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“I Broke My Arm Yesterday” (The Fall + The Weirdest Help)

/ Robin / Leave a comment
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I broke my arm yesterday.

We haven’t been walking much lately because I got a blister on my big toe about a week ago, and I’m about to turn 63 on Tuesday, which means I’ve entered the stage of life where I don’t “push through” a blister like I’m training for the Olympics. I let it heal. Bailey let it heal. Bailey is my dog and she’s going to be 13 this summer, so neither one of us is interested in unnecessary suffering. We’re old. We’re wise. We’re a little creaky. We take the scenic route.

So Sunday, we finally went out for a walk.

And about a half mile from home, I tripped — I’m pretty sure I tripped over my own dog’s toes. Yes. That sentence is humiliating. Yes. It’s also true.

One second we’re walking, the next second I’m flying at the pavement like a sack of groceries thrown by a demon.

I landed hard. Blunt trauma hard. Chest hard. Elbow hard. Knees hard. Left hand/wrist hard. The greatest hits of “What hurts today?” all came out to play at once.

Bailey stayed with me. Because Bailey is not only a good dog, she’s old enough that she’s not running off to start a second life while I’m face-down on the sidewalk.

Here’s where the world got both kinder and weirder:

A gentleman stranger — total stranger — walked me and Bailey home. He just… did it. Like a decent human being who still exists in the wild. If you’re reading this and you’re him: thank you. Seriously. Thank you.

Once we got home, I called 911.

And that’s where the day became… something else.

Because as soon as help arrived, my forearm muscles started spasming and cramping like a Charley horse… except it wasn’t in my leg. It was in my arm. And it didn’t happen once.

It happened over and over and over again — for the next four or five hours.

Every time it hit, I screamed. Not delicate little whimpers. I mean screaming. The kind of scream where your body is saying, “THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”

And what was weird — and honestly a little unsettling — was that nobody asked me why I was screaming.

Not once.

No one said: “Where is the pain coming from?”
No one said: “What’s happening when you scream?”
No one said: “Is this cramping? Nerve pain? A spasm? A fracture moving?”

I was screaming constantly, and everyone acted like screaming was just… part of the background music.

That messed with my head.

It made me wonder if they understood what they were seeing. Or if they were just trying to get me transported and out of the scene as quickly as possible.

Another confusing thing: When the medics asked if I could walk, I said yes — because I had walked from where I fell, a half mile away, with a stranger and my dog.

They thought I meant I could walk out to the ambulance, and they kept the gurney outside. But I wanted it inside, because — hello — I’m the one with the broken body and the screaming muscles.

So there was a weird mismatch of meaning. I said “yes,” meaning “I got home somehow.” They heard “yes,” meaning “I’m stable and mobile.”

Spoiler: I was not stable and mobile.

By the end of it, here’s what I knew:

  • I had blunt trauma to my chest
  • I had a broken arm (and possibly more than one break, apparently)
  • I had a bruised left hand/wrist
  • I bruised up both knees
  • Everything hurt, everything swelled, and my muscles were furious with me like I’d personally insulted them at a dinner party

And the whole thing landed right before my birthday, because apparently the universe has a calendar and a mean sense of humor.

So yes: tomorrow is my birthday.

And today I am sitting here wondering how I managed to trip over my own dog’s toes and end up in an episode of “Is Anyone Actually Listening to the Screaming Lady?”

Stay tuned.

“Bird’s Birthday Request” (Words, Not Stuff)

Tomorrow is my birthday.

Yes, I’m announcing it. Why? Because I broke myself again, and if I’m going to be dramatic, I might as well be strategic.

Here’s what happened next:

Two days after the fall, the pain wasn’t getting better — it was getting worse — so the doctors sent me back to the ER.

They took off my bandages and immediately decided I was woefully inadequately wrapped, which was both validating and annoying. Like… great, so it wasn’t just me being a baby. It genuinely wasn’t wrapped right.

This time I got wrapped properly — and the doctor’s name, I swear on everything, was Dr. Justice.

Which is hilarious, because I have a publishing company called Justice House. So for a second I’m sitting there like, “Of course. Of course the universe would send me Dr. Justice. I’m in pain, but at least the casting department is still working.”

Anyway: she indicated it could be more than one break, but it was a busy ER and she didn’t stick around long.

They wrapped me up, padded me like I’m being shipped by UPS, and then tried to position the splint across my chest the way it needed to be… and it wouldn’t bend because it hardened too fast.

So it all had to come off. And then they did it again.

This time, she didn’t wet the splint at all — but apparently opening it activates it, because by the time she finished wrapping me, it was hard as a rock, already set, and finally positioned correctly across my chest.

And now it’s not digging into me the way it was before.

It still hurts, of course. My muscles still hate me. My chest has opinions. My knees are swollen. My left hand has arthritis and it’s now throwing a full tantrum and shooting pain at me like it has access to a paintball gun.

And my right arm is basically a decorative object at this point.

So here’s the thing:

If anyone is thinking about doing something for my birthday — or even if you weren’t thinking about it at all — I would like to invite you to do something clever.

I wanted a really cool fountain pen for my birthday this year, but I can’t write anything right now. So maybe next year. Or Mother’s Day.

But this year?

This year I want words.

I want messages. I want DMs. I want notes. I want people to say, “Hey Bird, I see you.”

Audible gift cards? Yes, please. Audiobooks are my sanity right now.

A phone call? I would love that.
You don’t even have to call — leave me a message.
Send me a DM.
Send me a little piece of your life.

Just… words. Conversation. Connection.

Because while I was in the hospital, one of the girls working there actually said, “Girl, you need to do stand-up.”

And I laughed — because that’s exactly how it goes. I’m in pain, my mom’s attitude is “shut up,” the nurses think I’m funny, and somehow I’m doing comedy while my bones are trying to exit the building.

So yes. Tomorrow is my birthday.

And I’m asking for something simple:

Send me words.
Send me kindness.
Send me a little hello.

I’m Bird. I’ve grown up and now I’m known as Bird in many corners of the internet. And right now, I could really use some voices that aren’t medical and aren’t my own internal “why does this always happen right before something important?” voice.

That’s my birthday request.

Words.

Thank you for stopping by! Please say hello in the comments. I’d love to hear from you. I’m starting more new things tomorrow and I hope you’ll be here. Take care friend.

Bird

Bipolar-A Strategy I Use to Deal with Stress

/ Robin

I think I slept last night, but I don’t feel that way. I did morning stuff: fed the pets, dog potty, morning pills, coffee, etc. It didn’t help. So, when my millenials got up around 11, I chatted for a few minutes then went to take a nap. I never, hardly ever, take naps.

I was interrupted by noise (mostly barking, a cat talking way too loud and the kitten popping under the bed every she hear all the commotion. Eventually I left my room and scolded them. (Sure, like that’s gonna work.)

Later… everyone quieted down, but I could hear Bailey outside my door waiting for me. First barking and now love. Of course I let her in and in a few minutes she and the kitty are on my bed sleeping soundly next to each other. Well, accept for when Savvy heard “something.” She’s a cat so who knows what she heard. They looked so cute.

I’m brainwashed. YouTube and cute dogs and cats loving each other. Have you noticed that the dog often seems to let the kitten do whatever, whether or not they respond? That’s how Bailey is. Of course I had too take pictures. Yeah, now I’m keeping myself awake. Smart.

We napped together.
Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.

Time to get to business. My brain needs a nap. Seriously.

I put the heating pad under my shoulders so my bed would be comfy. It felt good. Bailey and Savvy were sound asleep. That always helps me calm down. I turned on some jazz music on my iPad. (YouTube premium doesn’t have commercials so I can sleep all tonight without an add freaking me out.) Now what? Uhhh… My brain is still too stimulated.

Time for my secret weapon – myself.

After years of experimenting I’ve come up with a routine that works for me… sometimes.

  • Turn on jazz music (Or maybe classical. It can’t have words.)
  • Get in a comfy position
  • Close eyes
  • Attempt to focus
  • Ummm… right, pull my blanket over my eyes (and sometimes around the top of my head too)
  • I imagine myself withdrawing into my mind where there is peace and rest
  • Thoughts come along and distract me. I acknowledge them and send them on their way imaging them as clouds having no substance
  • I want to write something down but I don’t. I remind myself that if it’s that important I’ll remember it when I get up.
  • My mind begins to relax
  • I encourage it by keeping my eyes closed and imagining my eyes rolling up in my head as I think, “This is what passing out in and exhausted sleep is like. It seems darker now. Peaceful.”
  • Jazz – ride the music. It’s all I hear. I think it. I ride it as I drift off to sleep.

Then my mom calls me. Yep. She seems to always know when to call. I put my phone on “do not disturb,” but my “important people” list comes though. I always want my family to be able to reach me, except when I’m napping. I mute the ringer. Sigh, see I have 20 minutes of my allotted time left. I allow sleep to take me again.

Then I re-enter the land of the mostly awake and grumble, not that I’m feeling better of course, that they could have stopped the dog from continuing to bark for five whole minutes. Kyle smiled. Sigh.

STRESS COMING…..

I check my messages: This is your mother. Call me.

Seriously? She couldn’t have just called the other two people I live with? “Would you guys like to come over and play cards today.” No, I wouldn’t. I have plans. I actually have real plans. No, not tonight. After 57 years that it’s okay for me to say, “no.”

No. Jessica, ask her if we can do it after Kyle gets off work tomorrow. She did. We are. My shoulders go back down a few inches.

“Oh, dad’s coming over at three.”

Excuse me?

Their father isn’t polite to me. I say hello, how are you. He says, “Fine.” And… that is the entire conversation unless I keep asking questions. The house is a complete disaster. It’s 1:30. Why aren’t you cleaning the house up? (Now three is in one hour.) Don’t I always run around like a stupid chicken and try to clean house before people come over? They agree. Well???

Kyle smiles… a little devil still.

Irrationally I feel like someone who violates me emotionally is coming to my home without my permission. He’s not coming inside. Go out to his car. He can’t come in. “Sure.”

My shoulders are back up. I sigh again, get some juice and head for a hot shower.

Remember, he’s not coming in. If you have to, tell him I said he can’t. Tell him I’m not comfortable him. No.

See, I’ve finally learned it’s okay, even really good, for me to say no. I don’t want to do that. It’s okay. Buy my shoulders are back up. They’ll go back down later. I think. I’ll have to talk to my brain about it later. For now, shower. Just think about the shower.

Sure. Sigh…

But I had a nap. My choice.

This is just one way I deal with my days. Sometimes it’s like this everyday. Sometimes, regardless of what I do I have to take a chill pill (for anxiety), then try to calm down a little later.

I have a mood disorder. It’s a good thing for me to be able to manage myself. And, sometimes I can’t do that. I just can’t.

But that’s another post.

Be well. Take care of yourselves and don’t let your emotions freak you out. As for me, I’m planning on having a fantastic afternoon, after their dad leaves and I feel a bit calmer. I will feel calmer. I might have to resort to playing a game or cleaning fish tanks or something, but I’ll try. I’m able to do that today.

Take away: Figure out things that work for you when you are stressing out. Don’t just say you can’t do it. You have to try. Even “normal” brains have to do that.

Figure it out. Fight your brain. Turn those harmful emotions away. Say, “No.”

You can do it.

Bipolar Stress – Focus on the Normal

/ Robin / 1 Comment

Many people with Bipolar Disorder, myself included, sometimes experience feelings of failure, doom and gloom. But not right now, no, not now.

Today I was playing with Bailey, who has saved me from myself many times when I had the super wonderful idea of playing a trick on her. She’s always been good at “don’t touch,” “leave it,” and “stay,” but I wanted to challenge her and see if she could resist picking up her new training “toy” and obey my commands. This is where “focusing on the normal” comes in…..

A dog like Bailey should be worked with and trained often. I admit that I don’t do it as often as I should. Today I focused on Bailey and… um… teasing her. Okay, sometimes she looks at me a little crazy and I’m inspired to tease her. This is a very normal activity for us.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about things that I normally take for granted. I’m not talking about the whole toilet paper “problems” or similar things. I’m talking about my never judgmental and always present companion – Bailey, my six-year-old Kelpie.

My focusing on my normal today was to work with Bailey. The picture following shows the results. The commands were, “don’t move” and “don’t touch.”

Bailey following commands:
Don’t Move & Don’t Touch

Today, think of something in your day, something normal, and focus on it for a bit. If possible, try to focus your normal on something you enjoy.

What delights you? What do you think is fun? Do you have trouble thinking about things like this today? That’s okay. Relax. What were you just doing? What are you going to do when you get offline? Have you eaten something yummy today? Have your guppies had babies? Let your mind wander. It doesn’t matter if anyone else in the entire world thinks that what you focus on is “normal” to them.

Ask yourself… what “normal” in my can I focus on in my day today? Don’t try to find something amazing. Think “normal.” Think your normal.

One last thing, consider this, you are Un-niche-able. What’s that all about? It is very simple. You are unique. Whatever your normal is will be uniquely yours because you’re – Un-niche-able.

Bipolar – Verbal Dump

/ Robin / 1 Comment

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I have Bipolar Disorder and ADHD. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder over twenty years ago. At least, that’s about when my brain says it remembers it happening – I’m super reliable when it comes to the passing of time. Umm, no way! Don’t let me tell you otherwise. I was diagnosed as having ADHD only a few years ago.

The other day my mom told me she’d had a major breakthrough in her thinking about ADHD. Apparently, she’d talked to her realtor and she had told him that I have it. I know she shares stuff about my brain (problems) to people in the town/city we live in and with Rhett (the fellow I just mentioned who sells property) who lives in another one.

That’s two.

Back to the breakdown.

I know my mom loves me. She expresses it in a sort of micro-managing way, but she loves me nonetheless.

I’d hate to have had a child like me. How did she not accidentally roll over me in the family car? I would have had a daycare person come take me away. A nanny. Anyway, Rhett told her that he has ADHD too. {Deep sigh coming from my side of the conversation.}

You know how we can look up literally ANYTHING online? I really don’t think she understands that she can Google Bipolar Disorder and ADHD and not have to rely upon the information she can glean from a single person. There are many fantastic sites to visit that contains a lot of very good information on both BD and ADHD.

But, you know what, the idea that she can talk to someone about me, without asking me first, and telling him my very personal business is just bad.

My mom thinks of Rhett as another son. (I have a brother.) She knows more about him than she does about me. Sometimes I discover I have feelings of resentment and anger toward the nice guy. I don’t like feeling that way.

I guess accepting and understanding something about Bipolar Disorder have to continue to wait.

I believe, that if she understood a little about Bipolar Disorder and how I present, we would get along better. We might even want to spend more time together. Maybe she’d trust me more. Forgive me more. I admit, there is much I want to be forgiven for. I think she’s better at letting things go than I am so maybe she doesn’t need to be able to forgive me once she understands I don’t really control myself sometimes.

My experience with Bipolar Disorder is that about 80% of the time I’m manic. All the time I’ve been alive, I’ve been either straight up manic, or in a mixed state featuring the bits that tend to “intensify” my emotions. I’m confused, being depressed while manic.

My most blatantly obvious symptom… I never, ever stop talking. When the rare moment does happen, my friends ask me if I’m okay. I think that even Bailey notices. (Bailey is my support dog. She’s wonderful.)

Bailey is my emergency brake. When I’m frustrated, angry or yelling, she finds me and sits directly facing me, very close, toes to paws, and with her beautiful sad brown eyes and waits for the noise to stop. Honestly, she won’t budge even if I tell her I need to pee. No mercy from my faithful pup.

My chart at the mental health place I go to says that I say I think I’m smarter than they are. My current counselor asked me if I really believe that. Without a pause, I said, “YES.” I reminded him of how they let my stress / anger / mania / and anxiety cause all the suffering I experienced while I was going to school. over the last year, my symptoms intensified, and I broke.

Have you heard the axiom do no harm or through inaction to cause harm?

So, the reality is that they watched and did not intervene. They listened and didn’t reach out to catch me while I fell and fell farther and farther down. If you think about it like that, like what role they played in my unwilling self-destruction, then YES, I think they’re morons and I really am so much smarter than they are. My counselor asked me if I thought I was smarter than he was. I grinned and told him, “that remains to be seen.”

Delusional? Grandiose thoughts? Delusions of grandeur? Or brilliant or very smart? And who’s to judge which is which?

ADHD, Bipolar… Let’s figure it out. I promise I’ll own it.

You have just been exposed to an often irritating and yet integral bit of my brain in all its glory. It’s what I call, “a verbal dump.” My kids prefer saying I barf words. Wait, maybe it was that I vomit words. Well, in any case, it’s not great.

Please write to me or leave a comment. I love hearing from you.

Be well,

Robin / Un-niche-able Me