Posted in medical, Self-advocacy

I am Neville Longbottom.

His friends taught him to stand up for himself.

They did something he thought was wrong.

He stood up to them.

They belittled him.

He said they told him to stand up to people.

They said “Yes, but we didn’t mean stand up to us.”

Everyone is telling me to listen to my body.

Yesterday my body told me it was trashed and barely hanging on.

Yesterday my body told me it was inches away from the whole medical house of cards falling in.

Yesterday my body told me that this was a thin line, not a slow slope, and that if things went really really bad, it’d happen fast.

So basically by the time anyone else saw it, it’d be way past time to have done something about it days ago.

I’ve been weak.

I’ve been dizzy.

I’ve been in excruciating pain.

My back’s been doing warning-signal type things.

I’ve had alarm bells going off.

I’ve had difficulty breathing that doesn’t even require doing anything, I just get weak and breathing feels like it takes a lot of work. (This is always a bad thing and often a sign my myasthenia or adrenal insufficiency or both are acting up, possibly combined or as a result of other things.)

THINGS ARE WRONG.

Oh and by the way STRESS IS BAD FOR ME.

Physical and emotional stress both make adrenal insufficiency worse and I’m on a lower dose of my meds than usual and not used to this dose yet (so not used to gauging how much stress I can take).

And I was having random stress responses that were… suspicious. (Suspicious as signs of something actually wrong because of the ways they don’t act. I have no good way of describing this in words.)

And I started getting the shits.

And I couldn’t bolus feed even close to the normal amount I can get away with, even though no amount is really good. So I couldn’t use that to replace the food I’m not getting.

And.

And.

And.

And.

And.

I could go on, if I had words, and brain, and all that. (BTW this means this story won’t be told as well or as thoroughly as it could be or ought to be.)

A lot is going wrong, and my body is sending pretty clear signals.

And I’m learning, as always, which signals to listen to.

So I knew something was wrong and I knew there were things I just couldn’t do.

And sometimes those things change, minute to minute, let alone any other thing.

Anyway.

I was having a shitty day, and then I learned that Howard wouldn’t let me eat, and the stress really set in. I tried every stress reduction technique I knew, and only some helped.

And mind you — everyone else seemed to be having at least a shitty day if not shittier.

But anyway.

By night.

Things happened.

I don’t want to describe the whole situation, doesn’t matter for this.

I was exhausted.

Two days ago I was doing laps around the ward, more than ever before.

Yesterday, for the first time, I did less than I’d done the day before. In fact i did none.

I spent a lot of time, on and off, just lying there really weak not moving.

They’d given me a hang-bag of potassium in the morning but assured me at some point that if it was really really bad my doctors would come by and say something. Everyone keeps saying my doctors not coming by a lot means good things.

This morning I found this result which is what made the potassium bag appear yesterday:

Electrolytes test result for May 30: Sodium with yellow highlight and one down arrow: 128 (should be 136-145), Potassium with red highlight and two down arrows 2.9 (should be 3.5-5.0), Chloride with yellow highlight and one down arrow: 77 (should be 96-110), CO2 with yellow highlight and one up arrow 37 (should be 22-32).

But I didn’t know that then. Nobody had told me there was anything too alarming about my potassium results. They’d been trying J-tube supplements for a little bit but those haven’t always worked in the past. Apparently for whatever reason the IV potassium through my port isn’t enough either because this is this morning’s labs:

Electrolytes test result for May 31: Sodium with yellow highlight and one down arrow: 130 (should be 136-145), Potassium with red highlight and two down arrows 1.9 (should be 3.5-5.0), Chloride: 96 (should be 96-110), CO2: 27 (should be 22-32).

So some other things are better, but potassium is worse.

Potassium has been slowly creeping down since before it went low, let alone critical. Everyone’s been telling me not to pay attention to the slow creep. At home, I would see a slow creep and turn it around with a slight amount of coconut water — not too much, not too little. I can’t do that here. I don’t have that level of control. I don’t know whether coconut water would’ve prevented this before it got low this time. But it very well could. And everyone was busy “not worrying about it”. (What I do isn’t worrying about it, it’s preventing something before it happens. There’s a difference.)

But at any rate, potassium going critical can certainly put a dent in my body’s ability to do stuff, let alone without getting enough food (which itself is probably contributing to the potassium).

Let alone all the other crap going on.

So I had lots of good reason for feeling like crap.

Anyway.

So.

Last night.

With all that going on.

And knowing the food situation, and seeming to understand it.

And having seen my leaky J-tube all the whole time I’ve been here.

And many other things.

My J-tube leaks and a bunch of other things. Leaks, soaks through, burns.

I need to go to the bathroom.

My pain levels go haywire.

All these things at once.

I call the nurse.

I get…

Incredulous laughter at the idea I need a walker to get to the bathroom, along with something like “You’re not really gonna use that walker, are you?”

No help on the way to the bathroom.

Come back, lie down, need to get plugged back into feeding bag.

Get plugged into feeding bag.

Then she says something like “I’m putting you to work.”

She’s gesturing at a bunch of drain sponges.

I try to treat it as a joke.

“You’re not really saying you’re gonna make me change my own dressing?”

Then it becomes an argument.

And she gets really tense about it.

And it’s like, telling me I’ll never be able to manage at home if I never manage to do this, and also that there’s no such thing as being able to do something sometimes and not others, and lots of other things.

And then demanding explanations.

She didn’t want an explanation.

She would never believe any explanation I gave.

So I told her so.

I told her, “You guys are the ones who told me to listen to my body no matter what anyone says. I like you but that means you too. And I don’t owe you any explanation, you wouldn’t believe me even if I could explain it perfectly, which I fucking well can’t right now.” Only it may’ve had the word ‘fucking’ in there more times than that.

I’m not taking this anymore.

If I say I can’t do something, it’s for a reason.

And we actually went through a long conversation I didn’t recount, in which she rudely dismissed anything I said no matter how verifiably real it was.

Shit like when I said “I’m trying to conserve my energy” and she blew me off. So when I finally said “Remember I was having trouble breathing earlier today” to try to impress upon her how serious it was for me to waste energy, she said something like “Oh don’t even start with that shit.”

So any amount of “fucking”s were well-deserved by that point.

Lots of things happened. Our interactions were better the rest of the night.

But that was wrong.

And.

I’ve been bending over backwards to accommodate everything about this place and being treated like I’m the one doing something wrong.

I’ve been pushing myself — not too hard, but pushing myself — more than adequately by everyone’s description. And when one day — one day — I could do less than expected, the immediate response was an attempt to manipulate me into doing more “for my own good” and then treating me like shit for resisting. The same people who have been telling me all along to listen to my body. I listened, they got mad at me for it.

I am Neville Longbottom.

I want to keep being Neville Longbottom. He turned out all right.

And I need to, if I want to survive a system that tells me my body is wrong when any time I get a clear signal of “Something’s badly wrong,” I turn out to be right. And that the answer to a situation where I’m overworked to the breaking point is always do more.

“Listen to your body, dear, you know best,” sounds well and good until I do it when the person wants me to be able to do more. Then all hell breaks loose. At this point, I’m gonna keep saying “I can’t means I can’t, whether or not I can explain exactly how it works, and I’m not gonna wait until I can explain it to you to refuse to do something I know is bad for me.”

And I’m worn out, worn out. I don’t know what I’ll do once I see a doctor (provided one comes in), because I’m putting all my spare energy into getting to that point), because I’ve needed all the energy I’ve conserved and I feel like I’m burning reserves I don’t have just to get me through until whenever the doctor comes. Which is unpredictable as fuck and nobody gives you clear answers.

I’m hungry.

And I’m Neville.

Author:

Hufflepuff. Came from the redwoods, which tell me who I am and where I belong in the world. I relate to objects as if they are alive, but as things with identities and properties all of their own, not as something human-like. Culturally I'm from a California Okie background. Crochet or otherwise create constantly, write poetry and paint when I can. Proud member of the developmental disability self-advocacy movement. I care a lot more about being a human being than I care about what categories I fit into.

2 thoughts on “I am Neville Longbottom.

    1. Thank you, Jesse, for the link and suggestion. One public-shaming tweet, posted.
      I cannot believe they are doing this to you, Mel. Thank you for blogging about it, and I hope to God things will get better very soon.

      Liked by 1 person

Comment here. Please remember you're a guest here just as if you were a guest in my house, and try to treat me and other commenters accordingly. Comments are moderated and may take time to appear.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s