March 2024 Reflections #WBOYC

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. It’s the end of the month, so it’s time for my monthly reflections. As usual, I’m joining #WBOYC.

This month was really tough. I started it with second-degree burns all over my left upper leg because of a self-harm incident the night of February 29. Thankfully, the wounds have completely healed, though last Tuesday, a staff who doesn’t come here regularly and hence saw my leg for the first time since it had happened, was a bit shocked anyway.

I have now been on my lower dose of Abilify, my antipsychotic, for a full month too, since I started that on March 1. I told my support coordinator that, for now, I’d like to remain on this dose and not go down further, even though it’s definitely not an ideal dose. Honestly, right now, I’m pretty sure it’s the least ideal dose I could be on, as I’m still experiencing daytime sleepiness but also significantly increased irritability. However, I don’t want to go back to my old dosage, which was causing more sleepiness, and I fear I might become unmanageable on a lower dose. We will re-evaluate in a month. Let’s hope the increased irritability is temporary.

Like I mentioned a few times over the past month, there was this horrible compensatory system, by which every minute I’d come out of my unsupported time in distress would have to be compensated for. It has caused me intense distress and was eventually revoked. However, I’m nowhere near my old self. Then again, my “old self” was lying in bed far too much.

Today, I got more bad news: my support coordinator is leaving in mid-April. I don’t know the other support coordinator, who will temporarily be coordinating the care for both sides of the home until a new support coordinator has been found and trained, that well, but she sounds okay. I do feel relieved that I’m no longer solely dependent on my male assigned staff but have a female one too. Okay, she only works one or two days a week, but at least she’s there.

Over the past week, the only positive I can report is that I’ve been able to walk more and, as a result, close all of my activity rings on my Apple Watch each day.

I didn’t create that much out of polymer clay. Honestly, the only thing I can think of having created this past month is an orange unicorn that I didn’t even feel like photographing. I tried my hand at earrings once, but ended up incorrectly explaining to my staff how to drill the hole into them, so I threw those away.

I did cook macaroni for my fellow clients once. I also went to the day center’s tiny gym room, but that was stupid. It only had strength training equipment other than a broken stationary bike and the strength training equipment couldn’t be adjusted.

I did read a lot, mostly children’s books about unicorns. I started in the Unicorn Academy series, which I love but unfortunately isn’t on Bookshare. I’m still debating whether I want to actually buy more of the series. I also have been reading foster care memoirs.

I only posted eight blog posts (I think), including this one. I will, however, aim to participate in the #AtoZChallenge in April. I don’t have a theme, but will go with random reflections. And yes, I have a topic picked for the letter X, in case that’s going to cause me to quit yet again.

I Fear…

Posted on by Astrid

I fear not. Not really. Snakes nor spiders, heights nor depths. I fear not. Not exactly. Darkness nor monsters, flying nor driving. I fear… oh, what do I fear? Aloneness and uncertainty, pain and discomfort. And yet, I know, these are inevitable.

This post was written for Friday Writings #120, for which the prompt is to write either a prose poem, tankaprose or haibun. I chose the prose poem. I am also sharing this post with Friday Faithfuls, for which the prompt this week is “fear”.

Worries

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Today’s Sunday Poser is about worries. What worries you about the future?

Unlike Sadje, I mostly have personal worries occupying my mind. Most of them also aren’t long-term. I mean, I do sometimes worry that the sweet and high-fat foods I consume today will lead to an untimely death ten or twenty years from now, but that worry isn’t as all-consuming as my worries about the next few weeks, months or the next year. I joke that, in 2034, everything will be okay. I got that from the book titled 2034, which I still haven’t read and is about World War III erupting that same year. I think it’s more likely that World War III is going to break out that year than that the care system will be any closer to ideal. However, in reality, I can’t look that far into the future, so I know I should care, but really I don’t.

This is probably the same reason the state of the planet doesn’t keep me up at night. That is, except when I read a news article detailing that the magical 1.5 degrees of warming have been hit in some parts of the world in 2023. Then I did worry: will the planet catch fire (not even sure whether I’m talking hyperbolically with all the wildfires we’ve had) next year?

Still, most of my worries concern my personal life. That doesn’t mean the news doesn’t effect me, but it only does when I think it relates to me personally. For instance, when I read that policy makers were talking about reintroducing 24-hour diapering for elderly people who can still use the bathroom but need assistance with it, I was intensely worried. It was said in the same article that the phrase I repeat many times over and over again when talking about my care was: “It’s better to have reasonably good care for two people than excellent care for one person.” Did they mean me? Was my care, with (at the time) nine hours of one-on-one a day, “excellent”? Apparently, because now I have just seven. But I’m still worried they mean me. After all, I still cost considerable money (far more than elderly people needing an hourly assisted bathroom break) and aren’t sedatives cheaper than one-on-one, just like diapers are cheaper than nursing assistants?

It isn’t really a clear thing I do worry about though. I mean, yes, I do worry about my care being cut, but then again, I can’t look far into the future. When I try, I’m always wrong on so many levels. So they remain mostly vague worries that keep me up at night.

Sometimes though, like recently, they’ve been more short-term, concrete things that worried me, such as over the past week the fact that my support coordinator, behavior specialist and intellectual disability physician had a meeting on Friday. The positive news is that the explicit compensatory system, by which every minute I’d come out of my unsupported time in distress had to be compensated for at my next one-on-one moment, was discontinued. Rather, from now on, staff will again discuss with me once I’m calm whether they can come back at a later time for my next support moment since they needed to spend more time on me. I am so happy I no longer have the compensatory system hanging over my head, even though some staff said the end result would be the same. I don’t care about the end result (which, by the way, will probably mean I’ll need slightly less support, honestly); I care that this makes me feel much more comfortable.

My Favorite Type of Weather

Posted on by Astrid
Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite type of weather?
View all responses

I am pretty sure I answered this question before when rambling on for one of Paula Light’s former #TGIF posts. At least, I did share that Erwin Kroll, the Netherlands’ most well-known meteorologist during the 1990s, said in an interview for the kids’ audio magazine I subscribed to at the time, that partly cloudy weather with a daytime temperature of 22°C was his favorite and I probably added that mine wouldn’t be far off. I’d prefer slightly warmer weather, but I don’t care for daytime highs in the high 20s, let alone 30s or above.

At night, I prefer a temperature below 10°C. Oh wait, I’m being a bit difficult, as with daytime highs in the 20s, you hardly ever get night-time lows below 10°C.

I used to hate rain with a passion, but now, though I don’t care for it, I will still go outside if it’s drizzling a little. I still can’t stand snow, sleet or hail.

As a side note, I had a discussion with one of my staff a few days back. He said he’d love for the daytime temperature to be 20°C now. I said me too, and we will more than likely get our way sooner rather than later given the speed of climate change, but this does mean summer highs will be in the 40s too. Be careful what you wish for…

My First Airplane Trip

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. A lot is still on my mind, but today, I’d like to write a lighthearted post. Thanks to John Holton, who provides the Writer’s Workshop prompts, I now have several ideas. One is to write about my first airplane trip. Let me share.

My first airplane trip was also my first trip abroad and my first vacation without my parents. It was a trip from Schiphol (Amsterdam) airport to Moscow on August 4, 2000. I was flying Aeroflot, a relatively okay Russian airline. Still, everyone clapped when the airplane landed successfully, something I recently found out stopped in the 1970s with Western airlines.

One thing I remember quite distinctly is the horrible pain in my ears and head in general during takeoff and landing. I haven’t flown in years, but the memories came back when my spouse reminded me about it, having had a similar experience on a recent airplane trip. Honestly, I can’t imagine people actually taking pictures while the plane is taking off or coming down.

I still did have a tiny amount of vision back in 2000, so remember looking at the clouds once the aircraft had fully risen.

I also to this day remember the film playing in the airplane. Not that I could understand any part of it, as it was in Russian, but my fellow travelers explained to me that it was called something like “I want to go to prison”. The plot revolved around a Russian character who had heard that, in Dutch prisons, inmates get their own TV etc. (something that isn’t exactly true, by the way), so he wanted to flee to the Netherlands even if it meant going to prison. I bet nowadays this film wouldn’t be considered appropriate.

#WeekendCoffeeShare (March 16, 2024)

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Oh my, I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without blogging since starting this blog, have I? I’m really struggling and today, I don’t really want to do a gratitude post, so a regular #WeekendCoffeeShare will have to do. I’ve long had my last cup of coffee for the day, since it’s 9:30PM. I’ve also had my soft drink, Dubbelfrisss. I’m afraid I’ve only got water to offer you now, but oh well. Let’s have a drink and let’s catch up.

If we were having coffee, I’d share that my burns, which I told you about in my post last week, are almost completely healed. I no longer need them dressed and just need a cream put on them to keep the skin from getting too dry. As a result, I’ve been able to walk regularly again too, meeting my movement goal on my Apple Watch each day this week except today so far.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that I had a really rough week this week otherwise. I’ve really been struggling with the fact that staff are to adhere strictly to my day schedule and to make up for every minute I come out of my unsupported time in distress by showing up at my next support moment later. The fact that it’s literally by the minute, wasn’t a misinterpretation, it turned out today when I talked to my support coordinator. It’s been causing me intense distress though, which has gotten me to send staff away with ther “freakin’ stopwatch”, even though when I’m in severe distress staff are supposed to stay with me (and I’m usually open to them making up for it later on when I’m calm). The compensatory system (staff having to make up for every minute of extra support minutes) only applies when I’m in distress and not when I need support during wound care or a pedicure or whatever. The reason, it turned out, is the fact that I’ve been needing more suppport lately and the staff fear my one-on-one will need to be increased, which they say they don’t mind for their own sake (assuming it gets approved) but would think is a pity for me. They seem to think, but I wasn’t to look at it that way, that my distress is attention-seeking.

Honestly, I can see their point, in that I’ve needed more support lately, but my care needs fluctuate and will probably go down again. Besides, they never write it down when I agree staff can leave at 5:15PM rather than 5:30PM to put their pizza in the oven, when I have a lie down for 30 minutes during my one-on-one or whatever, essentially cutting my one-on-one back. I don’t care about those 15-30 minutes, but staff have agreed to cut back on my support if I’m even a few minutes in distress outside of my one-on-one. And it’s not because they have other duties, because like I said if I have a 30-minute pedicure, that doesn’t get compensated for. It’s essentially to encourage “crying it out”, which has actually had the opposite effect.

Like I said, once I’ve calmed down, I’m quite open to staff having to compensate for the extra time they’ve spent with me, because I can see they need to attend to the other clients too. However, having this compensatory system hanging over me and it being strictly by the minute, causes me even more severe distress. I’ve also been ruminating over it at night, leading to night-time agitation and the night staff needing to come out to me. Wednesday night, they even had to come out to me three times. After that, I now have a PRN sleeping pill until Monday per my and my mother-in-law’s request. I only took it Thursday night. It’s a short-acting benzodiazepine, which had a slight effect when I took it. However, I honestly feel I should be able to cope without it now.

If we were having coffee, I’d share that I was two weeks on my new, decreased antipsychotic dosage yesterday and feel a lot more alert. According to my former mental health agency, the first two weeks don’t count with respect to behavior and honestly I’m noticing I’m slightly less irritable than I was until Wednesday. It might have been a night of relatively restful sleep or it might’ve been the fact that the staff who worked over the past few days weren’t stopwatch people. I certainly don’t want to go back on my old dosage.

If we were having coffee, I’d end on a positive note by telling you that my mother-in-law visited me on Tuesday. She was able to bring me the package of crafting supplies I’d ordered a few weeks ago. I ordered a few clear stamps (to be used with polymer clay in my case), a mold for polymer clay, precision paintbrushes and a couple of earring cutters.

Gratitude List (March 9, 2024) #TToT

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. This past week has been tough. I was going to write an update only to realize there’s no #WeekendCoffeeShare this week. I could do one on my own, but that’d just leave room for endless negativity. Instead, for this reason, I’m going to turn things around and do a gratitude post. As usual, I’m joining Ten Things of Thankful. I’m going to cheat a little and do this gratitude list for the past ten days so that I can provide a little update anyway.

1. I’m grateful for the night nurse on duty during the night of February 29/March 1. Like I said on February 29, I was intensely triggered by my intake interview for therapy. Though I tried to calm myself down, it didn’t work and I ended up self-harming after my staff had left by throwing boiling hot water over my leg. Thanks to the night staff and particularly the night nurse, who cooled the wound under the shower for over half an hour, I am left with superficial second-degree burns. The wounds still cover most of the front side of my upper leg, but I realize things could’ve been a lot worse.

2. I am grateful my wounds are healing as well as can be expected. I’m getting them dressed once a day now, which is frustrating and sometimes very painful. I looked up my kind of burn (that’s how I found out there are two kinds of second-degree burns) and it usually heals within two weeks. Yay!

3. I am grateful for French fries on Sunday. As I couldn’t walk on Sunday (or most of this week, for that matter) because the band-aid that was on my leg would fall off if I did, I decided that my spouse shouldn’t come by for a visit. Instead, my staff took me to the institution cafeteria in a wheelchair to have fries and some snacks. They were delicious!

4. I am grateful for nice weather last week Sunday as well as over the past couple days. Last Sunday, the daytime temperature rose to 15°C. When having the fries I mentioned above, we sat in the cafeteria yard.

5. I am grateful I am feeling slightly better mentally. I definitely hit rock bottom on February 29 and from that place, you can only go up. I will have to see how things work out in the long run, as the behavior specialist is going to try to talk to the therapist I met on Feb 29 to see whether any changes to the plan need to be made. Though I’m ready to give it a try, particularly the thought of doing the therapy without the support of my staff, feels overwhelming.

6. I am grateful that my support coordinator listened to me when discussing the outcome of the monthly team meeting with me. The team meeting was on Monday and, though I had already asked that some things would be discussed, such as my day schedule, my self-harm made things a priority. The day schedule isn’t changing, as I expected, but I honestly don’t mind as much.

Initially, in the team meeting, the staff had agreed to stick with announcing staff switches half an hour in advance. I was really disappointed. Though I understand the staff don’t want to designate a one-on-one shift, I feel it will help me immensely if I know more in advance who’s going to support me for my activity slots. I am grateful my support coordinator reluctantly agreed to this.

7. I am grateful my support coordinator reassured me that she and the behavior specialist at least aren’t planning on asking for less one-on-one for me anytime soon. Of course, they aren’t the ones making those decisions, but then again neither is the therapist I met last week.

8. I am grateful I did manage a few crafty endeavors over the past week. Not as many as I’d hoped, but I did craft yet another polymer clay unicorn, as well as finally making the crocodile I’d promised one of the male staff here. He actually helped me make it. It’s maybe a little too cute, but oh well.

Polymer Clay Crocodile

9. I am grateful my spouse came by for a visit today. We sat in my room talking, playing a card game and such, as I still didn’t feel comfortable going out.

10. I am grateful for the few short (as in, fifteen minutes tops) walks I did manage over the past few days. It’s been a pain f(sometimes literally) inding the right band-aids and other things to go over the wound. Let’s hope Dr. Google is right and my wound heals within the expected timeframe of two weeks.

“St. Nick, I’m Stuck!”

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Sorry for not having touched the blog for nearly a week. I’ve been struggling once again. However, today I feel in an okay place mentally at least, so I thought I’d join in with John Holton’s Writer’s Workshop. One of the prompts is to share when you learned that Santa/the Easter bunny/the tooth fairy was your parents.

I’ll have to talk about St. Nicholas rather than any of the others here, because that’s what we celebrate most here in the Netherlands. St. Nicholas is like Santa, except he has helpers called Peters. They used to be black, but now they come in every color or with black streaks across their faces (from creeping through chimneys to deliver presents) because the concept of Black Peter is racist.

I was eight the last year when I still believed in St. Nick. This was 1994. As the legend goes, St. Nick and his Peters would ride over the rooftops on a white horse and maybe they’d descend through the chimney to deliver presents.

That year, on the evening of December 5, my parents, sister and I were having dinner when we heard noise coming from the roof. We didn’t have a chimney, but I was still too clueless to think about that. “St. Nick, help, I’m stuck!” We went looking for where the sound came from and saw that there were presents in the loft under the staircase.

Eight is a fairly old age to still believe in St. Nick. In fact, I’d been packaging St. Nicholas presents for my teachers for several years by then. By the year after this, when literally everyone my age had stopped believing, my father spoiled the beans for me: he came to me with a cassette tape, put it in the player and there it was: “St. Nick, help, I’m stuck!” It was his own voice, slightly distorted. By that time, I knew for sure that St. Nicholas was my parents.