did. That's his last name." (it isn't, by the way, not in the movie).

I asked: "Did you say Block?"

DG started giggling. "Block. They had a neighbor named Cement. Brick Block and Asphalt Cement dated in high school." (he pronounced "Asphalt" as "Azz-fault"). He continued to giggle.

So I said: "But what? It didn't work out because they were from two different worlds?"

Through his giggling, he stated: "One is for buildings. The other is for roads. They were doomed. DOOMED!" and then his giggle-fit turned into a full-blown laugh-out where he had to "ooh" to catch his breath.

But if you like action-y flicks that are ridiculous on their action level, check it out. I know I enjoy it.

OH- and completely unrelated- DG said he'd pose with me for another photo, so we can update from this one. (I no longer dye my hair black). So, that'll be cool... maybe this time, he'll cooperate and it'll take fewer attempts to get a shot.

From 2012- (click on the photo if you'd like to see the details)



Edited to add- the new photo!

A Cautionary Tale of "What the fuck were you thinking?!"

I'm not sure how much I swear on this blog. But I swear a lot in general and especially on my fibro blog. Today's post may include a lot of swearing. And I'm not sure how funny this will be. Because today was a long day.

Last night, my body had what I call "Insomnia Lite". My pain overtakes my pain meds and I can't sleep. I usually give my body a couple hours to settle in, just in case I do actually fall to sleep. But I usually end up getting out of bed and then whining in a blog post like I did last night. I finally got to bed around 4 AM. And, in getting to bed around 4 AM, I slept till 930 AM. After I showered and blowdried my hair, the Disabled Guy came into the room.

And he said: "I think I might be trying to have another seizure."

Me: "What makes you think that?"

Without looking at me, he said: "Because, I get this... this feeling... like jumping... in my gut. And it goes to my throat. It gets tight and then I can't control my motions."

Me: "When did you last not be able to control your motions?" (by the way, I wasn't dressed yet. I was standing there in my underwear and slippers).

DG: "Not the thing. I can't control my mo-motions. Like crying. I just cry for no reason and it won't go away." And he then proceeded to cry for a few minutes.

So, while I put my clothes on and tried to act like I wasn't freaking out, I asked him the usual stroke questions. "Do you feel weaker than normal on one side? Can you see with both eyes? What's your full name? What's my full name? What state do we live in?"

After each answer, he would repeat the thing about his emotions and his "jumpy feeling" in his gut.

After I was sure he wasn't having another stroke, I asked about his seizures. I've seen him have two full-blown seizures in our lifetime. And one of them he had that "aura" thing that some get. It was obvious then that something was wrong. But this time, he acted normal, except for the crying.

I told him we were going to DVR his race and go to the ER. He didn't disagree, so I knew he was scared. After getting my shoes on and taking the dogs out, I asked him if he wanted to go to the local ER or drive the hour to the VA hospital. He said he was good to go to the VA hospital. I told him that if he had a seizure while I was driving, I'd punch him in the face. He didn't disagree with that, either.

So... I had to stop and get gas in the truck and that's when I found out something. About six months ago, he decided he didn't like taking so many pills, so he cut his seizure meds dose by half. Instead of taking two tablets at night, he started taking one tablet. I wanted to punch him in the face right then and there.

HE DECIDED TO CHANGE THE DOSE OF HIS OWN SEIZURE MEDICATION.

The last time he was off the seizure meds was in 1997 when the VA hospital saw fit to wean him off Dilantin, "to see what would happen". About six months later, he had a full-out seizure, complete with the pre-seizure aura, and full-body flailing, including biting a huge gash into his own tongue.

At the VA hospital's ER, they asked him the usual questions ("Why are you here? No, I mean here at the hospital, not man's existence in the universe.") and he started to downplay it, like he does. (he once slipped on the ice and injured some ribs. When the ER doctor asked him how the pain was, he downplayed it, saying it wasn't too bad. I stopped him from talking, imitated a movie quote that I knew would make him laugh. The doctor told me it was a clever move and of course, he was able to see how much pain he was actually in). I interrupted his side-stepping and told the nurse what happened in our room where I was not yet dressed. I left out the "not yet dressed" part because I didn't think it was important to her.

She then started in on the psych eval to make sure he wasn't suicidal or hoarding his pills to attempt suicide. He hasn't been through that before. And I let her do it. He got flustered trying to explain himself and finally looked at me and motioned for me to take over (I usually take over without him asking, if I see him getting increasingly frustrated). After a few more questions, she was satisfied he was just a stubborn asshole and not a suicidal asshole.

When the doctor came in about ten minutes later, he did the same thing. This time, he looked at me, hoping I'd take over and I said: "Nope. You dug yourself a hole, you climb out of it." He managed to get through it and assured the doctor he was a stubborn asshole and not a suicidal asshole.

So, the Disabled Guy learned a few things. One- he is not a doctor or a pharmacist. Two- seizures can kill you (he never believed me when I told him that myself). Three- withdrawals from seizure medication can also kill you. Four- if you're a stubborn asshole who takes medications that are also a treatment for bipolar disorder, you might want to listen to your goddamn doctor and take your fucking meds on schedule.

He promised that he wouldn't do it ever again. He assured the doctor and nurse that he was just tired of taking so many pills. They were satisfied with his assessments (both physical and mental) and sent us home. He's taking his full dose of medication, of course. But they suggested he not handle his power tools in the shop for a few days, to make sure he's got his full sense back while the medication gets back up to the right dose. The doctor told him that he needed to discuss all things with his primary doctor. "If you want to change something, that's who can help you. You should never change things on your own." He's going to submit the report to the primary doctor, so we might have to go back next week for an appointment with him. But let me repeat something:

YOU SHOULD NEVER CHANGE YOUR MEDICATION DOSAGE ON YOUR OWN.

He takes lamotrigine, which, according to Google, is also used (in different dosages) to treat bipolar disorder. So, he was slowly putting himself through withdrawals, without the supervision of his doctor.

So yeah... I've had a very long day. I'm exhausted. While at the ER, he was weepy and a little scared. (as he SHOULD be, for freaking me out like that). He's fine now- watching his DVR'd NASCAR race.

This is the Disabled Guy, in the exam room, between the doctor's visit and the discharge orders.