Dementia


Oddly enough, I was reminded of Rachel of Nottingham last week when I was awaiting a referral to an orthopedist for my five-year-long hip issue and for my year-old dad-inflicted (unintentionally) wrist injury. Dottie is still “working” at UAB, so I’m on week three (technically) of the waiting game. She delayed on a post-respiratory failure referral to a lung specialist for my mom for six weeks. Dottie should retire, but she’s never going to leave. I kinda wonder how many people will die or have permanent ailments (that should have only been temporary issues) because of her laziness.  My hip feels like someone is slamming a hammer into the joint. Occasionally it has a sharp twinge that lasts an hour or two; that can be breath-taking1 and frightening. It can also be nausea-inducing.  My wrist doesn’t hurt much. I just can’t hold things well since the incident; I drop almost everything I hold for more than a couple of minutes. It also pops every time that I move it.  But enough about those issues that everyone knows I’m lying about, what’s new with you?  In a bad way. ↩

Just Whinge-Ing It   Recently updated!


Apparently Nottingham is a boring place at night because my number one stalker felt the need to comment on my blog again. As you can see, one of its residents, who claims to be named Roslin, is so bored that she felt the need to tell me: I will say something. All you do is take, take, take – you want money, you want people to come and do repairs for free. You and your parents do nothing but take and expect and whinge and moan. You are home all day, every day, do some repair work yourself because we all know you are not really sick! Interesting. It’s amazing that someone who lives across the globe from me knows not only my health status, but that of my parents. Apparently she missed a few weeks back when my mom was in the hospital with respiratory failure and kidney failure, or that her kidney failure has gotten worse; something I posted about rather regularly on Instagram. And she must have missed all the posts I’ve made on Twitter about my father having dementia and going through all the fun that that entails. A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jan 21, 2017 at 4:38pm PST A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jan 23, 2017 at 10:15am PST A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jan 25, 2017 at 11:26am PST Almost. A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jan 27, 2017 at 9:55am PST Signs at the hospital are confusing. A post shared by Janet Morris (@msjanersm) on Jan 27, 2017 at 9:57am PST Apparently dad had a panic attack at the grocery store with mom, when she went to get something w/o tell him, today. #dementia — Janet Morris (@janersm) August 3, 2016 Now he thinks his phone is trying to keep him from saving appointments on it. #dementia — Janet Morris (@janersm) October 4, 2016 Dad’s EEG & Doppler are tomorrow/later today. #dementia — Janet Morris (@janersm) October 20, 2016 Anyone know if this also can involve anger & threats of violence? https://t.co/Aa1xviG2AY #dementia — Janet Morris (@janersm) January 16, 2017 The GP/FP said with his memory & behavioral issues and his family history (at least 4 blood relatives with #dementia) that it was needed. — Janet Morris (@janersm) March 7, 2017 Yeah, parents who have organ failure and parents who are put on dementia medication are so healthy. I really hope that Roslin is never responsible for the healthcare of anyone. Maybe she isn’t a doctor. If she is, then I bet her patients will all die very painful deaths because she’s clearly not good at this kind of thing. I know that Roslin has missed out on my health issues, which have also been discussed on various social media outlets and in private entries on here, but that’s not new. In fact, that’s kind of her shtick. She’s always wrong about my health. I know that Roslin of Nottingham once went by the name of Rachel Cooper. That time she was so wrong that she, in her rush to judgment, didn’t realize that I actually had something wrong with my knee that would require surgery and months of rehabilitation. In fact, bringing up Rachel’s failure at diagnosing me became a bit of an ongoing joke. I tend to laugh at pathetic little trolls like Roslin/Rachel. That’s all you really can do with them. Well, that and pity them. Poor little sociopathic babies. I think that she may also go by “Rachel Clarkson”, the person from the United Kingdom who decided to send me a snarky tweet last week within a day or so of my posting the link to GoFundMe. Who knows what her real name is? I bet that her internet provider does. In fact, I’m hoping that they get back to me on my inquiry into it. I hope Roslin/Rachel realizes that people who are chronically ill and who are caregivers of people who are chronically ill have a tendency to whine and moan about their lives because having health issues sucks. Not only does it make your life painful and stressful, it drains your finances and any little bit of energy that you might have. People like me complain because life is not something anywhere near pleasant, and part of that is because I have to regularly deal with people like her. Roslin/Rachel isn’t the only person who acts like this. People that I know offline do it. Distant cousins have done it, including the ones who submitted my name and video to a comedy show so that I could be mocked. Total strangers, ones who aren’t sick enough to stalk my blog for two years so that they can harass me, do it on Twitter; at least 3 times a week lately, I get an unkind message from someone. Their favorite thing to tell me is that I’m selfish or spoiled or that I suck somehow. Oh, or that I need to get a job or that I deserve to die or that my grandmother deserves to die. There are a lot of little variants of deplorable messages that people send. And you know what? I have a right to complain about that part of my life, too. I don’t have to keep it all bottled up because some random asshole on the internet can’t deal with the things I say. If they’re that chickenshit, then they need to find a hobby or get some therapy because clearly they have too much time on their hands and have something going on that’s ‘causing them to be inhuman assholes. I pity them and their fucked up existences. I may be poor and disabled, and I may end up going to jail and being homeless for having a dilapidated house, but at least I’m not a horrible human being who gets off on trying to make other people as miserable as them.

And I’d Be Like, “Why Are You So Obsessed With ...   Recently updated!



I’m not sure how many posts this will take, but I thought it was worth documenting. @brettwestny @DonnaVishio “Uneducated dicks with guns” is practically the slogan of the state of Mississippi. Perhaps we should disarm MS. — Janet Morris (@janersm) February 23, 2017 @brettwestny @DonnaVishio I’m not. Have you ever looked at how Mississippi ranks in education? Plenty of people in “the hood” are educated. — Janet Morris (@janersm) February 24, 2017 @brettwestny @DonnaVishio Being impoverished doesn’t mean you are less intelligent. It just means you’re poor. — Janet Morris (@janersm) February 24, 2017 @brettwestny @Olivianuzzi I’m disabled, bro. If Trump wants to improve my circumstances he could give SSI recipients more than $750/month. — Janet Morris (@janersm) February 24, 2017 @brettwestny @Olivianuzzi There isn’t a damn thing wrong with my attitude. Yours needs work. — Janet Morris (@janersm) February 24, 2017 @brettwestny @DonnaVishio Right. Anything that can disprove your claim that people “in the hood” are uneducated isn’t worth sharing. — Janet Morris (@janersm) February 24, 2017 @brettwestny @DonnaVishio It’s not unfair to expect all children receive the same quality education. In fact, that’s the opposite of unfair. — Janet Morris (@janersm) February 24, 2017

My father’s anger issues are something that I’ve mentioned a few times over the years. Whatever is causing the dementia/memory issues seems to have made those issues even more prevalent. Any time that my mom opens her mouth, he yells at her. She could be talking to me and he will snipe at her. He’s thrown things. He is mad over everything and convinced that the world is out to get him. I can’t talk him down. I used to be able to be the voice of reason between the two of them, but his rage gets worse when I try. That rage has had ongoing consequences for me. He grabbed my right wrist months ago and I had some pretty bad bruising; it’s still weak and painful, and it pops when I move it. I told my therapist, but I refuse to get it checked out by a doctor because I know that they might have to report it to cops.1  My mom told me that it would be better if, when he’s acting out, I didn’t say anything to him about it. If he does something, we don’t confront him because the blame falls on us–even if it doesn’t involve us in any way. I thought he was scary before all of this, but I never knew just how bad he could get. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. I keep making excuses for him because I know that even though he’s always had anger issues that something else is making him like this. This isn’t my dad. This is like my grandfather and I don’t want my dad to be like that man. I want my dad to be himself again. I want him to talk to his doctors about what he’s thinking and how he’s feeling; and I want him to be honest about his symptoms. He has lied to them and that’s impeding his treatment. I want him to let one or both of us talk to his doctors. How are they going to know about the rage? How will they know about the anxiety attacks he has every week when he goes to the grocery store with my mom?2 How will they figure out what’s going on in his head if he won’t tell them? Mom tried to ask him what she could do because she’s trying to figure out how they can get along. He doesn’t want her to try because he doesn’t think that anything will make their relationship better. In other words, he wants to be angry with her and take out all of his anxiety & aggression on her. This isn’t healthy and it isn’t right. I just want things to be better. The code of ethics for a social worker prevents her from sharing the information. ↩He won’t let her go with me instead of him. ↩

Tales from the Angry Side



Today was my last daily injection of Vitamin B-12. Now I’m going to weekly injections. Eight weeks from tonight, I’ll be back on monthly injections. So far I can’t tell that the shots have done anything. I only know that every time I give myself a shot, I feel more exhausted. It’s a paradoxical effect, but it’s one I’ve always had with B-12. My breathing is still crappy. My heart rate is through the roof. My dizziness and tendency toward disorientation has gotten worse. I was dizzy for about 3 hours last night after hearing a cowbell effect on a Mississippi State sports story; I wasn’t dizzy before the effect played. Sounds have often thrown me off a bit, but never quite that bad. I still have a couple of weeks before I’m supposed to go to the pulmonologist. Keep your fingers crossed that it won’t get worse. Speaking of appointments, tomorrow is dad’s appointment for the neurologist. Since his MRI, EEG, Doppler, and standard memory tests all came back normal, he’s convinced that he’s not got dementia. He thinks it is all just regular age-related memory loss. I’m afraid the doctor will feed into that. I don’t think he’s told him how dizzy he gets or about his headaches. I don’t know if he’s told him just how bad his memory loss has been. I don’t know if he’s told him how angry he’s gotten. I know that there is something wrong with him and I don’t know what it is. And I have this horrible feeling that it’s only going to get worse.  

A Bruising Hiatus


Well, I’m anemic, but I’m not. It isn’t my iron that’s low.1 It’s my B12. It’s around 300 pg/mL right now, which is low for most of the world,2 but it’s not low according to American standards.34 Fortunately, the hematologist’s office realizes that those standards are messed up and that a person who takes monthly injections of B12 shouldn’t have a level that low. They also realize that the gastric bypass surgery and my family’s predisposition to the B12 deficiency makes me more likely to have issues absorbing it and maintaining high enough levels. So now I get to re-load on B12. That means 1 shot a day for 7 days, then 1 shot a week for 7 weeks, then 1 shot a month like I’ve been doing for years. Fun, right?5 The nurse practitioner also wants me to be checked out by a pulmonologist6 and, possibly, a cardiologist.7 She definitely wants me to undergo a pulmonary function test. She said that it could be that when I fell  at the pool several weeks ago, the water that I breathed in may have caused some issue in my lungs that I’m just not over yet.8 The other possible thing was the day that my dad put Clorox in the toilet. I didn’t think and I peed in a toilet bowl full of Clorox which led to a rather enjoyable release of chloramine gas.9 I coughed for days afterward and felt like something had scorched my lungs and throat.10 Well, technically, there are other possible reasons for my breathing to be so rough. I do have a history of severe asthma and severe allergies. Vitamin B12 deficiency itself can cause shortness of breath, but it’s a rare occurrence when it happens. Of course, rarities are my specialty.11 I need to go shoot up12 with some cyanocobalamin.13 The magic of birth control pills. ↩The low end of normal elsewhere is around 500 pg/mL. That’s where symptoms like fatigue, pale skin, dementia, etc. start occurring. ↩The low end of the American range is 200 pg/mL. ↩Bad standards. Very bad. ↩If you say yes, then there’s something wrong with you. ↩Lung doctor. ↩I guess because I have ongoing issues with tachycardia. Shortness of breath is linked with tachycardia. ↩Face-planting in the water is dangerous, yo! ↩Yeah, science, bitch! ↩A sane person might have gotten checked by a doctor after that experience, but I’ve never been a sane person. ↩As are face-plants, social awkwardness, and gourmet cooking; a lady must have an entire repertoire of mad skillz. ↩My thigh muscle. ↩Don’t call the cops. It’s totally legal. ↩

I’m Not Crazy, I’m Just a Little Unwell



I was going to call the hematologist today & chickened out. I think I may be putting it off because I’m afraid of moving up the infusions. They actually do kinda scare me—well, the killer headache aspect. But I know I need to go through with them.  I also need to get my hip checked out, which I’ve been saying for months. I don’t know if that would involve going to just the family doctor or the family doctor plus physical therapy and/or an orthopedist. I don’t even know if I would be seeing the same orthopedist. And I don’t know if anything could really be done. It’s either a subluxation or tendinitis. Treatment for either would probably suck, and, until I get the anemia situation under control, I don’t really have the energy to deal with it.  Dad got a letter from the neurologist saying his MRI was normal. To him, that means nothing is wrong and this is all normal age-related stuff.1 But he doesn’t understand that a person can have a 100% normal MRI & still have dementia—even though he and I have gone over that. This week. I don’t know if he has forgotten it or is in denial. I know he doesn’t want the diagnosis to be real, none of us do, but the family doctor and the psychiatrist have both said all signs point to dementia. But we have to accept it because there is nothing that can change that fact.  And since it’s October I’ve started worrying about other things. Ridiculous things. Like that now that Nana is no longer living on her own, and is in the nursing home, do my parents & I have a place to go on Thanksgiving & Christmas? Or do those become just another day for us. I mean technically Christmas has been that way for years—when you don’t have presents & don’t put up decorations, holidays kinda lose their magic. But I don’t know what will happen this year, if my aunt will host, if we’re invited if she does, if we’re going to the nursing home that day, if I try to get everyone in my house to stay awake long enough to watch parades or anything. I just don’t know.  And it’s stupid that I cry about that a lot lately. But I just want one or two good, non-stressful days. I want life to make some kind of sense again.  I just feel lost.  His EEG and Doppler were yesterday and may take a few more days to get results. ↩

Chicken Janet


Dad had his MRI about twelve hours ago. His other dementia-related tests are next week. I guess this was his first MRI because he had to tell me all about the machine. He asked if I’d ever had one,1 which threw me since he’s driven me to most (if not all) the ones I’ve had.2 But I guess I have to get used to that. He might remember them fine tomorrow or next week. I never really know what he will remember or when he will remember it.  He and mom also had to stop by Legal Aid to get help with another attempt at a garnishment by Bank of America of their Wells Fargo account. This time by the wonderful lawyers at Spina and LaVelle. I guess they don’t realize that it’s still against the law to garnish Social Security payments. Also, they left the writ in the mailbox (in an unmarked, unstamped, unmailed envelope)—which breaks a few federal laws. I don’t think the judge will be pleased with them.  I know I’ve had at least four. I think I’ve had five or six. ↩Since I can’t remember, I guess I shouldn’t judge. ↩

What’s In Your Head



Seriously, this year has been so unpleasant, and not just because Donald Trump is running for President. With Nana going in the hospital, then the nursing home, dad’s health decline, everyone dying (Connie, Jay, Andrea, Joey), my depression coming out to play, the anemia rearing its ugly head, etc., it’s just been quite yucky.1 But it’s had decent moments. I almost had a paid article on xoJane, which encouraged me to submit more pitches & to start entering my poetry in literary magazines. That hasn’t resulted in any publications yet, but I just started. Besides, I know that most writers get a lot of rejections before they get their first acceptance. My time will come.  I’m sorry I haven’t been writing more. I just feel like shit a lot of the time lately. And it’s hard to encourage yourself to talk about how you feel like shit when you’re feeling that way. I also have started feeling like I’m too self-centered and don’t really give enough attention to the people I care about. I will try to do better.  Sometimes the most childish word is the best. ↩

Ready for This Year to Be Over