Friday, July 13, 2007

The last miles to the house

Since the collapsed-chair accident, all that I do every day is eating, sleeping, napping, physical therapies, grocery shopping, painting pictures with Ratprincess in it, and, pill popping.

In addition to the stretching exercises I was finally told to, the only forms of exercises I am entitled to were walking and, at times, stair climbing (especially when subway stations are not disability friendly).

Other than a few of the emails I might have attended to take care of some business, I read nothing new and nothing intellectual. In other words, there is exercise deprivation for both muscles in my body and in my head.

On top of my dear Zoloft and Seroquel, I am also taken 2 Alleve per day, 10 mg of muscle relaxant, and two patches of Lidocaine on a daily basis. All of them seem to have something to do with modulating the movement of neurotransmitters. Since my neurotransmitters already do not listen to me and now that more cocktails work on slowing things down, as my walking on flat land starts to get smoother and smoother, my cognitive capacity grows to be slower and slower.

While physical exercises used to be a means to deal with the pharmaceutical-chemical-related cognitive constipation, there is no way for me to go workout so as to get the extra shut of endorphins to help me cope with the constipations. (And, if I am capable of working out, I will not be writing the mumble jumble that I am writing.)

I had attempted to get done with the muscle relaxant after discovering myself to be back to the state of cognitive constipation. Yet, the pains and aches are still too much for yours princess to take despite of my slowly but steadily gained dumb-dumbness. Call me a druggie as you will.

Now that I am still stuck with the muscle relaxant, provided that I am due to get back to work sometime next week, it might be a good idea for me to find alternative ways to do something about the growing cognitive constipation.

Apparently, there is only one way of handling it… through the adjustment of my antipsychotic medication.

My psychiatrist told me that he could not make any change unless he sees me. After realizing that I am gonna be stuck with muscle relaxant for a bit longer, I made an appointment with him today. He decided that since he will not be in for the next two weeks, nothing should be changed until he comes back and until I am off muscle relaxant (what I don’t understand is that… “Why on earth did he tell me to coming knowing I cannot get off muscle relaxant and he, anyways, will be away???” And, of course, I was relative too spaced out, too focus on understanding what he was saying and too distracted by the movement of his hands to be asking this question.)

It was a trip I possibly will always remember--- the last miles to the house.

A walk that used to take me about 5-10 minutes must have taken me at least 30-40 minutes (if not longer) to complete in order for me to get from the subway station to his office (not to mention the distance I have to go in order to go from the cross-town shuttle to the A train going uptown at Time Square). The shorter distance to the bus station did not make the walk less arduous. Rather, the whole trip from my physical therapist to my psychiatrist had strained my muscles enough that each every little movement was strenuous and I was moving till I feel I was about to pass out (psychosomatic or not? God knows and I don’t care no more… lol :-x).

What I described in one paragraph and what took about 3 hours turned to be a trip that felt like eternity.

Why didn’t I simply call a taxi?

Other than I am a cheapskate from hell and I have the propensity of overestimating my capacity, I could not think straight given that the physical movement had captured all my cognitive capacity. In addition, I did not see any taxi when hitting the street and I didn’t feel like to grab one when the free shuttle could come any moment taking me 6 blocks away from my home, the final destination.

Like the nicotine to the hazard of smoking, the distance was not what killed during the entire trip.

It was those slopes, observable or unobservable by sight, that almost killed this rat (didn’t I tell you about my newly gained extraordinary ability in judging whether the land is flat or is tilted? lol)

Was this a useless trip that did nothing more than adding more parts of body to be in a worsening state of inflammation?

Actually, other than finding out there ARE elevators at the 168th subway station for A and 1 lines, I found out that that 99+% or the road between my doctor’s office and the subway station is tilted. lol

In addition, it was during my meeting with the psychiatrist did I find out that, while I could hear what he was saying, I could not help but look at his hands whenever they were moving… even the slightest motion unkown to himself.

It was when I finally got home did I have the eureka moment that answered his question, which I was unable to answer at that time--- “about how long I have been in a state of existential vacuum”.

When painting, I can only focus on painting. When watching TV, I could only do TV watching.

Earlier on, right after the accident, the TV was hardly turned on because everything physical led to my sensitivity to sound. Later on, when the treatment started to work, the TV was still hardly turned on because it results in unfilterable distractions that interfere with whatever I was doing… looking at a picture or finding a job for Ratprincess2 to camp and make some SL money.

In addition, it also occurs to me that, despite of my cognitive constipation, I have no problem learning to draw a rat or a pig. Shall the dual-channel kinda theory hold… It seems the disturbance was done to the verbal channel while the processing of the graphic channel endures lesser damage if not none. Or, would it be possible that the depressed functionalities of the verbal channels might have resulted in the intensified capacity of the graphic channel, aiming to compensate the signal deprivation?

So--- that’s what has been happening at home… which leads to my next few questions…

Laden with physical and mental de-capacity, if not disability, when will I finally be zu hause zein?

Where else to you find someone who has to go through the whole 9 yards for the sake of the American education?

Who else has both the above unique contribution and the extraordinary ability in judging whether the land is tilted? lol :-x

And, by the way, just because I seem to still have the verbal diarrhea at the end of the night doesn’t mean that I am not dumb dumb because it is almost time again to take my night time drug. In addition, the sheer ability to produce is hardly synonymous to productivity… I could produce as much garbage as I can… still what comes out possibly will not fall into the “scholarly, scientifically and peer-recognized” classification. lol

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