Humphrey Tales: All Manor of Cat at Downy Birch (the Foreword)

01/18/201301/19/2013 ~ Harlan Didrickson ~ 1 Comment

The stories you’re about to read took place in a town very much like your own. And the streets, and the gardens, and the two-footed, unusually tall, disturbingly loud, rambunctious then ravenous, warm-lapped for napping human‘s (as I’ve heard them called) are all, coincidently, similar to your’s in your town. With one very distinct difference: In Cricklade, a marvelous miracle occurred. Humphrey was born.

Humphrey has an unusual talent, even beyond the mystical reputation of Jellicoe Cats (tuxedo or black-on-white Cats). Humphrey has the blessing of serendipity, cousin to the enormously influential Providence, under whose influence Humphrey was born at the musty corner of a dank basement.

Borne into the Royal Order of One, Humphrey’s FemmeFeline (that is, his birth feline), was an orphan herself. She’d been abandoned in a bus line repair shop, so that the nameless mother might survive that bitterly brutal winter. Humphrey’s mother, just another anonymous female, it is rumored, had the kind of litter which occurs only once in every 62,835 litters brought into this village every decade: The litter came to be known simply as The One Litter.

This fortuity often delivered hope to all cats; The One Litter brought one Tom Cat predestined to a higher standard, and the true spirit of feline friendship, duty, and allegiance to whomever discovers Tom Cat, The Litter of One.

The talent Humphrey possesses is the ability to communicate with whomever rescues him from oblivion after being orphaned by his nameless mother. This human will give Tom Cat his true Jellicoe Name (as communicated to him by the kitten he just found). And everyone that meets Humphrey will think it is the perfect name (which it is).

These are the adventures of Humphrey, the cat of Downy Birch Manor and his Great Purpose? To dethrone the Mongrel Canine and the moniker “Man’s Best Friend,” thus returning to all felines the righteous mantel and distinctive title designated by a human clan: He’s-Part-of-The-Family and with that moniker comes the Fireside-Favorite-of-the-Four-Footed-Feline, in the case of Downy Birch, an age old Hearth Braided Rug.

New feline additions to the family! (upthetempo.wordpress.com)
Social networking site just for cats (newsfixnow.com)
Upcoming Litters. (kicksandgigglesminiaussies.com)

One More . . .

01/14/201301/17/2013 ~ Harlan Didrickson ~ 7 Comments

One more trip to the doctor.

One more admission of humiliating symptoms.

One more physician‘s persevering uncertainty.

One more hunch about drugs even after repeated failures of 6 week trials.

One more hopeful bottle of toxins to ingest.

One more set of side-effects to endure.

One more crippling debility: Illness’s strong swing of a sharp ax into the pulp of my dignity cutting deeply.

One more intentional assault leaving me with a staggering and teetering propriety.

One more debility before I’m disqualified from sovereignty; stripped of my liberty, freedom, and independence, my self-reliant character reverts to childhood, a time of absolute dependence for survival.

One more obedient abdication of my extinct identities and forthcoming dog’s age.

One more no more.

“Hopeless Ness” and the Lass “Chance” (a recent chat) for marsh d.

01/11/2013 ~ Harlan Didrickson ~ 2 Comments

This is an excerpt from a longer conversation with my cousin who’s been living with chronic pain and fibromyalgia. This excerpt was of particular significance because it was answering an unasked question which was hidden “between the lines” regarding hopelessness. If one is faced with 20 years of chronic pain, immobility, mood swings, etc. AND loss of hope what might their next stop be named?

Or is it the end of the line?

LUCY

Hello T. M. . . .,

I’m worried about you. You wrote a great post on hopelessness, are you feeling hopeless?

How can I help….I’m a good listener. You’ve poured your heart out onto the pages, you’ve been through a lot in your life and every one of those memories makes changes in the way our central nervous system functions and in the way the brain functions.

We (all of us who are chronically ill) put a lot of hope in those little pills. Those pills are able to aid you in functioning but can’t fix what has been broken. But, there is HOPE! The hope is within you and, with the help of another human being (not another pill), you can find a sense of peace and understanding. Then we come to acceptance…..well, that’ll be a whole ‘nother blog.

T. M.

Hi Lucy:

I made a promise to myself when I started this blog that I would be honest in my writing without sounding pitiful. I believe honesty transcends our diversity and therefore many can relate. The problem I have is that I suffer from untreatable maladies (brain, heart) and have recently been plagued by severe shooting pain in my lower and upper right side of my back, sciatica on my left leg, and most recently pain and weakness in my lower right leg. I was compromised with untreatable long-term illness, but then add these perpetual pains and immobility (I’ve been in pain every single day for 10 months): I take a cocktail of pain relief and muscle relaxants which work somewhat, but gastric bypass changes everything. Pardon my expression, but I feel like I’m all fucked up, none of my doctors seem to have the answers, and I am virtually homebound and use a small 3-wheeled walker to move around the house (which I’ll give to Rick when I’m finished with it). It’s almost impossible to have hope when you take stock of your life and all you see is lunacy, suffocation or heart attack, and constant and crippling pain. I’ve asked myself, “Am I really alive? Is this 24 hour ticktock simply doing time for a crime I didn’t commit? The only thing I look forward to is writing my blog. If only I could discover pain relief.

L UCY

I’m so sorry about your back pain….I have been through terrible sciatic pain and understand completely what you’re describing. It IS hard to

have hope! What you’re describing is what everyone with fibro describes……many lose hope. Without hope, you have nothing. I was at that point at one time, too and made a plan to commit suicide. All seemed hopeless and I didn’t want to live a life of pain. i threw myself into research and coming to understand what was happening inside of me. I’m still coming to understand what’s happening…..researchers are still trying to come to understand what’s happening. For 40 years, I went to the doctor, described my problem….he did tests, which all came back as normal. As long as the tests came back normal, there wasn’t a real problem. Thousands of people have gone through this same thing….test after test and all is normal. I was turned away and humiliated by a few specialists who didn’t believe me….no one would believe me. The doctors were trained in medical school that when someone like me comes in….to disregard the complaints….it’s all in her head and she’s making it up to get attention. Talk about losing hope!!!!!

Dr. Oz actually did a show on this a few months back and he admitted this is how the medical field has been trained …..to not take seriously any pain that can’t be diagnosed on a test. And, he admitted that he felt this way, too…..until just 2 years ago. Now, he has come to understand more of what’s actually going on inside of us. I am not alone.

Facebook has been like a miracle for me because I have found all of these other people just like me who have suffered for forty years and discounted, too. There are thousands and thousands of people all over the world who are suffering. The medical profession doesn’t know what to do with things they can’t see on a test!! You have terrible pain in your back…..surely they must be able to see this pain on a scan. But, no….they won’t see it unless you have a herniated disc, that they can see. That, they can do something about because they can see it.

T. M.

I used to volunteer at The National Runaway Switchboard as a “liner” (the person who answers the call. I decided to continue until my problems surpassed those of the caller. Well, I stopped when Rick got sick and haven’t been back since. I could deal with the long-term illnesses if I could just shake the pain.

LUCY

I have learned so much. I went off on my own and spent a fortune on alternative therapy and a Fibro Specialist that wasn’t covered on my insurance plan. I had to drive 12 hours one way to get to see him….talk about desperate!! But, he helped me gain a semblance of a life back. It was worth every penny.

What I’m trying to say is this….the doctors don’t have all the answers. In fact, they don’t have many of the answers. There is much more you can do to help alleviate the pain.

One thing I suggest is seeing a Pain Specialist. Jeff has been suffering with debilitating sciatic pain for some time. He couldn’t walk without his walker. He was losing hope.

He went to see the pain specialist who injected the spine…….because the injections helped somewhat, the doctor knew that a more radical treatment would work. He did the treatment on his sciatic nerve and it was a MIRACLE. He was able to walk, to stand up straight and to begin to enjoy life again.

Just the value of having one other person understand what you’re going through and to be able to relate with compassion and empathy is very healing. I’ve seen it again and again as I talk to people. They all say it . . . empathy, simple compassion for another’s suffering.

What Is Sciatica? (everydayhealth.com)
Sharing is Caring (inspirationalgem.wordpress.com)
Opiate Medications: Pain Management Versus Addiction (psychologytoday.com)
Why I Deal With Pain Like I Do (workthedream.wordpress.com)

Those Damned Little Pills

01/08/201301/08/2013 ~ Harlan Didrickson ~ 5 Comments

For the very first time since I swallowed my first 20 mg. tablet of Paxil four-and-a-half years ago, I finally understand why so many people living with mood disorders stop or want to stop ingesting those damned little pills. Those little pills, like slap-happy lovers, amend their promises of change immediately after they’ve failed you once again. One more chance? One more try? We’re narrowing the field; one day we’ll strike the right chord, just have patience. Patience? What patience? NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) reported that adults who live with serious mental illness die 25 years earlier than other Americans . . .

Imagine yourself standing next to the Greyhound bus to say good-bye to Hope as she takes a window seat, looking at you detached and indifferent. Your worst fear is happening: That Greyhound bus is leaving you utterly Hopeless. Hopelessness is a loaded .38 in the nightstand on your dad’s side of the bed; hopelessness is impressionable and interested in alternatives; hopelessness implies that the rough-housing and agonizing conflict you’ve accepted as life is all yours, pal, so grab some gloves and climb into the ring!

Eighty-sixed and cast aside, people with mood disorders are often adrift and desperately clutch to any buoyant object to preserve the credo of the downcast, that missing people like you are rescued. But there is no rescue. Or search. No one even noticed you were gone. But then serendipity zips past on her jet-ski waving and reassuring her return. Immediately you squeeze and squeeze again until every bit of blue sky is wrung from her fly by. You weave strands of hope into bonds of promises and cling to them for their six-week trial, hoping your wholeheartedness created the perfect environment for the mood stabilizing drug to speed down your arterial on-ramp and slide into your bloodstream, easy-sneezy!

Nope. Nothing. Nada. That bitch Hope and her batty cousin, Serendipity played you once again for the hapless Sad Sack, the lunatic desperate for clemency, the believer of broken promises in the form of a pill. Those damned little pills! The pharmaceutical industry’s great hoax endorsed by psychiatrist’s, dispensed by Pharmacists, and dutifully swallowed with some water and a handful of hope. Hope that it’ll take; make a difference; do something; ease my burden; make me laugh.

At my desk 30 minutes after waking, the gravity of hopelessness, fatigue, and apathy plunge my mood underwater; the depressive side of bipolar leads to chronic pleas for the manic cavalry to save the day. Hold on, I mutter to myself, Just hold on for the pills; they’ll carry you far away from despair. Into my mind’s ground fog I wander further out on the pier when a carefully apportioned packet of dextro-amphetamine salts (think F-22 Raptor Fighter Jet in a mach-1 vertical climb); mood-stabilizer (think the F-22 Raptor running out of gas); and anti-depressant (think glider) are swallowed to ensure mood stability. Followed by a pair of diuretics to reduce significant edema caused by heart failure and pulmonary hypertension. At last I down two pain medications and one muscle relaxant for back and knee pain associated with recent weight gain caused by heart failure and venous insufficiency.

How did life become a scene from Soylent Green? Not so long ago I’d lounge sleepily awaiting the skipping return to bed of my spouse. Now my mornings are strict regimens in a very specific sequence to assure all medication has been ingested. I too, would like nothing more than to flee from this pill-filled merry-go-round so-called Life and run back to that sanctuary of pressed sheets, downy comforters, famished pillows which swallow everything, and quiet, inside-joke laughter reserved for those blessed with wellness.

Instead, every morning I sit at our kitchen table despising those damned little pills.

Paxil, I’m Leaving You (iwillleavethekey.wordpress.com)
Epigenetics and Mood Disorders – Mayo Clinic (lugenfamilyoffice.com)
The Magic Pill and False Reality (aneekasimonis92.wordpress.com)

Hard Truths Abolish Life’s Peripheral Pleasures (for Jean)

12/30/201212/30/2012 ~ Harlan Didrickson ~ 3 Comments

amaculardegeneration

Living with mental illness reminds me of the perpetual tightening of sight associated with macular degeneration. A close friend’s mother is facing a destiny of dusk, the light of day dimming earlier and earlier like the cold and snowy late months of fall. She’s waiting for disease to throw the switch as though she hadn’t paid her utility bill. She asked me one afternoon during a summer visit, how dark is dark; how blind is blind; once it’s dark and I’m blind will I continue farther into the cave and deeper into its darkness; or is my blindness an unmarked dead-end?

I sat in front of her incapable of producing some quip of levity to lighten the despair. I didn’t know how to answer. Or, what to say. The absence of chit-chat hung between us like humidity. Finally I answered the only way I knew how: honest and awestruck.

I said, I’m not living with an insensitive eventuality; my conditions (serious mental health and cardio-pulmonary compromise) are likely to flatten me, like being crushed by an immense breaking ocean wave, or belly flopping into the speeding approach of pasture, absent of any canopy of resistance my last minutes hopelessly free-falling like aimless snowflakes. Then it happened. Stopped. Quiet and conscious while the tiniest pieces of life clung to daylight, right before it too, daylight, stopped.

acandystore You and I are the little boy and little girl whose noses are pressed flat against the confectionary store window. Our yearning is painfully apparent to the plumply indulgent chocolatiers who’s moving each bit of life with the careful determination of a chess master to capitalize on each enticing, heavenly, and scrumptious creation. We’re accustomed to forfeiting the peripheral pleasures which adorn life for those unscathed by physical mutiny. We’re weary of the world’s pace, gaining speed to get anyplace but right here on this bench. And we’re disinterested in watching a generation plow through a banal life ignoring its dangers and instead pursuing schedules chock full of unwieldily opportunities and difficult-to-deny distractions, especially those who’ve never stared into the intense and stoic countenance of a doctor about to tell you the most incomprehensible truth.

To wonder and inquire about your predetermination is natural and reserved for the courageous. To have courage in light of the truth you must’ve stopped pursuing distractions, stopped running away from things, and stopped denying your mortality. And life’s hard truths can only be understood by the courageous.