Stories


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This visit with parents went very well. :) Yummy food. They might visit again tomorrow, but Dad cautions not to count on it. Mom is avoiding the stake conference, so they are free. But, the unstated thought was that visiting me is not exactly cheap. Disney food prices without the Disney fun. :/

Nose is healing. I think in a couple days you won’t even be able to tell I faceplanted. Nose is stuffy though. So might be coming down with something. Actually, it alternates between running and being stuffy, as if it can’t make up its mind.

Had a growing urge to pick back up “Ouroboros” recently. Re-read it tonight. Not as bad as I thought it was, regarding writing or how it was left off. I can definitely see how to pick up the thread again. But, do I want to? It endangers my sobriety, but is it better to get it out of my head? I know purging the JoJ story helped a lot.

Probably pick it back up, but not certain. Must think about it further.

~S

x

Didn’t journal yesterday. Mania was in full force.

Which also meant I didn’t talk about the great faceplant of February 2013. ;) Nose is still sensitive. Left palm is sore. Right edge of hand sore. Good thing I’ve given up jerking off while in prison. Hehehehe. Also, left pinky still complaining from the “bite” my locker gave it.

All-in-all, not a good day for Steve’s body. Yet I was still in an overjoyed mood.

On a more positive note, parents should be visiting me today! Yay! Hehehehehe. I’m sure their first reaction to my nose is to ask if it collided with a fist. ;)

Oh!, and I also “had my ears lowered”. Very drafty now. lol

Oh! x2, also received my colored pencils yesterday. Expensive, but worth it.

Anyway, gonna read and relax until called for “viso”.

~S

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Very weird dreams. Last night I dreamed I was part of Dinner: Impossible and was trying to feed the compound of 1,000-plus with 4 filet steaks. Even in my dream, after starting seasoning the steaks, I realized “This is impossible”. I blame talking about Restaurant: Impossible with Mom, and that Longhorn Steakhouse commercial.

Then I took a nap after breakfast and had this really weird dream about a parade where guys had put gauges (big holes) through their penises, and others had zippers in their scrotums. Ewwww.

Then suddenly I had this small stained glass window in a wooden frame, which I was trying to return to my mother. I had to take this long, winding, torch-lit road back to the start of the parade route. During the walk I encountered more weird “exhibits”, but no one obstructed or molested me.

When I found Mom, she was sitting in the bar of an Applebee’s-type restaurant with her friend Joan. Mom had a bowl of cereal w/ milk in it in front of her. It was almost consumed. I think Joan had a chocolate martini or something like that. Then I woke up.

Very weird dream. I’ll write more later. :)

~S

 

x

Had a very shitty morning. Ugh and ewwwww. On the positive side, I had no problem producing this morning. On the negative, my cup runneth over. Literally. :(

So my appointment was at 5:30. They drew blood and then I had to produce a stool sample. At first we thought it was just a popsicle stick thing. Shit, wipe, scoop from TP using stick, and smear on card.

Oh, if only it had been that simple. :(

The doctor wanted to check me for parasites, so she needed a LOT more of a sample. The nurse first gave me a Dixie cup, then reconsidered and gave me a urine collection container. She advised me that I had to “play catch”, not “go fishing”.

Thankfully I thought to ask for a glove. When I got into the bathroom and squatted… well, there’s no delicate way to put this. I produced lots of peanut butter. Packed that container in one go, and overflowed onto my gloved hand. Ewwww.

So I rinsed my hand in the toilet and scooped off the “dome” on the urine cup and set it on the drainage grate in the bathroom. Now to clean up.

Easier said than done. My “aim” had been off, or something splashed or ran down my leg. :( So I had to clean the toilet seat and my thighs first. Then I started to wipe…. and ran out of TP. :I

So I pulled up my pants a bit and crack the door to ask for more TP. They can only give me paper towels. Four of them. I quickly exhaust these. I crack the door again to ask for more. I other inmates are upset. I’m throwing off their pee test schedule. I tell them I can’t do anything, there’s shit up my ass in here. While I wait for the guard to bring more towels, I crack the vials (with built-in spoons) and start scooping and shaking.

Great. Shit soup. *eye roll*

The stack of towels arrives. I wipe and clean up as best I can, but in the end I just say “hell with it”, I’ll shower at the dorm.

But now it’s count time, so I can’t go anywhere. I stand by the window to try to keep from offending my fellow inmates. I’m not sure it worked. :/

Breakfast had been delivered, but with my shitty hands I wasn’t about to eat. Who the hell doesn’t put soap in a bathroom!?

So I wait for the count to clear, while the others go empty their bladders, complain how it stinks in there, the toilet won’t flush due to paper towels clogging it, and how messy the bathroom is.

Count clears and I virtually run out the door. My OCD is really in overdrive now. Must! Get! Clean!

Of course, the nearest gate to the yard is locked, so I have to go the long way around.

I get to the dorm and prepare for my shower. I had already decided the blues would be changed out, as well as whites, since burning was not a viable option. :/

My undershirt was unmarked, surprisingly, so I decided to wear that. The boxers had stains, but not as badly as I feared. I decided to wash them in the shower and wear them tomorrow after they dried. I didn’t want to stink up the room with shitty boxers in my laundry bag.

So the shower helped reset my OCD. It’s nice being clean. :)

I washed the boxers and wrung them out. Good so far. I towel off. Just when I’m about done, I fart. I thought it was dry. The brown streak on my towel proved otherwise. :(

SHIT! (Literally!)

So I decide to wash the towel in the sink of our room and finish getting dressed.

Once back in the room, I did just that. Wrung it out in the shower (gee, wasn’t I just here?), and hanged it on the bed post.

Then the dorm officer said he was gonna do a mini-inspection. So I took down the laundry bags, jackets, soaps, calendar, etc.

I couldn’t do anything about the towel or boxers. I refuse to get mildew for a mini-inspection. Hell with it.

So, like I said, a shitty morning. It’s not even lunch yet. Greeeeeaaaat!

~S

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So apparently Bubba “hates me & everything I stand for”. *eye roll* All because, during the walk to dinner chow tonight, he was saying how he was gonna die in prison and so was the person he was talking to. I turned to the guy next to me and said “I don’t plan to die in prison. Do you intend to die here?”

Yeah, oh well. He spoke to me in the small TV room and said if I ever butt into his conversation again, he’ll punch my face right then and there.

Most of me thinks it’s a bluff. I really wanted to tell him to take a swing, but I listened to the better angels of my nature.

Afterward, I prayed on how the Lord would want me to handle it if he keeps pressing. The whole “I told you not to bite, I didn’t say not to hiss“. But “Turn the other cheek” came to my mind very quickly. I questioned it to make sure it’s what Heavenly Father wanted me to do, and it wasn’t of my own mind. The message was repeated.

I prayed Bubba would find peace & comfort. I thanked Heavenly Father for keeping me safe.

More later? Four entries in one day??

~S

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Soooo bored. We had a “fire drill” tonight. I think it was just an excuse for random pat-downs. *shrug*

Personally, I wouldn’t be opposed to fire drills whenever the officers notice smoking. Make it so much of a hassle… eh, who am I kidding? The inmates are going to smoke anyway.

I really think a lot of it is “Oooooh! Look what I’m getting away with!”. The “rips” barely have any tobacco in them. =/ So the smokers aren’t really getting a nicotine fix.

I must remember, when I get out, to add the whole wisk commercial shoot fiasco to my autobiography. Yeah, that was real smart on my part. A girl says I smell, and I say I’ll go away if she has sex with me. *eye roll*

God, I can be so stupid.

~S

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I would not was to be Billy right now. Swamp is plotting against him, Sin might be shortly after him, I’m pissed @ him, and a lot of my hallway (perhaps more) are upset with him. Oh! Pic is pissed at him too.

Who knew I had this many friends?

He borrowed my radio Friday evening, with instructions to return it Sunday morning. That didn’t happen. When I saw him at lunch he first tried to say it was stolen, then he sold it, then it was confiscated. I told him I didn’t care, he was responsible for it. He made some hint that there was nothing I could do, and that if I didn’t like it, I could fight him. I refused to be drawn into that.

Then he offered to take me to the officer who confiscated it. I tool him up on that offer. We walked back toward the chow hall, all the while him saying that since it was converted, it was contraband and we would go to confinement. I knew it was BS. Halfway to the chow hall he realized I had called his bluff. “Naw, I’m just fuckin’ with you dog.”

On the way back to A-dorm he kept saying how he knew people who wanted to kick my ass because of why I was here, and that he should just keep the radio.

I told him that both Swamp and Sin were looking out for me. To which he replied along the lines that it didn’t matter. I remember clearly him saying “Sin won’t do shit”.

I asked him to get the radio. He cautioned that the guards in the dorm would look at the radio and take it.

Damn, I’m too nice. :(

I said OK, bring it out 2nd yard. But, of course, we didn’t have a 2nd yard. =(

Pic grabbed the radio on the way back from dinner. Billy again tried to say he knew people who wanted to kick my ass. Pic replied “What business is that of yours? If they have a problem with Steve, tell them to see me.”

Bless Pic’s shiny bald head. :)

When I returned from dinner, Pic presented me with my radio on top of my locker.

It was at this time I knew something was wrong. The radio was in the case at a 90-degree angle. My name was not engraved on this unit, and another DC # was on it.

At first I thought Billy had traded out radios. Upon closer inspection, we saw that it was my unit, but Billy had sanded off my name and DC # from under the screen. He had scratched his DC # on to it, and had started to scratch “Zeismer” where my name used to be.

Obviously he had no intention of returning my radio. So he’s at the top of my shit-list.

The head phones were also broken, so I had to drop my selling price to Salazar from $20 to $15. =(

In the end, I’m glad that I got my radio back. But Billy tried to “play” me, and that will probably have to be answered eventually.

For the time being, I’m just going to avoid him. A ball has been set in motion where Billy will get his comeuppance soon enough. Mu-hahahahahaha! >:)

~S

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Feeling better. Psychiatrist finally saw me. I am now on Prozac 10mg in addition to my Depakote 1000mg. 3 days in, and starting to feel better, but it might be a placebo effect.

Billy is still a “bug”, but the friendship of Adam helps keep me sane…. or it could be the drugs. ;)

I have the parent’s visiting tomorrow. I’m really looking forward to that. Nice to know I’m not forgotten, unlike most the the guys in here. =/

Heard “E” (Eric) talking to “Shorty” about a treehouse. He was using it as an analogy for something (not sure what) and how someone could get into the treehouse via a rope, ladder, or climbing the tree.

In a way, it reminded me of the doctrine of the world regarding getting into heaven (singular). So many different faiths, and those that are non-denominational, say, in effect, that if you live a good life you’ll get into heaven. By this they refer to what we know as the Celestial Kingdom, living in the presence of Jesus Christ and God the Father.

Yet the scriptures are very specific when it comes to this false doctrine…

“Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”
John 14:6

There is one faith, one baptism, one church, and only one gospel. Anything else that seeks to pull you from any of these, or seeks to dilute this simple truth, is of the adversary.

Wow! Not sure where that came from.  I was planning to just reference it for a future talk, not actually write what I believe is the crux of a talk.

I guess, like G’Kar, prison is helping me become more spiritual. :)

Gonna stop, right shoulder-blade starting to cramp up, and 2 pages is over my quota. ;)

~S

x

(It is good that Stephen does not mind, has even grown to like it.)

I was a bit nervous to be sent off to Lifestream. Not because I doubted I needed help, but because I had heard that I would have to be transported by the police and handcuffed for the ride. Yes, after everything, I didn’t want to be “cuffed”. Something about it implied that I was a danger to the officer or other people. Which I feel I have never been.

Luckily the deputy assigned to transport me was able to see I wasn’t a threat and, upon asking, agreed that if I wasn’t going to be a problem he would allow me to ride without cuffing me. WHEW!

I would love to say the ride was eventful, but that just wasn’t the case. I hope all of my readers will never have the chance to put my theory to the test, but riding in the back of a police cruiser is a scary experience. At least, it was for me. Just the idea that I couldn’t get out if we were in an accident was enough to elevate my heart rate.

Soon enough we arrived at Lifestream. It was a rather squat building, more wide than either tall or deep. I was escorted into the holding area where other individuals were waiting to be processed. I got a good look at some of the other people I would be spending the next couple days with. Some were obviously there for mental health issues, but others were a little… shall we say “off”? It was then that I learned that Lifestream functions not only as a mental health facility, but as a drug rehab location. I was photographed and my inventory was checked for contraband. After an interview where they took both my mental health assessment as well as my family background, I was given a robe and led though a set of locked doors and into a bathroom. After checking the clothes I had on, I was lead through yet another set of doors and on to the adult male unit where I would be spending time.

I wasn’t exactly scared, but a bit apprehensive might be a better term. I knew that the nurses and orderlies wouldn’t allow any patient to be abused by other patients, but I still had to wonder just how crazy some of my unit-mates were.

The nurses on duty asked when was the last time I ate. After telling them breakfast, they asked if I felt up to eating. Well, duh! But I was still a bit reluctant for solid food.. I felt it might be taking chances. I was able to convince them into bringing me a bowl of vegetable soup with noodles. It STILL hurt like a bitch going down, but not as much as my first few meals in the hospital did. I was able to keep it down, so I figured I was making progress.

My bed was made and I changed out of the robe and into some more comfortable clothes. I grabbed one of the books that my mother had brought from home. I can’t even tell you the name of it now. It’s SOMEWHERE around here. lol

Anyway, the title isn’t important. It was a LDS book dealing with the atonement, grace, mercy, and that sort of stuff. All I remember is that it brought me to tears. Not full tears rolling down my face, just the tears welling up around the edges. You know how it’s like trying to blink back tears? That is how I was.

It was at this time one of the patients decided to introduce himself to me. A kindly early-40’s guy with mutton-chop sideburns. His name was Mark. He was reaching the end of his stay for addiction to alcohol.

I don’t know why, but I took an immediate “shine” to Mark. He seemed level-headed and friendly. Maybe it was because he seemed non-threatening. Maybe it’s because he was the first one to reach out to me. Maybe it’s just because he was there.

I opened up to him. I told him about what I had done, just as I’ve recalled on this blog. Everything. It’s then that the faucet was turned on. I started crying like I hadn’t done in years.

I guess the magnitude of everything was hitting me again. In the hospital I had processed just the tip of the iceberg. Now the emotions were taking center stage. Who was I to still be living? Why was I spared? I couldn’t explain it. Well, let me rephrase. I couldn’t explain it in any human terms. The fact that I was still alive and in control of my faculties could only be explained by me as divine intervention.

Do you have any idea how humbling it is to feel like…. No. KNOW that your higher power (whatever you may call him, her, or it) intervened on your behalf? To know how loved you are?

I… had an experience… I can’t prove it, I can’t even explain it, but everything that I know as a human being, everything that I am tells me that it was real! I was given something wonderful, something that changed me forever… A vision… of the universe, that tells us, undeniably, how tiny, and insignificant and how… rare, and precious we all are! A vision that tells us that we belong to something that is greater than ourselves, that we are *not*, that none of us are alone! I wish… I… could share that… I wish, that everyone, if only for one… moment, could feel… that awe, and humility, and hope. But… That continues to be my wish.
-Ellie Arroway (Jodie Foster), Contact (1997)

Mark agreed with me that it was a higher power at work, saving me from destroying myself. Now the trick, he said, was making the most of this second chance. I intended to.

All in all, we were probably locked in conversation for only 45 minutes. But it was 45 minutes of fellowship. Something I really needed.

By this time some people had gone to bed, others watching some mindless sitcom or sporting event on the unit’s two televisions. Not feeling up to much more socializing, I retired to my bed. Sleep quickly took me.

I woke up at 2am with what felt like an elephant on my chest. It felt like I wasn’t able to get enough air into my lungs. Oh boy! Just my luck, the night after I leave the hospital I have the heart problem they were looking out for. I must have lain there for about five minutes, trying to gulp air. When I started feeling tingling in my left finger-tips, I decided to go to the nurses station.

The unit was dead quiet. I padded to the nurses station and told them I was having trouble breathing. They consulted their chart and said since I was a new admission, they didn’t have any authorization to give me anything. Why don’t I lay back down and try to concentrate on my breathing. If I kept having trouble, they would call the doctor on duty and see if they could give me anything.

I wasn’t totally convinced that this would do anything, but I realized I really wasn’t in a position to argue. I said I would give it a try and turned to go to my room. Was that a mattress in the hallway with someone asleep on it??

As I lay in my bed, I tried to focus on drawing in deep breaths and then slowly emptying my lungs. I tried to ignore the sirens going off in my mind, screaming “Heart Attack! Heart Attack! Heart Attack!”.

Slowly I noticed that the elephant had gotten up to sit somewhere else. With much relief, and a little embarrassment, I went back to the nurses station to let them know I was ok now, and they didn’t have to wake the doctor.

I returned to bed and realized I had just had my very first panic attack. What fun!!! I was able to slip off to sleep again shortly thereafter.

The next morning, as we lined up to go to the cafeteria for breakfast, I got my first real look at my fellow in-mates. I mean patients. ;) A good mix. Some older men, some younger, but most of them were around my age. All in all we probably had around 15 men standing in line.

Figuring that I had to start graduating to solid and richer food eventually, I tried my luck with some “normal” food. Things like scrambled eggs, cereal with milk, buttered toast, and an orange. Though it still felt like I was swallowing razor blades, I was able to get it all down, save the orange (which I took back to the unit to snack upon).

Also at breakfast, Mark introduced me to one of his friends on the unit, a mid-40’s man by the name of Jared. As it turns out, this was both a blessing and a curse. Mark was discharged later that day. So it was nice to know someone else on the unit. Unfortunatly, Jared thought he was more intelligent than he was. He would go on these long diatribes about totally nonsensical topics. Also, his favorite phrase was “Ya know”. He loved to pepper that into at least every other sentence. During one of his monologues I actually counted the number of times he used his favorite phrase. I originally was planning to count for 5 minutes, but abandoned the count once it reached 27 “You know”s inside of 2 minutes.

Yes, I grew to hate and fear Jared. If you couldn’t already tell from my tone, Jared was NOT there for detox. I’ll just leave that there for you to work out.

It was also during breakfast that I saw my first fight between patients. Well, not a full fight. It’s more properly thought of as two feral cats yelling at one another and puffing themselves up to scare away their opponent.

Apparently David (you’ll see that name often) had thrown a butter pat, and it had struck another patient on his forehead. That pissed the other one off, because he was quite visibly balding. I guess he thought David was making fun of his expanding forehead.

Let me first describe the participants. David is an early 20’s wirery male with crew cut hair. He probably stood 5’5″. He obviously worked out, as whenever he went shirtless (which was quite often), you couldn’t help but notice that he was “cut”. A whole lot of attitude. He is the stereotypical suburban white boy who thinks himself a “gangsta”.

Rick (Bald guy) was late 40’s to early 50’s with a goatee. He probably stood 6 foot something. He was a little heavier, but you couldn’t call him fat. Throughout my stay, I only ever saw him in the gown issued us at intake.

So, of course, Rick stands up and starts yelling. David follows suit. At that moment, a wave of nurses descended upon them. David is lead away and given his meals on the unit until the next day.

The next day David and Rick got into it again, so David was fed on the unit for the rest of my stay.

David acting up became a permanent fixture during my stay. Some of his more noteworthy performances included:

  • Running full tilt toward the locked doors and acting like he was gonna try to bust through, only to stop a second before he hit.
  • Claiming (quite loudly) that he couldn’t wait to get out and smoke some weed again.
  • Serenading us with renditions of his favorite gangster rap tunes, and some he made up on the spot.
  • Telling everyone that he smokes a thousand dollars a day of weed.
  • Alternating crying at the top of his lungs that he wants out RIGHT NOW, then angrily yelling that these f**kers better let him out now.
  • Pouring the kool-aid into the trash during our snack times.

Yes, with David around, my stay was very interesting.

After losing a couple patients right before Christmas, we also gained Carlos. He fancied himself a ladies man. He made it a point to flirt with almost every single female he ran across. This usually meant he was hitting on the nurses, but occasionally the female patients when we had combined activities. I will admit, it was amusing to see him in action.

On my second day at Lifestream, I saw a psychiatrist who prescribed me Celexa (20mg) and Remeron (15 mg). They made me very sleepy as my body adjusted to them. A lot of my remaining stay was spent sleeping.

The rest of my stay was pretty uneventful. I made it a point to be polite to the staff. I figured they had the power to extend my stay, and I didn’t want to piss them off. I was only supposed to be committed for 3 days, but due to the holidays, that was extended to 5. =/

On the day of my release, I promised myself I would never see the inside of that place again. Unfortunately, I was inside again 3 months later, but that’s another post.

Next post: Stephen understands… No. Stephen not understand, but Stephen do. Stephen good at doings, not understandings.

Listened to: The Four Seasons: Concerto No. 1 In E Major, RV 269, “Spring”: I. Allegro from the album “Antonio Vivaldi: The Four Seasons and Other String Favorites” by Bela Banfalvi, Budapest Strings, Karoly Botvay
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(and confirms to friends and family that he’s a moron)

Wow. Has it really been a month since I updated my blog? I guess there’s a reason for that, I really didn’t know what to say for this part. I’m past most of the excitement of trying to kill myself and becoming violently ill. I’ve called EMS, spent hours in the Emergency Department, been admitted to the hospital, and wheeled up to my room.

But, I have to write something, so we can get to the excitement of… well, you’ll see in an update or two. ;)

(That’s called a teaser. hehehehe)

When we last left our idiot.. I mean “hero”, he was being watched by a sitter to make sure he didn’t try to harm himself again, and had drifted off to sleep thanks to modern pharmaceuticals.

I slept fitfully. Even with the sleeping pill, I still surfaced from time to time during the night. You must understand, a war was raging in my body. The caffeine wanted to keep me awake, the sleeping pill wanted to calm me. Add that to the fact that I was still processing my experience, and you’ll understand why I say I slept, but not peacefully.

I remember during the night that I was aware of my sitter watching Disney’s “The Santa Clause”. I must have incorporated that into my dream, because I was convinced that I should be in the red suit. I was also aware of being restrained. I’m guessing I must have rolled over and felt my IV tug on my arm or something, because my first conscious sensation during the night was of my hand balling into a fist, preparing to fight off whoever or whatever was restraining me.

Now, understand that this is very out of character for me. I’m not a fighter in the least. It was probably because of this very reason that I didn’t take a swing. My mind suddenly snapped into focus a half second before I threw the punch.

I sat bolt upright. This must have startled my sitter, because she asked if I was ok. I told her I thought so, just give me a minute.

You know how you sometimes wake up in a strange place and for a moment don’t know how you got there or why you are there? Imagine that going on for a minute or two. I had to clear my head, concentrate on taking even breaths, and work backward for my answers. “My name is Stephen. I’m in a hospital. I tried to kill myself. You are my sitter. You are here to help me.”

Yes, it was pretty rudimentary, but it’s what I needed at the time. I had scared myself with the punch I almost threw. I needed time to calm down and realize I wasn’t in any danger.

Eventually I laid back down and fell asleep.

I woke up in the morning during the shift change of my sitters. Each sitter has a 12 hour shift during which they make sure the patient doesn’t try to do anything stupid again. Even during the dead of night when I’m asleep, they can’t sleep. I imagine it must be pretty boring most of the time, but it’s a living. :)

She explained who I was and gave her notes on any special needs I might have. I greeted this new sitter and just kinda stayed in that happy state where you are in the process of waking up, where you doze for a couple of minutes, wake up again for a bit, then slip back asleep.

I finally woke up proper when they served breakfast. If I remember correctly, it was eggs, a slice of toast, turkey sausage, and coffee. Again with the coffee. Hadn’t someone explained to the kitchen what I had tried to do to myself? I nibbled on the toast, but was only able to choke down a bite and a half, then have to abandon it. My throat was still very raw from all my vomiting, but at least the swelling had gone down. It no longer felt like there was a golf-ball in my throat. I shunned the rest of the food. I wasn’t going to take a chance with anything richer than the toast. I was able to talk the nurse into some apple juice, which went down a little painfully, but at least stayed down.

I watched a little TV with my sitter, but mainly just stared at the opposite wall and thought. Thinking about life. Thinking about death. Wondering why I was still alive. Worrying if I had done permanent damage to myself. I seemed to be all there. All my toes and fingers wiggled. I could see from both eyes, both ears worked. I didn’t seem to have suffered any brain damage.

The view from my bed.

(The view from my hospital bed)

It almost didn’t seem fair. From what I took, and how long I waited to get help, there should be SOME kind of damage, shouldn’t there?

So I laid there in bed, wondering how (and why) the destroying angel had passed me by.

Around 10 AM my parents entered my room. This came as a shock, as they weren’t expected to return until the evening. I learned they had driving through the night to get to me. We discussed things briefly, having a talk on all my stresses and how we could get through them as a family. I told them I was sorry for doing this to them. All in all, a pretty emotional hour they were there.

One good thing that happened during their visit is we were finally able to get me on a clear liquids diet, which I had been requesting since I was admitted. I knew my digestive system was still very weak, and I needed to ease it back up to normal food.

Finally they left to get some sleep from their drive. Mom had brought me my phone and scriptures, so I guess they stopped by the house on their way to the hospital. It was nice to have something to do during the day. I read for a couple of hours, in between updating my friends on what had happened.

Most were very surprised. I had hidden my inner turmoil very well. That’s the problem with being an actor for so long. I had gotten very good at playing a role. =/ Up until that point, I was the happy-go-lucky, if slightly odd, Stephen. This was a new side that they hadn’t seen before.

It was at this point that the IV in my arm really began to bother me. It was actually quite painful. Paging the nurse, we discovered that my IV had what they call “invaded”. It basically meant that it had popped out of my vein and the IV fluids were actually going beneath the skin. It was removed, which ended the pain.

But, I still needed IV fluids, so they tried on the back of my hand. Nope. After a couple attempts there, they tried between my knuckles, nada. I was starting to feel like a pin cushion. One nurse gave up and called in another one. Tried the other hand, then knuckles, then the inside of my elbow. All in all I must have been stuck around 15 times. They still couldn’t hit a vein. I went through 3 nurses. They felt so bad for me. I took it in stride. I probably went about 3 hours without an IV.

Eventually they pulled in a specialist from the pediatric ICU. He examined all my different spots they had tried, then went with his backup. I figured he was gonna try an ankle or something, but nope. He was gonna try in a spot I never thought an IV could go.

Put your hand over your heart, palm against your chest. The part that’s facing the floor? That is where he put my IV. After hunting for the vein for a couple of seconds, he nailed it and I was once again hooked up to fluids.

Now, I know it’s unusual, but if you ever have to have an IV, ask they put it there. It doesn’t get in the way. I could put my arm above my head, roll over, etc. Since your arm doesn’t bend there, there’s virtually no way for the IV to move. I was one happy camper.

The next day I had an ultra sound of my heart done. My blood pressure and pulse were recorded every 3 hours or so. I remember during one of the nights I woke up to a nurse taking my pulse. I made some small talk with her, and she told me my pulse was still very elevated. She said while I was sleeping, my heart was beating like I was running a marathon.

Looking back on it, I guess they just wanted to make sure my heart wasn’t about to fail from the strain I had placed upon it.

I won’t bore you with further with details of my hospital stay, but I spent 4 days in the hospital, before they shuffled me off to Lifestream (a mental hospital).

Next Post: No one ever listens to poor Stephen, no, he’s quite mad they say. It is good that Stephen does not mind, has even grown to like it.

Listened to: Piano Sonata No.14 “Moonlight Sonata”: I. Adagio sostenuto from the album “99 Must-Have Chillout Classics” by Evelyne Dubourg

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