medication
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Folding towels. That’s all he does. Some things are worse than death. L:ike growing old. Or dementia. I’ve worked with a lot of old people in my time as a CNA. Thousands, by now. And even without dementia, growing old is no picnic. It is pain, slowness, weakness, and all kinds of medical issues. But…
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The last week of the winter I quarter. Final papers, projects, all due by the end of the week. There is literally no turn around time – winter II starts Monday. Sunday night, really. That’s when the classes appear in canvas and I get right to work. It is all accelerated and I like it…
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“What do you think Dr. P? Did you imagine me capable of this?” “How about you, Shirley? – you were the one who told me to take classes again.” I think about them sometimes. The staff and other patients in the hospital with me. Shirley was a nurse who dealt with my sleepwalking, gave me…
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“I’ll never speak on this again. Looks like I’m attention seeking, I know that’s what you’re all thinking.” “No, we’re not. We think you’re in great danger of hurting yourself,” Dr. P said. I sat in the turtle suit that seemed to swallow me whole. It was far too big. They took my clothes, everything…
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Maybe something is changing. Even if just a little. I have so much pent-up energy and my bones are sizzling. I used ativan, melatonin, vistaril, and gabapentin to force myself to sleep before work. On my way to work, I drove by the mental hospital as I always do and this time, not the panic…




