The director of nursing directed the three of us (Bill, Quidam, and myself) to her car for the hour-long trip to Shenandoah. It’s a long way, but Shenandoah is his closest location, and there aren’t many psychiatrists for many miles around here.
I was the first patient the Dr. Egger called in to his office. The DOR went into the psychiatrist’s office me. The doctor and the nurse talked about the airline crash (flight 370) for several minutes before the doctor turned to me to talk about my medication change (I get shots of Abililfy in the ass now). Dr. Egger just could not fathom what could have caused the plane to wreck.
But aside from mysterious jet crashes, I told the doctor nearly everything that has been angering me. The doctor and the director of nursing want me to interact more, but I can’t interact with schizophrenics and retards — trust me, I’ve tried.
A group of us residents from the care facility went on a shopping trip. I at one point was seated next to Lynn, who said that the unemployment rate for psychologists was high. I emphatically disagreed with her. I didn’t have any stats on hand, but I have since done some research; it looks like the unemployment rate is about 1% for psychologists. Compare that with the national unemployment rate of 6.7%, and you can see that psychologists, in contrast to Lynn’s statement, aren’t suffering from high unemployment rates.
That was yesterday. At lunch today, the lady (built like a tank!) who pours the drinks asked if anyone wanted some sugar. Russ said, “That’s not sugar. It’s chemicals.” I pointed out that sugar, too, is a chemical. Russ disagreed. What does C(12) H(22) O(11) mean to him? I’m not much of a chemist, but that is the chemical — yes, chemical — symbol for sucrose, table sugar. I then told the woman who delivered our drinks (who had agreed with Russ) that the artificial sweetener (which we call sugar) did, in fact, contain some sugar, at which point I indicated that the package showed that one of the ingredients was dextrose, another sugar — C(6)H(12)O(6).
Wearing ear plugs as I was down the hall reading, I still was able to hear some sort of skirmish. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but my curiosity led me to another one of Sharon’s temper tantrums. This is the sort of thing, the yelling and such, that upsets R, but she’s been good about not getting too upset by these instances. Good thing it wasn’t me throwing a fit this time.
A group of us were chatting in the dining room at the care facility. I was trying to be funny and entertaining. Whether I achieved that goal or not, I don’t know, but their laughs and giggles sounded authentic.
The care facility owns homes that they use to house some of the residents. One young lady from one of those houses had come to our facility for a little while..
That young lady asked if I had a girlfriend. I told no, girls generally aren’t attracted to me. She told me that she likes me, I think in “like like” way.
"What is your diagnosis, if you don’t mind my asking?" I asked.
"Autism" she said..
I replied, “Oh, so would you say that have Asperger’s?”
She said, “No, I’m MR [mentally retarded].” I have got to respect the honesty.
She had a book with her and she spoke well, so I thought she was high functioning. I guess I’m a poor judge of intelligence..
A few feet away, R (who is MR) and Richard (Down’s syndrome) kissed.
One of the residents has Tylenol and hydrocodone for some sort of injury. I don’t know what’s wrong, only that she uses a walker and chews on her cheek.
She and the rest of us gathered in the dining area for lunch. I didn’t pay attention to that resident or the staff at first. I was just kind of zoning out, I suppose.
Anyway, the resident became very agitated, yelling and hollering about needing a Vicodin. The director of nursing explained to her that the medication was prescribed for one every eight hours.
This just angered the resident more, or so it seemed, evidenced by her feigning an attempt to throw her plate. Then she went around calling all the staff bitches. She also made a phone call. I’m not sure to whom, but she said something like this:
"I’m at Country Haven and I am in severe pain and they won’t give me my pain pill that’s prescribed by my doctor." She told the director of nursing that the person on the line wanted to talk to the DOR, but she simply hung up the phone.
A friend of mine asked how we could have received morality if not for God. She seemed to be absolutely sure that her God/moral hypothesis was the only plausible answer. To me, a more relevant question would be how do we have a sense of morality with God.
Yahweh says himself that he’s not a very nice guy. I needn’t go into details about His amorality except, having read the Bible, I am more convinced of God’s amorality or malevolence than of his morality.
How, then, have people developed a since of right and wrong? Just as any other social animal would. People live in groups, and had they been selfish immoral creatures who treated his fellow man with no moral consideration, humans wouldn’t have been around for 150,000 years or so. People treat each other well (most of the time) because benevolent behavior is good for the survival of both him and his social group.
God is not necessary when it comes to human morality. We could do without His sense of morality; we might even be better off without his sense of morality. This isn’t even a case of a God of the Gaps. Morality is more Darwinian than religious,
The state has regulations on what food can be served at residential care facilities.
A few days ago, I wanted an egg salad sandwich and mashed potatoes. Problem was that I couldn’t have both, because the bread on the sandwich contains carbs, and so do the mashed potatoes. So I went to bed on a rather empty stomach.
Today, I told the cooks to just give me whatever the state allows me to have for supper. I ended with potato salad, cherries (which I don’t particularly like to consume), and a lettuce salad.
Both the potato salad and lettuce salad had bits of bacon in them! Just to let you know, I don’t like bacon bits. At that point, I said fuck it. I didn’t need to eat this evening.
I was a little sick to my stomach anyway and didn’t want to eat very much. But the cook was some sort of food serving martinet.
I said, “It shouldn’t be so damn hard just to get a motherfucking supper!” To quote R, it was an asshole kitchen!
When I get angry about one thing, my thoughts and feelings usually go in a positive feedback cycle that gets me to thinking about everything that’s ever made me mad or any cruel or rude thing that’s been said about me or to me that has prodded my anger.
I started to panic, though I didn’t go into a full panic attack. What I did, though, was call the hospital out of desperation. I didn’t know who to talk to, so I got a phone book, landed on the page for the medical clinic, and talked to the woman who answered my call.
The receptionist called the owner of the Residential Care facility. She came over, and I tried to explain to her what happened, but my thoughts were all over the place. But I think she understood.
I took a PRN of Risperdal, and she, the owner, sat down and chatted with me until I felt better. We had a very nice conversation, in my opinion at least. I calmed down and felt silly about the whole thing.
I need to watch my carbs anyway, as evidenced by my weight.