Today was the day.  My father got his new Palm Centro with the fucking tiny-ass little buttons and more menu options than a Cheesecake Factory menu.

There were many things that needed to be done; ringtone, adding names and numbers, figuring out how to make a call, etc.  Oh, and learning how to send a text message.  My father is now enamored with text messaging.

Now, my father is not cell-phone inept.  He has used Palm and Blackberry for a number of years.  He’s a lawyer.  He needs the stuff that BB and Palm have to offer.  Most recently, he used a Blackberry, so finding things on the Palm was a bit different.

Of course, the ten page user guide that came with the Palm Centro did not prove to be much use.  It didn’t even have an explanation of how to set up a standard ringtone.  So off to the rescue I come, attempting to assist in the “setup”.  After perusing the AT&T wireless site, I find what we are looking for.  Goody.  Ringtones set.  Dad happy.  Life is good.

Phase I: Set up voice mail password

The next step is to set up voice mail.  I am in the office; dad is in his ham radio area.  I have no idea that “voice-mail-gate” was about to ensue.  From over CNN Headline news and my playing online, I hear yelling coming from the other room.  My first inclination is to ignore it and see if it stops.  Usually, that works.  However, after two minutes of yelling, I decide to go into the other room to see what was the matter.

I find my father yelling at the cell phone.  After attempting to figure out what the problem was, I realize he is trying to set up voice mail.  At this point, we are just trying to set up the password.  The “helpful” automated woman on the other side of the phone was being a complete bitch while he was trying to enter a four digit password and press pound.  She was not happy that it was taking so long to enter the four digits.  After watching Dad do the same thing several times, I take the phone away from him and take it to the office, where we have a better signal.  We are, after all, in a very small town where people go to die.

The automated bitch apparently has some personal issues.  She was not programmed to be patient at all.  Even for the fastest of us (like myself) when it comes to cell phones.  After trying twice, I finally got the password in.

Phase II: Record Name

This was fun.  The automated bitch liked the recording of my dad’s name, but she apparently did not like us pressing the pound key AT ALL.  She indicated that it was an invalid entry.  Typical.  Just like a woman. So we decide to chuck it and just set it to use his number for his voice mail.  Then, we go back in to voice mail as if we were checking messages for the first time.  This time, we go to personal greetings, and set up his voice mail with his name; no problem.

Fucking bitch.  Never can satisfy an automated woman.  Let this be a lesson to you men who want a robotic woman to “do whatever you tell them to do”.  They are only as good as you program them.

So now, we finally have the phone set up the way it needs to be set up.  The only thing left to do is to sync the contacts with a program that is proprietary for lawyers.  I can’t wait for that.  That will probably end up with both of us in the hospital.

I have decided that, in two years, it is going to be time to invest in a Jitterbug.  In fact, with all the baby boomers retiring soon, I recommend purchasing stock in the company if you can.

Sorry peeps.  I am still recovering from sticking my fork into an electrical outlet.  I am blogging on the other site, but not all that much.

As soon as I feel better, I will be posting more.  I just can’t think of anything funny to say….

George Carlin died yesterday at 5:55 p.m. of heart failure.

You will be greatly missed.

I wanted to take a moment and thank all of you for your support this week.  It’s been a tough week.  Unfortunately, I missed participating in the memoriam for The Puppy Monster, and I feel terrible about that.  My heart goes out to Dawg, and please know that I am thinking about you.

I have finally determined the cause of what happened.  Most of you probably do not know that I am bipolar.  I have been diagnosed and medicated as bipolar for twenty years.  I have been bipolar my entire life, including childhood.  Over twenty years, I have had the pleasure of experiencing every psychiatric medication except Abilify, because I am medication-resistant.  I find something that works, and it works for about a year or two, then I have to move on to something else.

Anyhoo, this time, it wasn’t the medication.  I started taking Chantix three weeks before I went into the hospital.  My doctor and I made an agreement that I would tell him if I started to experience any swings or anything, since there are indeed issues with bipolars and depressives taking Chantix.  I guess that I changed so swiftly and so dramatically that I didn’t realize to tell my doc.  So, I ended up in the hospital.

I thought for a while about it being the Chantix, poo-pooing it as media hype.  Then I did a bunch of research yesterday, and determined that the psychiatric responses to Chantix are real.  I won’t go all into it, but basically, in the original trial, anyone with a noted psychiatric illness was excluded.  And that’s cool.  They just never tested anyone with psychiatric illnesses.  If you want to get technical, it’s all about dopamine, but I won’t bore you with the details.  It’s kinda like how Wellbutrin (Zyban) works too, but much stronger.

So, as the week progressed, I got my memories back, and felt okay for a day or two.  Then my mixed episode returned.  Yesterday, it was so bad that I had to page out my doctor (I NEVER have to do that) and have him call in some meds to the pharmacy for me.

Good news is that today I am fine.  So far.

I have been spending a lot of time out on a site called Daily Strength, which has all kinds of support groups out there.  Yesterday, it helped a lot.

You probably also don’t know that I have another blog that I have neglected terribly, BipolarBitch.  I am going to be spending some more time on that one because I want to share my experiences and knowledge that I have accumulated over twenty years.  So if you want to add it to your feedreader, great.  If you know anyone that would benefit from bipolar information, send the link along.

Anyway, that’s about all for now.  I have a ton of Best Buy gift cards that I need to  use, and I think I am going to go over to BB today.  I have had this credit card since 1991, and I accumulated so many points on it that I got $1000 in Best Buy gift card money for free.  You know how you get airline miles on your card?  I guess on this one, I just set it up back in 1991 for points instead of miles.  Anyhoo, I know what I am going to get, so I get new toys.  Yea!

Y’all have a great day!

I am a proud person; let’s just say that my ego is intact and strong. Well, was.

Normally, I would be WAY too proud to write about this on my blog. Normally, that pride would preclude me from telling you about ANY of my weaknesses. I like my ego. It keeps me safe. I’m going to break that silent golden rule though, and tell you just how fucking scared and all alone I am right now.

A few weeks ago, I apparently was not doing very well. I am bipolar (have been for twenty years, diagnosed and medicated); I was in a mixed episode. I can only verify this with some close friends of mine who are bringing me up to speed on how I was. I am very medication-resistant, and I had finally exhausted all psychiatric medications out there; both old school and new.

I told my psychiatrist that it was time for ECT. I had been able to escape ECT a year ago because Cymbalta had come out, and I had not taken it. But now, a year later, I was in a mixed episode with no pharmaceutical relief available. I had spent a good amount of time meditating, etc. to relieve my mixed episode to no avail. So I told him it was time. Now, my doctor is not a big proponent of ECT. He has never told me why, and he keeps it to himself even now. I plan on pulling it out of him next Monday when I see him, though.

Anyway, he obliged me when I requested ECT, and put me in the hospital that I always go to here in the Dallas area. They are well-known for bilateral ECT (stimulating and creating seizures on both sides of the brain as opposed to unilateral, which is one side of the brain), and the group that does it is well-regarded. So, I went in, and we titrated me off of my Lamictal, which is an anti-convulsant used for mania. Obviously, you can’t convulse if you are on an anti-convulsant.

So, on June 5th, I entered the hospital. I started bilateral ECT treatments on Monday, June 9th. ECT is given Monday, Wednesday and Friday. People get between six and eighteen treatments, with the mean being nine.

The first was horrific, because they aren’t sure how much muscle relaxant to give you. They didn’t give me near enough, and my muscles convulsed right along with my brain. Let’s just say I never want to hurt that much again as long as I live. But my TMJ problem is gone. ;-)

The second treatment went fine on Wednesday. They gave me the right amount of relaxant, and I didn’t have any nasty physical side effects. Just the typical exhaustion and sleeping all day because of how much relaxant they do give you.

On Thursday, I started to notice that I couldn’t place words. They were on the tip of my tongue, but I just couldn’t retrieve them. I expected this. No biggie. I did notice some memory impairment, but because I was in a controlled environment, it didn’t appear to be too bad.

Friday’s treatment went without incident. I slept most of the day. Upon awakening, however, I noticed that I had memory gaps. I expected some, but again, did not realize how bad they were at the time due to the controlled environment I was in.

My doctor and I planned for me to leave the hospital on Saturday and do the remaining treatments outpatient. I didn’t have anyone really to take me to the treatments, so I was going to have to take a cab there and back. You know me; I am independent; I can do almost anything without help. I figured this was a no-brainer. However, over the weekend, I realized the magnitude of my memory loss. I also started losing everything that was coming into my brain in real time. I was NOT expecting that. I noted that the memory loss (retrograde, as in past) that I experienced was much more significant than it should have been for only having had three treatments. I thought I was crazy that I was losing stuff that was happening during the day (I wasn’t retaining new memories). No one told me that was a part of ECT.

Monday morning, I said, “Fuck it” and didn’t go in for my treatment. I was not about to take a cab in and get a treatment and call a cab to take me home while I was all doped up and weird. I didn’t think that was right. And I was scared at how much memory loss I had already incurred. So I didn’t go. And I am glad I didn’t go, because it would become apparent that the memory loss was a lot worse than I thought it was.

Normally, an ECT patient does not have substantial memory loss after only three treatments. Usually, it’s more like nine or twelve when things get bad. Additionally, I had NO idea that something called “anterograde memory dysfunction” would happen. That’s the inability to retain new memories. If you have seen that movie “Memento” , that’s what he has; the inability to make new memories.

Because I was not prepared for “anterograde memory dysfunction”, I freaked out. I was getting multiple calls from my dad in one day and not remembering a single one of them. I couldn’t remember when I had done what, or if I had even done it. This was worse than the “retrograde memory dysfunction” (normal memory loss of the past) that I was experiencing.

As for the retrograde memory dysfunction, I expected to lose memories for the couple of weeks before going into the hospital; maybe even a few memories from a few months back. That was not at all what happened. After only three sessions, I lost memories spanning up to two years. I had forgotten the last place I worked; I had forgotten how to make coffee; I had forgotten things that I liked. I almost forgot how to drive home. There are so many things I have forgotten. Thank god for Wayne. He has known me for 12 years, so he has been able to remind me of many things, since he is a part of my daily life as my best friend. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have someone in my life on a daily basis that could remind me of what I used to be.

The feeling is awful; it’s like not having an identity. Not knowing who you are. A blank slate. Some see that as good; but let me tell you, the feeling is awful. I didn’t know what “made me”. I don’t remember the things that I like, dislike, etc. I have forgotten very important people in my life. I have forgotten very important things I have done in my life. I don’t think you realize how much of your personality is derived from experiences until you lose your experiences.

I came home and took a look around at what I was doing around the house when I went into the hospital. I have no recollection of many of the projects I was working on. I find things on my computer that am working on that I have no idea what I was thinking. I ordered and purchased things that have shown up while I was gone, and I have no idea what I ordered them for. I couldn’t remember that Nack can’t jump up on the couch by himself.

Because I can’t remember what my daily routine is, the dogs are out of sorts. They are acting out by pooping and peeing all over the house. They are very upset because they live for routine. There was a routine; I just don’t know what it was. The dogs are showing signs of depression, because things are different. Dogs (at least mine) are creatures of habit; all of a sudden, then go away for nine days, and come home and everything is all topsy turvy. “Mommy doesn’t remember that we can’t jump on the bed. Mommy doesn’t remember when we eat. Mommy doesn’t remember when we play and how we play. Mommy doesn’t remember really much at all about our routine. Mommy doesn’t remember her pet names for us. We are confused and scared.”

I do recognize that memory impairment affects each person differently when it comes to ECT, especially if they are getting unilateral over bilateral ECT. But people, let me tell you something. I used to be a proponent of ECT. I used to pride myself on how much I knew about it, all of the people I knew who went through it successfully, etc. I am here to tell you that I was DEAD WRONG. DEAD. WRONG.

I had no business saying a damned thing about ECT without having gone through it first. This is the most horrific thing I have ever experienced in my life. I know that I will start retaining memories soon; I have no idea if the lost memories will come back. I count myself lucky. There are tons of people out there who never got their ability to create new memories back. That could be me. That could be me fighting for disability because I can’t make a new memory. That could be me that wasted a perfectly good brain, capable of all kinds of great things.

I am not a “god” person in terms of a dude that listens to me and gives me things. I am more of a “power that is out there that is good.”. I am telling you that tonight, for the first time in my life, I am going to go to bed and pray to a dude that may actually have the capacity to listen to me and understand me, and thank him or her for not allowing me to cripple my brain and become a vegetable. I have way too much left to do in this lifetime, and I need my brain for it. And I am grateful to whatever power that is that kept me from destroying what brain I do have.

I beg of you, if you ever have to consider ECT for yourself, a friend or family member, please, please do tons of research. A person can get over losing memories from the past. But the ability to create new memories? It’s just not worth it, people. And unilateral ECT isn’t effective enough to make it worth it. So unless you have nothing left to lose, please, I beg of you, please try anything, anything at all before you resort to bilateral ECT. Please. It’s just not worth it.

And if you do have to go down that route, make sure you are not alone. As I sit here in my house, getting ready for it to be shown for re-lease to someone new, and getting all my stuff packed up and stored so I can move back home with my dad, I find myself scared shitless, because I don’t know what I did two hours ago, and I have very little time to get my shit together. And I am doing it alone. My friends are there on the phone with me, but they aren’t there when I wake up in the middle of the night and don’t know where I am, and I cry because I am scared.

Please, please think four times or more before ever having someone you love go through this. There are no guarantees that they will be able to retain their short term or long term memory. Everyone is different. I regret this decision more than any other decision I have made in my entire life, including my first marriage.

Thanks for reading.